Something out of nothing

The amla tree.

Something out of nothing.

 It was just wet mud. Lying there in the midst of grass one could have missed it. One could have stepped in it by mistake and then removed their foot with a loud ‘eeeks.’ But we decided to make it the cause for exhilaration. It all began with the boys playing some harmless football in the rains. They were wet, muddy and looked so happy. After the game they began to fling mud on each other and gradually everyone caught on. There was just no looking back. Or front. Or right or left. There was mud all around. Hair, new white clothes, face everything was caked brown and we knew experientially that looking, behaving and smelling like a pig can be a lot of fun. It was only mud- and yet it became the means for several twenty, thirty, forty and even fifty year olds to find that child within.

 

A plain looking Amla tree. One could have easily missed it. But it caught my elder sister Nidhi’s eyes and through her pink framed glasses-her huge eyes began to shine like diamonds. My cousins caught the sparkle and gradually so did I. The entire family had gone for a trip to Khandala and just outside our family home stood this big Amla tree. All of us cousins, aged between ten and twenty five, ran inside the house- brought a bed sheet and stood under the Amla tree. The tiniest one was immediately made in to the monkey and he climbed over the tree and gently shook the branches. All of heaven broke free. Tiny yellow green amlas fell here, fell there and we ran with our bed sheet trying to catch all of them. It was as if tiny drops were falling from heaven and we didn’t want to miss even a tiny divine piece. We all were laughing and yelling so loudly that eventually several of our neighbors, unknown to us- but looking for neighborly borrowing- came and joined in the fun and took handful of amlas back for their families. All in all, it was one of the most beautiful afternoons I had ever experienced. And to think, it was only an Amla tree.

 

It was only a dosa. I barely knew her and she looked skeptical when I invited her to have some of my mom’s golden crispy dosas with melting butter on top. She lived in the building next to mine, she went to the same school as me, we were in the same class for seven years and yet we barely knew each other. She was the class brain and I, the class clown. We both looked at each other with our noses up in the air and yet something, some sadness, some worry in her eyes made me invite her home. Over dosas we spoke. And spoke. And spoke. I couldn’t believe how much we had in common. A few questions led her to tell me all the problems she was going through and since I didn’t have too many solutions I just hugged her and held her hand. Today, it’s been a few years and we are best friends, constantly bringing out good in each other. It could have been over with the last few bites of dosas- but a beautiful relationship began over it…

 

I wrote my first few words in the first standard. No, not in school, not with the insistence of the teacher who constantly complained to my mother that I would never learn to write. My father was going to America and he asked me if I wanted anything. He had obviously underestimated his younger daughter who promptly picked up a pencil and wrote a nice long list of all that she wanted- teddy bears, squeaky shoes, bridal Barbie, snowflakes, chocolate ice- cream et all included. After that I constantly wrote, not in school, but whenever I felt my sister had been mean to me, when I felt over emotional about my parents love and care towards me and whenever I felt too happy or too sad. At that time, they were just words. Black formations on white paper- and though the emotions meant a lot to me, the words were nothing. And today as a writer, my career, my dreams, and the very expression of who I am is based on words. Nothing has become something, again.

 

I have come to realize there is nothing only if I am unable to find something within it. If mud can become fun, amla the reason for one of the happiest moments of my life, dosa a means to find a close friend and words, from being nothing to becoming everything then there must be a something hiding in every nothing.

 

A day in itself will just be a day, a nothing in the larger context of my life, but I can make it in to a turning point in my life. A moment in itself is a tiny nothing and yet I can re-create it, transform it into the most memorable one of my life. A sunset with a loved one can either be another evening of my life or become a memory of a lifetime. There are enough nothings all around- but with a little awareness, a little thought and of course, a little love – the nothing can become something and maybe even everything to us. Hey, I just had an idea- an idea about writing a book- it’s probably nothing- but I am going and working on it nonetheless, what if it does happen to become something?

When I walk, I walk.

Stories can teach in ways that only stories can teach. For days I had held a question in my mind about how I can progress on the spiritual path. Last evening, finally, the answer came with the birth of this story. Through me, and for me, this story has become a milestone. A realization has become my realization. Perhaps, it can become yours too?

Years ago, when finding god was still the most important quest for all, there lived a great sage. High above the mountains iced by snow, and sprinkled by cherry sun rays, was his little hamlet. People sought him from all over the world. The scaling heights, the brazen winds, the wild animals – nothing could stop them from flocking to the guru – for they knew he could pave the way to the divine for them. However, after a few days, many got restless and left. The reason? The guru hardly spoke. He just carried on in his usual fashion. For several, this was hard to deal with.

The great sage had a merry laughter and a twinkle in his eye. He seemed ancient and yet just like a child. He never invited anyone and he never refused anyone – and yet when someone did come, he made sure his home was their home. Many came, many went – but a few – a small group of ten, stayed behind. The guru knew he had finally filtered the ‘seekers’ from the ‘questioners’. This was the group who had left everything to find god – and they wouldn’t return knowing about god, they would return knowing god! The saint did all that he needed to in a day – while the group followed around, hoping to get a cue as to how they too could be in constant blissful union with their lord.

In the evenings the sage would sit under a tree, while the group gathered around him. Some put their head in his lap and he caressed them lovingly, while others were content to just watch him from afar. The seekers asked questions – sometimes the guru would answer at length, and sometimes, he would choose silence to speak. Either way, the night would rise only when all the doubts had drowned.

One of those twilights, the youngest girl in the group, Mira, asked him, “Gurudeva, tell me the secret to your divinity. I want to know…” Knowing that the words that would follow could change their lives the entire group moved closer. Silence fell over them as the guru replied, “When I walk, I walk.” The seekers moved closer still. They wanted to know more. They wanted to transform. Something told them that the answer would be revealed. The guru, however, spoke no more. He just sat with his eyes, skywards, wondering at the stars.

The seekers were disappointed. They had thought some profound, complex, secret would be revealed. But no, the sage had just spoken a single sentence: When I walk, I walk. What could this mean? All of them went to sleep that night with questions chasing his words around… answers no where in sight.

The next day, the guru went about his day as always and the seekers followed step. As he plucked the weeds out of his tiny garden, the group helped. The guru smiled to himself as he sensed a peculiar restlessness in the air. However, no one said anything. They had already learnt that answers would come, only when answers would come. Usually one amongst them would stumble upon the answer to the guru’s words and share his realization with all others. The group would internalize it, ponder upon it, and wait until the realization became a part of them. Today, however, revelation didn’t seem to be in the mood of befriending any of them.

The guru chuckled silently and asked the young girl, “Mira, what are you doing right now?”

Surprised by the guru’s question, she replied, “Helping you pluck out the weeds gurudeva!”

He smiled and asked, “What else?”

Mira spontaneously replied, “Nothing else!”

The guru asked, “Are you sure you aren’t doing anything else?”

Mira thought for a minute and said, “Well, I am thinking about your words…”

“And?” asked the guru mischievously.

“Umm… wondering what is there for dinner tonight!” replied Mira with a giggle.

The guru smiled and said, “When I am plucking weeds, I am plucking weeds.” And with that he went back to doing this chore with the same intensity that he meditated, or ate, or watched a sun rise or spoke to them.

The entire group spontaneously burst into smiles. This was the first time that they had all understood something together. Restlessness changed into excitement, and within moments, excitement became peace. The little group of eleven – one master and ten disciples – plucked weeds as they plucked weeds, that afternoon.

Ever since this story wrote itself out, the very perspective with which I look at life changed. Queen of multi-tasking, I believed I should not waste a single moment of my life. I packed in as much as I could in every second. I watched movies while exercising. I had breakfast while reading books. I enjoyed a sunrise while chatting on the phone. At any given point I was involved in at least two or three activities… and I wondered why I wasn’t enjoying any? Why wasn’t I feeling completely, absolutely, zingingly (my word, don’t check the dictionary!) alive? Why?

When I walk, I walk. So simply answered the master. Since yesterday I have been doing this. When I ate, I ate. When I was with my husband Arun, I was with Arun. When I listened to music, I listened to music. Initially it almost appeared too difficult to do just a single thing at a time. I felt restless. I felt irritated. But I didn’t give up.  As I pursued a single activity long enough and gave myself to it completely, I realized something within me suddenly shifted. No longer was I living in the past or the future – rather I fell into the coveted ‘now’, the ‘as is’, the ‘present continuous’.

The beauty about ‘this moment’ is that when you are in it, completely and absolutely, nothing else matters. The unpaid bills, the chores for tomorrow, the aching knee, the worrisome child – in the now – none of these exist. All that exists is the activity that you are involved in and you. Get immersed even further – and nothing but the activity remains. You dissolve. And in those moments, when there is no ‘you’, what is, is. And that ‘is’ is god! It sounds almost too simple to be true, doesn’t it? Too commonplace? I always believed finding god was a treacherous, arduous, difficult process… however, I now realize that it is so simple that we miss it. The purpose of every religious chants, prayers and meditations is just this: to make you forget you – so that you can remember god. As the limiting boundary of ‘I’ erases, what is left behind is the infinite: Life, as it is, God, as it is.

I always wondered what the difference between me and spiritually enlightened masters was. Now I know. Even while meditating I am thinking, planning, scratching and wondering. A master, even while thinking, planning, scratching and wondering is meditating. If I can learn to do what I am doing, and immerse myself into it completely, meditation will cease to remain a part of my day. It will become a part of me. And gradually, it will become me…

Usually when I write to you – it is while sipping a masala chai, chatting on facebook and checking my mails. Today, as I write, I write. I can feel the difference. I can almost experience you sitting beside me, a friend, a fellow seeker, as together we live this message at various different points of our day: When I walk, I walk.

Let’s Talk?

Let’s Talk

The moonlit bench in the garden invites us. Let’s sit a while. Let’s talk. About years gone by. About memories created. Learnings that happened. Bridges crossed. Let’s talk.

About the pink skirt that you bought for me, along with the funny hat that still lies in the cupboard. Let’s talk.

About the dreams we held in our eyes and the reality that almost matched up, let’s talk.

About the future. Your goals. And mine. Let’s talk.

Is it not possible to move away from the gadgets and gizmos?

Is it not possible to shut the harsh blue light of television and laptop?

Is it not possible for – me as me – you as you – to meet and just talk?

Why must we keep looking at the phone?

What are we waiting for? What message, what email, what input, what news?

What are we looking for – look at me, I am right here.

Why must the dinner be interrupted with the business calls?

Why must every breakfast be so hurried that it looks like a tornado moving through some food?

I am right here. Look at me. See me for who I am. Remember me for who I was. Talk to me.

We are running through life – as though on a treadmill. No matter how much I run, I reach nowhere. No matter how fast you run, you reach nowhere. Why are we running?

Life was never supposed to be like this. We need to pause. We need to think. We need to do some star gazing. We need to have a cup of tea looking into each other’s eyes and not the phone. We need to catch up with friends – and not just business partners. We need to laugh – just like that.

Hold my hand.

Feel the warmth.

Watch my curls blow in the wind.

Observe my eyes, they speak more than my lips.

Switch off your phone.

Let’s talk.

#ItsaWoWlife

The hint of a memory

Each time it snows,

Something within gets kindled,

A hint, a waft, a fragrance,

Of a memory…

Four of us sitting together,

Under the thatched roof,

Listening to the pitter patter,

Holding an earthen cup of tea.

The mist swirls around the hills,

The early twilight spills over,

Our cottage so happy and warm,

In the firelight everything glows.

I hug her from behind,

He chuckles a little.

She tousles my hair,

And love gets scattered into the air.

A distant melody plays away,

A smile gets thrown on,

Each of us is so complete, and yet so alone,

Like a snowflake which is a part of the storm.

Attracting Abundance

Each person carries a certain dominant energy. And almost like a permanent perfume, they carry this, so to speak, “innate nature” in everything they do. There are some people, who will only call/email or message when they want something. You can see their name in your inbox and you know, for sure, they need a favour. Something. And then there are those people, you see their name calling on your phone, and something within blossoms. You know these are the people who are only getting in touch for something good – either to share an opportunity, an idea, some good news. I am beginning to realize both taking and giving are habits – and once you develop a dominant mindset for one, it is difficult to go the other way.

A needy person, will be needy in most if not all relationships. A loving person will bring love into almost everything they do. An agitated person, will carry that work related agitation even to home. A peaceful person will remain more or less peaceful in whatever he/she does. Although a generalization is not possible, and we all are a little this and a little that – it is safe to say there are certain dominant general traits we exhibit that starts becoming our nature. I was just mulling over these thoughts when my facebook messenger beeped. I sighed as I saw the name. I knew she only messaged me when she wanted something and needless to say things were no different then. She wanted me to recommend her for something to a mutual friend. As I started typing a reply I realized something. All the people who struggle with scarcity – the ones who are somehow always missed for the golden opportunities are the ones who keep asking, and asking. Unknowingly, they are always at the receivers end.

I stopped doing what I was to understand the thoughts flowing better. I realized that rich people – be it rich in health, wealth, happiness, love – were always people who kept giving. A single line by my guru flashed within and I knew, I had understood one of the simplest but most profound secrets of life: YOU ARE RICH BY WHAT YOU GIVE. YOU ARE POOR BY WHAT YOU RECEIVE.

As I looked within my own family I saw the examples so clear, so vivid – almost like diagrams upon a white board: An aunt who loves to celebrate every little moment of life, whose predominant mindset was always to give – seemed to be living the most abundant life ever. She seemed to always be brimming with all the great things in life. Another aunt, the sister of this one, was always struggling. Either with finances, or illness, or in a relationship. As I thought deeply I realized that although both of them were wonderful people, both of them had the same set of parents, and upbringing – the difference in their lives was because the second aunt always thought like a receiver and the first one always thought like the giver.

Giving makes one feel rich, abundant. Receiving makes one feel poor, scarcity. The more and more dominant one of the traits becomes in you, the more of that you start attracting in life. Don’t all the self-help books say it? Feel rich to become rich. And it was now that I realized that the only way to feel rich, was to behave rich – which means you believe you have enough, and more, of it and therefore want to share it wherever you go.

I then reflected upon myself. I realized that with each passing day, I was learning to become a little more giving. It wasn’t effortless. Far from it. And yet, my heart, my mind was opening a little each day and I could see the direct impact of it upon my life. Each time we become a giver – in the smallest, or biggest aspect of our life – we start deepening the abundant mindset. Wishing you abundant times ahead!

A moon moment

A moon moment.

And the moon walked on. For that is what he had been doing for years at end. Walking – from one end of the sky to another. Sometimes happy. Sometimes not so. Sometimes enthusiastic. Other times ho-hum. His very nature was to walk, and walk he did.

Sometimes it troubled him to think that he had no light of his own. He was but a gigantic empty ball and but for the sun, there would be no light at all. Yes, the poets wrote their poetries about him, the lovers romanced each other in his presence, the little girls looked out of their windows and sighed watching him but at the end of the day, everything was borrowed. Nothing was his own.

That night, somehow this thought troubled him even more than usual. Who was he? A mere emptiness? A vacuum? That constantly needed a Source to complete itself?

That’s when it happened. A moon moment. One could have missed it… just like a shooting star falling at a rapid speed, here now, poof then. But he caught it. His moon moment. Suddenly it all made sense.

Everything was just the way it was meant to be. The sun was meant to be the sun. Hot, blazing, radiant. The oceans were meant to be the oceans. Liquid, volatile, crashing around. The stone was meant to be a stone, and the tree, a tree.  In the great design of life, nothing was amiss. Everything fitted in like a perfect piece of puzzle, one piece intimately clinging on to the other and finally creating the whole picture.

The moon was meant to be the moon. His glory was in being this. He could aim to be the best moon there ever was – but he could never be the screeching eagle or the silent hills. Moon was his part in the play called life and he had to do justice to it. So many years he had wasted wondering why he couldn’t be someone else, something else. So many years he had wasted in crying about his plight, his lack of light. And finally in a moon moment, he knew he was perfect as he was.

To think one is in the wrong place at the wrong time is to put a question on the Highest intelligence. The moon realized that just because he thought lesser about himself didn’t make him lesser in the eyes of his creator. Like the sun, like the clouds, or the stars he was immaculate. Yes, he had his spots… but then, who didn’t? He would work on purifying himself, but not dream of becoming someone else.

Tears fell from his eyes as he walked on the black night roads with stars sprinkled around. He watched the cosmos, he watched the gigantic earth, the planets, the sun and sighed with contentment.

Everything was, just the way everything should be. And within it all, tiny but significant was he, the moon. He knew it then. He completed the picture called life. What a feeling that was…

 

 

A moon moment

And the moon walked on. For that is what he had been doing for years at end. Walking – from one end of the sky to another. Sometimes happy. Sometimes not so. Sometimes enthusiastic. Other times ho-hum. His very nature was to walk, and walk he did.

Sometimes it troubled him to think that he had no light of his own. He was but a gigantic empty ball and but for the sun, there would be no light at all. Yes, the poets wrote their poetries about him, the lovers romanced each other in his presence, the little girls looked out of their windows and sighed watching him but at the end of the day, everything was borrowed. Nothing was his own.

That night, somehow this thought troubled him even more than usual. Who was he? A mere emptiness? A vacuum? That constantly needed a Source to complete itself?

That’s when it happened. A moon moment. One could have missed it… just like a shooting star falling at a rapid speed, here now, poof then. But he caught it. His moon moment. Suddenly it all made sense.

Everything was just the way it was meant to be. The sun was meant to be the sun. Hot, blazing, radiant. The oceans were meant to be the oceans. Liquid, volatile, crashing around. The stone was meant to be a stone, and the tree, a tree.  In the great design of life, nothing was amiss. Everything fitted in like a perfect piece of puzzle, one piece intimately clinging on to the other and finally creating the whole picture.

The moon was meant to be the moon. His glory was in being this. He could aim to be the best moon there ever was – but he could never be the screeching eagle or the silent hills. Moon was his part in the play called life and he had to do justice to it. So many years he had wasted wondering why he couldn’t be someone else, something else. So many years he had wasted in crying about his plight, his lack of light. And finally in a moon moment, he knew he was perfect as he was.

To think one is in the wrong place at the wrong time is to put a question on the Highest intelligence. The moon realized that just because he thought lesser about himself didn’t make him lesser in the eyes of his creator. Like the sun, like the clouds, or the stars he was immaculate. Yes, he had his spots… but then, who didn’t? He would work on purifying himself, but not dream of becoming someone else.

Tears fell from his eyes as he walked on the black night roads with stars sprinkled around. He watched the cosmos, he watched the gigantic earth, the planets, the sun and sighed with contentment.

Everything was, just the way everything should be. And within it all, tiny but significant was he, the moon. He knew it then. He completed the picture called life. What a feeling that was…

Posted by Megha Bajaj

https://www.facebook.com/meghabajajwow

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