Mummy's notes, and the curious case of Kapil Sibal

It is exactly two years since my mother passed away; even more time has lapsed since I last wrote from my heart. 

How essential it is for one to come to terms with #life and #living through speaking the mind -- I'm beginning to understand -- either by talking to someone you trust or, perhaps spilling yourself over paper...in my case: a laptop.

It doesn't really matter which platform allows your expression and sets free your mind; it's all about the process - and, this is tied to your growth as a person, as a human being, as a soul even. 

It's the simplest, the most inconspicuous of things, the casual stuff we take for granted that stick in the contours of our minds, I'm discovering. 

I found my mother's handwriting! 

Hadn't seen it for two years already, and it was never the first thing I've recalled when memories of her flash in my mind. It's always been about how she did things, or what she had said, sometimes contours of her face, her smile... not her handwriting. It was the best I had even seen - neat, well-formed... rather artistic. 

Her little notes on a clipper in the middle of the dinning table at home - yes - she was our 'diary' with a list of birthdays and anniversaries of family members and friends, reminding us religiously to "call and wish" "do our duty to aunties and uncles!" How I hated to be reminded, she knew, but that never stopped her from sending messengers (my kids) with precise information! Oh, and when she got to using WhatsApp, well it was a steady stream :-)

No one does this monthly ritual of maintaining and reminding anymore; we hardly make it in time to wish for birthdays or wedding anniversaries. I could never remember them -- I am not my mum -- I cannot be like her -- I don't want to. It will be like replacing her in a way, aping her ways of doing things... it might compromise memories somehow? I don't know; don't want to go down that road. 

So - this one-sided paper pad I found dates back to 2005, and the opening page has the body measurements of one of my cousin's... shoulder, neck, chest, waist, shoulder to knee length... These are on the left side corner of the page. Among other scribbles, somewhere in the middle is a sentence: "Sunday 12th Mike and Angy are coming for lunch." Towards the end of the page - "Kapil Sibal" - bold writing and circled. 

I was so curious! What is Mr Sibal doing below a luncheon reminder, on the same page as my cousin's dress measurements!? What was happening in December 2005...could I make a connection? 

I actually did a quick Google search, but naturally couldn't make a connection. I obviously did not know what to look for, but I know this: If my mother made a deliberate note, then it should have been important because she only wrote down 'important' information, especially to pass on to us. 

After all, he did receive priority :-)) 

The certainty of 'uncertainty'

Krishna's Butterball, Mahabalipuram (Southeast coast of India)

'Krishna's Butterball' -- it's no big deal, except that the five meter wide, six meters high gigantic rock sits pretty neat at a short incline on its 1.2 meter base. Talk of balancing weight!

What I like best about this spectacle is the defiance it presents by refusing to give in to gravity. Well, the apple did fall to the ground, and here we have 250 tonnes of ancient rock standing still on a 45 degree hilly slope for over 1200 years. It hasn't rolled off -- 'Stone of Sky God' indeed. Shouldn't it though? It could; it might... perhaps some day. Again maybe not for another 1200 years -- who knows?!

So much for historical musings. We have a disease to deal with now, and it has taken the world by shock. Holding us quarantined, and at ransom; from toilet paper to James Bond -- all cow down without exception to #COVID19. We had our days (if not our lives) chalked out, and went about breathing life into our hopes and dreams. And then, this #LOCKDOWN. 14 days, 21 days, 49 days... six months... we know deep down life as we know it has changed.

Almost every electronic communication I received over the last two months has begun with: In these uncertain times, or surreal times, or complicated, or wierd times... Depressing, to say the least. But perhaps some of us have already gained wisdom around the fact that there's nothing certain about life. Yet it comes so naturally that we plan for a 'better' tomorrow, a 'bright' future, a 'perfect' acquisition, a 'prominent' something. We do this for ourselves, our family, their children, maybe even for our grandchildren. Much of this reasoning is dependent on how our life exposes us, to what experiences, with whom, and when these occasions occur in the trajectory of life.

I'm reminded of a conversation I had with a friend recently on what worries most, and it turned out that much sleep is lost on understanding the certainty of things that make up life. The search for certainty we cannot honestly avoid for it is soaked in the human spirit, the core of survival, of thriving. But then, the awareness that uncertainties are a certainty is good to keep that balance between standing ground and rolling off, I guess. We will, in the end, find our way around uncertain everythings and build paths that defy or prepare us with certainty. Remember the rocky butterball.

It's always the jacket, never the weather

What a month February has been!
The significance of the extra day this year seems a good time to reflect and give thanks -- still bitter-sweet, and yet hopeful that the new birthday year will bring dreams together...

It's a cloudy day today; so it has been this entire month -- cold and wet. "You haven't really seen Winter," a friend reassures me; another one exclaims: "This is the mildest we've had!"

I'm in Europe -- my favourite continent, and as I sit at my work desk in the University facing dry, leafless branches of Maple, sudden darting movements catch my eye. At the apex of one of these trees is a nest; a red-brown squirrel lives there.

I watch him (or her) run briskly over one branch, jump on to another, shoot down the tree trunk, up again along the same path to the nest. All this hop-skip-jump takes less than two minutes. What is most intriguing about the little fella is the intent behind the morning ritual. It is almost as if there was no time to ponder over the surroundings, no luxury to discover 'what's new' -- strictly focused on achieving purpose (whatever is in that nest must need desperate attention!).

We are this little squirrel indeed. I know I am. Behind this purposeful running about to make life happen, I'm afraid I forget to live, to dream a personal dream and be able to pull it off before I am six feet under. February brings this priority to light almost always. What are birthdays for if not to relocate yourself! So, yes I do have this dream -- a very simple one: to thrive. To reach peaks I never knew existed within me.

No matter the situation that surrounds, it is absolutely essential to 'thrive'-- I believe. We have much to discover about ourselves as individuals, as persons, and each self-discovery brings you closer to being the human you are always meant to be. We rather insulate ourselves from us, and wear 'jackets' of various kinds to protect us from simply living. With our lives pre-designed, what else does one expect!

But seriously, the inward journey of discovering yourself is far more intriguing, not to mention the most challenging -- getting naked about yourself is the least prettiest thing, but still the most memorable, be assured. The courage to change is always just within us even if nothing is as it seems because the future does speak ruthlessly to us.

Discard those jackets; the weather has its seasons -- so what! 

"Life goes on; carry on with your life"

Haven't posted a blog in several months. Not that there wasn't any interest, or I wasn't being read, but only because Life has Her way of taking you on a journey you are seldom prepared for.

I didn't bother to check when I made my last entry in this space -- all I can say: I am here now and I want to share that I've begun something I resisted for a very long time. I'm using a journal :-) making little observations, jotting down thoughts and reminiscing over things that I usually keep in my mind, to myself. Should confess -- it is addictive!

This habit I didn't think much of, has somehow become a muse. A writer-friend tried convincing me over a few conversations; stubborn me wouldn't see value -- it's different now. There had to be a trigger for me to begin. I see it this way now.

My mother -- she has passed. But not without sudden turn of events. It was cancer -- the 1% in a million kind -- that took her away in exactly 30 days from diagnosis. I spent most of these difficult days being a friend, creating distraction, transferring strength...
The last thing she said to me was: Life goes on; carry on with your life.

No idea how these happenings landed me on the threshold of Epicurus! This guy lived in 341 - 270 BC and spoke the wisest, simple stuff I've heard so far...
I quote:
"There are many things outside the control of our life, therefore many things could befall us, and make our lives very difficult." Gosh. The simplicity and weightage of these words were clear to a fellow human ages ago. Somewhere else he has said: 'Man is miserable because he desires things that he need not desire'.

But the most interesting observation Epicurus makes is about God and His ability to hold our lives ransom! The riddle goes like this:

God, either wishes to take away evils and is unable to
or,
He is able, and is unwilling
or,
He is neither willing nor able
or,
He is both willing and able

To carry on with my life as my mother has wished, I'll do well to remember the Epicurean paradox!

Identity - stereotyping the culprit

The space to share publicly every little aspect of our lives is one thing; for random people to host a discussion around it, speculate and draw conclusions, is quite another matter.

There was this young mother from India whose post went viral on Facebook sometime recently. All she did was to publicly acknowledge her son's effort and talents, and say she is extremely proud of him.

Something so basic - such as a mother congratulating her son for having done his best in high school academics (although many would disregard 60% as an achievement) - an act that any mummy would do naturally, can become talk in 'newsworthy' circles, caused me to frown. How we are all into stereotypes! And, why could we have become this way?

IDENTITY is the culprit - I rationalise. Bear with me while I try and explain how this could be.

We are conceived: they call us a 'fetus'.
We are born: they say we are 'boy' or 'girl'.
Then they add colour - dark, brown, fair, and some other shades I'm sure;
They give you a name.
And somewhere hidden (you don't know it yet) is a caste and religion;
A community has branded you, owns you - even before you know them.
As we grow: they say, you are pretty / beautiful / ok-looking / (don't know if they even say 'ugly');
Then they show you what to wear, how to dress, what colours suit you.
What to eat and drink, where to sleep, how to walk and talk;
Every aspect of YOUR life they frame and re-frame for you,
All in the name of preparing you for the 'world outside'.
In the end: you are what they want to see in you, what they decide you should be;
You are now 'standardised' 'labelled' 'conditioned' (take all or pick) - you seem to know who you are.
The answer to the question: What are you - comes so easily, naturally even!
You could never realise how your 'identity' has been built from scratch, even before you were a fetus...
You think you know you.
Purpose achieved. You are now 'defined' as belonging to society. You have an IDENTITY.
You were it on your sleeve, willingly most of your life;
Not to blame, you don't know better.
Then one fine day: a new dawn perhaps - and you awaken to the question:
'Who am I?' really.

I suppose one could/would argue that I'm over-thinking, and that there is no other way because that how the world works, and people need to fit in, be part of the system, know who they are and what they come from, etc, etc.

Sadly this is true.

I don't have an alternate pathway to all of the above - of course not. But I have come to realise that all this 'fabric' we use does not serve a better purpose, let alone meet the larger good - except to divide, and foster comparison, then build unhealthy competition, hasten to form a hate that manifests in ways shocking us as humans, and finally leading us to search our hearts - where does this all come from!? Nothing is as it seems, isn't it.

My seventh heaven!

Roughly every five minutes I would hear a familiar roaring noise surround me. Large shadows of aeroplane after aeroplane covered the city’s vegetation. I watched as the aircraft’s shadow brought a swift, moving shade -- respite from the blazing summer sun for those trees, I thought. The seventh floor does offer an interesting perspective!

Kathri maasum in India -- the hottest days of the year according to the Hindu calendar has passed. The 14-day Agni Nakshatram (the worst of Summer) is believed to be over now. Temperatures have dropped a wee bit, but not enough to say: 'no sweat'! 

The seventh floor of a public library has been my refuge for the Spring-Summer months. I'm perched on a corner chair watching the winged-shadows move like floating clouds. The trees that shield us from harsh sunlight have a chance to receive some shade, it seems. 

It couldn’t have been by chance that Kabbalah regard the Seventh Heaven as the highest of heavens, I'm sure. God is most exalted here -- it is believed -- and angels dwell. It is THE place to be peaceful, and think, then write – the ultimate heaven for doctorate pursuers.

I could have chosen any floor -- entry to the eighth is disallowed -- I settled with the seventh -- among historians, geographers and biographers. I spend hours (up to ten some days), in the rarest of company, besides a glass window that overlooks a grand part of Madras city.   

It never even crossed my mind to enter the first and second heavens – the first is always the most crowded and gloomy, and the second ‘heaven’ is supposed to have ‘fire, snow and ice ready for the day of divine ordinance’ -- so, it's kind of crampy really. 

Tried the third and the forth for a day each -- they host ‘armies’ of subjects that complicate the ‘spirit’. The incident of a zombie-like character seated opposite me at the fourth-heaven study table was persuasive experience -- enough to consider moving to the higher heavens rather quickly! Simply skipped the fifth heaven; peeped through the glass doors of the sixth just once -- there were ‘angels’ and they were (noisy) busy -- going about their business not really caring how it affected other heaven seekers. 

So, seventh it was -- here is the ‘great glory’ -- far above all heavens. The Keys to Kaballah #librarylife here I’ve found!  

And suddenly, so much hate becomes visible.

Well, this blogpost I had written-up soon after the ChristChurch attack but decided not to publish because I believed I was too emotionally attached to the incident at the time. Now, a month later, I read the piece and find my point of view unchanged.

So here's what I think:

It is still about race and colour, birthright and religion -- all man-made, only to divide and to have power. We know this. We’ve read about this dominance time and again. Even us - the educated - in our tiniest ways, we don’t seem to have the inner strength to denounce this social conditioning. Centuries of 'force-feeding' have gotten under some of our skins. Every now and then, a virus erupts causing fear and panic eventually shaping a narrative that builds to a visible dislike for fellow human beings.

How does killing off your own kind using ethnicity to validate the argument become justified in our minds! I won't dare take the heart-route because I think we (people) have long lost the ability to feel for our neighbour. Call me a skeptic, pessimist even, I wouldn't care. The events of mid-March -- ChristChurch, London, Utrecht -- prove that the epidemic of fear and panic worries us all. The narratives these confused minds spin seem to attract, and I’m thinking it’s probably because the human mind does enjoy complicated plots. But this is an unpleasant spin -- spurring hate and inciting fear have never won!? Good has always found its way, even in the darkest of earth times. It will, even now.

There are several lessons to learn from the experiences of bad behaviour – there always is. First, we have ourselves to blame. As a civilisation, we seemed to have encouraged hate-filled wars, ghost wars even, and connected it to some kind of triumph -- a trophy always waited in the end. Second: I don’t recall admissions of failure to protect the human race. Oh yes, the Pope did apologise for the crusades, Germany for the extermination of Jews, some American Presidents for the Vietnam war, and maybe even some other wars (too many to recall here) -- I suppose there are some other occasions where apologies are recorded for the benefit of peace and closure. Let them rest in peace, I say. What has changed but?!

As an individual, a lowly one at that, I can’t see the overall good in society at all. Statistics will prove to me that all this ‘hate’ always existed, and one is more aware of it today only because communications / connectivity has allowed us this privilege. Data hardly lies. But truly, that is not how I feel. Intolerance among us all is growing everyday, and communications has a large role to play in all this. 

With every communication device invented we become more self-centred and clued-in to ourselves. The gradual cut-off from the world next to you happens the minute the headset reaches ears. Research has published time and again the perils of not relating to our surroundings, yet every company that manufactures communication devices (although their taglines speak to being connected ‘forever’) hardly match the techniques and methods of real communication. Systematic disengagement is now a habit, and habits do die hard, don’t they. No wonder the de-addiction centres are a thriving business!

Could we not pay attention at least now, after ChristChurch, after London, after Utrecht – take a ‘call’ on how to interact and understand the other side before we jump to hateful conclusions. This is not a ‘castle in the sky’, more a very basic, utility hut on hard ground for ourselves to come to terms with ourselves.

Disclaimer: The cartoon is borrowed from the internet.