Don't Cry When I Die

The discussion was spontaneous. Moot question was the title of the book 'who will cry when you die' by Robin Sharma. From human affection, like, friendship and love to dislike, anger and hatred came up as the platforms from which the quantum of tears people will shed when dies. One has to be a good human being, friend, lover, father and son in order to deserve the tears of parting was the summation. And then, a friend who normally participated enough to encourage the discussion smiled.

"If you have all finished, then I have a question to ask", he said. The forum looked up.

"I would like to cite a shloka (spiritual poetry in Sanskrit) by Adi Shankara, the founder of the school of Advaita", he said and went on to recite Nirvana Shataka:

Mano buddhi ahankara chittani naaham

na cha shrotravjihve na cha ghraana netre

na cha vyoma bhumir na tejo na vaayuhu

chidananda rupah shivo’ham shivo’ham

I am not the mind, the intellect, the ego or the memory,

I am not the ears, the skin, the nose or the eyes,

I am not space, not earth, not fire, water or wind,

I am the form of consciousness and bliss,

I am the eternal Shiva…

Na cha prana sangyo na vai pancha vayuhu

na va sapta dhatur na va pancha koshah

na vak pani-padam na chopastha payu

chidananda rupah shivo’ham shivo’ham

I am not the breath, nor the five elements,

I am not matter, nor the 5 sheaths of consciousness

Nor am I the speech, the hands, or the feet,

I am the form of consciousness and bliss,

I am the eternal Shiva…

Na me dvesha ragau na me lobha mohau

na me vai mado naiva matsarya bhavaha

na dharmo na chartho na kamo na mokshaha

chidananda rupah shivo’ham shivo’ham

There is no like or dislike in me, no greed or delusion,

I know not pride or jealousy,

I have no duty, no desire for wealth, lust or liberation,

I am the form of consciousness and bliss,

I am the eternal Shiva…

Na punyam na papam na saukhyam na duhkham

na mantro na tirtham na veda na yajnah

aham bhojanam naiva bhojyam na bhokta

chidananda rupah shivo’ham shivo’ham

No virtue or vice, no pleasure or pain,

I need no mantras, no pilgrimage, no scriptures or rituals,

I am not the experienced, nor the experience itself,

I am the form of consciousness and bliss,

I am the eternal Shiva…

Na me mrtyu shanka na mejati bhedaha

pita naiva me naiva mataa na janmaha

na bandhur na mitram gurur naiva shishyaha

chidananda rupah shivo’ham shivo’ham

I have no fear of death, no caste or creed,

I have no father, no mother, for I was never born,

I am not a relative, nor a friend, nor a teacher nor a student,

I am the form of consciousness and bliss,

I am the eternal Shiva…

Aham nirvikalpo nirakara rupo

vibhut vatcha sarvatra sarvendriyanam

na cha sangatham naiva muktir na meyaha

chidananda rupah shivo’ham shivo’ham

I am devoid of duality, my form is formlessness,

I exist everywhere, pervading all senses,

I am neither attached, neither free nor captive,

I am the form of consciousness and bliss,

I am the eternal Shiva…

"Friends, if I am eternal and Shiva, when I pass away I actually shed only this physical human form. Why should anyone cry and shed tears at all?, he said. There was complete silence for sometime in the forum.

There is actually no death. It is only a change of form. Like Krishna says, that which is inside cannot be destroyed. It is beyond weapons, wounds and therefore death. Al Hallaj, the great Sufi saint said 'Ana al-haqq' (I am that); Hinduism teaches 'Tatvam Asi' (I am that); Swami Vivekananda proclaimed that man is potentially divine. Human affections and hatreds are but on the superficial body and emotional response created by our sensations. Like Rumi says, "when you lower me into the grave, I rise to eternal life".

When Nelson Mandela's cortege was set to commence, South African people were dancing and singing. A curious reporter asked them why they were so joyous on such a solemn occasion. The reply was beautiful:

"We believe when a person dies, he becomes an angel and guards over us. It is therefore a moment for rejoicing, not repenting".

Don't cry when I die. 

I am a relic of the paleolithic age...

Yesterday one of my friends shared what a famous Pathologist said about living life, with near dear ones today rather than burning out today in the hope that tomorrow we will have everything to 'enjoy' with our family if we fire our engines full time today. I was obviously thinking of the endless weekends, not just the week days, that I sweat and fret about my profession just to secure my tomorrow. And then, as usual in the evening I went out for a walk. Lost in my own thoughts, I didn't initially register that I was standing below a garden restaurant, waiting for the pedestrian signal to turn on. Casually looking up, I could see a handsome young pair, obviously on a date, with a cold coffee and two straws begging to be sipped, placed between them. It was just that they didn't heed to the call of the coffee. Both were busy scrolling and tapping into their respective mobiles so much so that I was tempted to reach out to the coffee to console it. In the two-and-half minutes that I kept waiting for the traffic to halt, not a hand was held, not a sip taken, there were no giggles and loving teases that normally go okay in date. It appeared that they were there just to date their mobiles.

The Gen-X or Y or whatever they like to be branded today is obviously different. Being more intelligent than their parents, more tech savvy and up market, perhaps they know better. In our times, dating was taboo and if one did manage to ask a girl out for coffee, the entire time was indulged in paying so much of attention on each other that the world ceased to exist. There were always occasions to hold hands, cast unabashed looks, and chocolates or coffee to be shared. For the more romantic, there were roses to be sent the next day which served more as an invite for a date again than saying 'Thank You for yesterday'.

I seem to forget that all these pokes, nudges, kisses and roses can be sent by mobile anytime. Yeah, now I get it!! Those two youngsters must have been holding hands, saying sweet little nothings, sharing coffee and sending roses to each other on social media!!! Oh my God, how romantic!!!!

I must accept that I am growing old, not just in age but pretty much in technology. Actually I belong to the age of dinosaurs....holding hands, sharing coffee, sending roses, eh? How backward can I get more?   

Eternally Rumi

You and I

A moment of happiness,
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden's beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land. 

- Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

Sincerely yours...

A bustling city like Bengaluru is perhaps the place you look at high rise malls, endless traffic, and people scurrying to work or home like ants and presume that here people have time for not even themselves. In any case, you do not expect anyone to have time for any lesser creature than humans. At least that is what I thought till the time I came out of an ATM on the perennially busy MG road. There was a stair case leading down from the metro station above right in front. An adult rhesus monkey was coming down the flight of stairs, oblivious to the thick traffic blaring away their horns and hooters. It appeared as though he owned that place and it is at his will that maddening world went around him. Curious to see what he is going to do next, I stood there watching. He reached the last but one step and squatted himself comfortably, neither looking at the traffic nor at people hurrying around. His gaze was fixed at something ahead. I followed his gaze and found one elderly women on the footpath selling variety of things, including nick-knacks. Then I saw this man approaching her wearing a well-worn working dress with grime and grease all over. He gave some coins to the women in exchange of what looked like a small packet of biscuits. He patients opened the packet, pulled out one and patiently walked over to where the monkey was seated. He stretched the biscuit towards the monkey, who in turn stretched out one hand and took it from him. Then the monkey went about munching the biscuit as though he had all the time in the world. The man waited attentively and proceeded to feed that fellow with two more. The final stock of two biscuits were then handed over to the monkey in one go. Clutching both in its lips, the monkey turned around, climbed the flight of stairs and perched himself comfortably on the railing of the landing. There he went about finishing those two biscuits with same unhurried indulgence. By now the monkey curiosity in me was at its peak and I slowly walked upto where the man was standing next to the women seller. In colloquial Tamil, the woman said to him, “Poor thing. We can only give him some biscuits. Don’t know what he will do for water?” The man nodded sadly, tut-tutting her as though he regretted not having arranged for a bowl of water to go with biscuits.

In the din of my thoughts that followed, I didn’t register the maddening honks of traffic. Here I was thinking of the grand mansion that I will make for my family to live forever, of the great properties and monies that I will bequeath to my progeny and the grand pomp and grandeur with which I will glorify myself as I walk towards my sunset years…and, this man who perhaps is not earning enough to eat three square meals a day tut-tutting his regret for not having brought a bowl of water for a stray monkey. There is a lot of commotion inside me right now. When it settles down, perhaps I shall share some more thoughts. Till then….        

Being Quiet

Is being quiet a sign of self-control? Does it signify that we are the masters of our environment and that we are unfazed in adversity for we know what to do?

These are interesting questions, but not certainly the first time someone has asked them. Psychologists would give voluminous explanations and psychiatrists perhaps would schedule sessions to help us discover the answer. I think even religionists would like to be in the pantheon of experts. They may tell us that a mind that dwells in God fears nothing, for it is His will that guides us and destiny therefore is not to be scared of, but prayed for. I am neither a psyche nor a shrink or for that matter consider myself religious enough. Though being neither does not seem to inhibit me from having an opinion.

Life is a lesson that we continue to learn, whether we are conscious about doing so or pretty well unconscious. From childhood we gather impressions, by impulses and by indoctrination. Five physical senses give the impulse and we act or react; environment comprising of parents, neighborhood, school, friends and the society at large indoctrinates us with a sense of right-wrong, do-don’t, and know-ignores. Some people learn about most of everything. Some master some, and average at others. Some ignore most and best at few. Some others die without making much effort at anything. That is the permutations and combinations, but the opportunities to learn neither multiply nor diminish. They remain constant, while we individually make it in some combination. Depending on which strata we achieve we manage to handle things well pertaining to the strata that we have made it to. When we faced with a situation that we have managed not yet to deal with, we have a choice: we can set about learning to handle or we can be ‘quiet’. Quiet in this sense does not mean being comfortable with the situation. It simply means that we do not see the opportunity to unravel something more about life and therefore choose to remain quiet.

People who manage to learn about most are also quiet sometimes. They are quiet not out of the inability to sense an opportunity. But the ability to sense that something they not yet know is in front and they need to collect the wisdom of their cumulative learning and energies to go about discovering their new lessons. They are about to become Columbus of the unknown – the dimensions in their own self that they have not as yet discovered.

Being quiet of the second kind is the choice of those who seek life. For in the words of Khalil Gibran:

Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.

But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.

You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.

You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.

And it is well you should.

The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;

And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.

But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;

And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.

For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."

Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."

For the soul walks upon all paths.

The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.

The soul unfolds itself like a lotus of countless petals.

Where do they lie the ruling heart...

This poem comes from my son, Deepak:

Wer do thy lie the ruling heart!
To the wanted love it must see,
Or to the wanted dreams it longs to be
Courage it has shown in the darkest of life,
Fighting and swaying yet marching to thy end of land,
Touching those who havnt been touched,
Taking those who have been along,

Wer do thy lie the ruling heart!
To see the unseen yet unsee the seen ,
Taking roads which havnt been
Making trails for the ones behind,
For it is them who can stay wen the sun is gone

Wer do thy lie the ruling heart!
Loving those who havnt been loved,
Yet caring for those who havnt been cared,
With a dream it marches on
Only for those who dream so long.

When the rose is gone...

When The Rose Is Gone

When the rose is gone and the garden faded
you will no longer hear the nightingale's song.
The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil. 
The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing.
If love withholds its strengthening care,
the lover is left like a bird without care,
the lover is left like a bird without wings.
How will I be awake and aware
if the light of the Beloved is absent?
Love wills that this Word be brought forth

- Rumi