I KNOW NOW

“You never understand me.” “Why now?” “Do I have to go with you?” ”What’s wrong with this?”

Does this sound familiar to any of you? These are the rhetorical outbursts I get as reactions from my teenage daughter. Bringing her up has been a great joy, and very honestly, very enlightening. I know exactly what music rocks, what cuts look cool, which guys are ‘yuk’ and which are “ooh”. I know also that skirt lengths are a matter of choice, and not an imposition, and that answering parents is not the same as answering back.

But I also know that this generation has had it tough – they have missed out on cycling to school, grazing knees climbing trees, lying on the grass doing nothing, failing a subject without much ado being made of it, and spending summer holidays oblivious of all responsibilities. And I know that child is the father of man.

May it always be so.

This is a thank you to all our children without whom we would have aged and seen the world only through the eyes of the old, before ever getting a look at the young. (Billy Joel: Innocent man)

TAKE ME TO PARIS......

As I stood outside the Charles de Gaulle Etoille station, with the Arc de’ Triomphe behind me and the Champs Eleyees stretching gloriously ahead, I was finding it hard to resist the temptation to forget time. I had first stood here years ago, an awkward teenager trying to make too much sense out of everything. Today I was 43 and I didn’t like anything with too much sense.

Looking back I wondered how much better I could have done, given who I was and where I came from. I had lived a fair part of my life by trial and error – by instinct. In my strange overcrowded existence I had all along been sustained by a body of reactive mechanisms that had taken me across continents in a search. I had lived several lives, each one breathing meaning into the other : A mother of an awkwardly tall, beautiful and vociferous daughter, a wife to someone whose placidity invariably settled the dust around me, a first generation teacher and a nature enthusiast.

My life had drenched me, fascinated me, scared and confused me, helped me to define and enrich my existence in endless pleasurable ways. But each moment had ripped me from my childhood moorings and shoved me onto the open sea. I had come a long way.

The sky was a brilliant azure – spreading endlessly over my head. I began to walk down the cobbled kerb; the bright magnolias blinding me and the warm Parisian sun warming
my back. The cafes were teeming with people – old, young, cocky, stylishly attired- sipping coffee and biting into the lavish croissants.

There was something about this city that got into me. It clung to my clothes and hair, got into my breath and lingered on. It was reminiscent of my mother. My mother! As I looked at my reflection in the meticulous show window she came back to me in a flash. I stared at her, savored her for a moment and walked on.

The street had become a sea of people and I was kind of carried away. Avenue George V was a step away. I walked past the grandeur and let myself go. I had seven days in the city and I was already planning the fun.

The ALCHEMIST

I have discovered some of the most exciting revelations in books and have, over the years, grown to like some types of books more than others. I am very fond of biographies and topical books, including the post-modern genre of books by ‘spiritual’ teachers. I would like to share, through this piece of writing, my reflections on the book The Alchemist. I have always read not only for the pleasure of the pursuit but also for the whole experience, which includes the effort, the gain and the discovery. As such I value Paulo Coelho as a new and gratifying reading experience.

Coelho appeals to me probably because I am a Romanist at heart. I believe, whatever we are today, or whatever we may become in future, is because of our dreams.
The Alchemist means a great deal to me because it has taught me two things – the courage to dream and the value of exploration. I believe that I started understanding my own mode of thinking once I went through the book in an in-depth manner. I got to know the importance of constant self-evaluation – that is, whenever we realize that we are falling short of our expectations, the realization actually acts as a catalyst to push us to the next level in our lives.
The Alchemist presents a simple fable; when I say simple I mean it. Honestly speaking I had expected something more convoluted and abstruse going by the title. But the simple fable is by no means uninteresting, leave alone staid. The story is based on simple truths presented in plausibly unique situations. In the genre of all best –sellers of all ages, the Alchemist, uses the most appealing formula; simple story, plausible people, fantastic places and most importantly, a lesson that is rock solid by virtue of its commonsense. In his journey, the central character of the book Santiago sees the greatness of the world and aspires for its treasures. He chances upon many people, including an alchemist, each one of whom enlightens Santiago that the treasure is the journey itself, the discoveries he has made, and the wisdom he has acquired in the process; Succinctly put, the "treasure lies where your heart belongs.” The outcome of this symbolic masterpiece is that we find ourselves compelled not avoid our destinies and inspired to follow our dreams.
Perhaps the relevance of any book is to a large extent determined by what it gives the reader – this could be in any terms – in terms of an intellectual experience, a laugh, a revelation, a lesson or sheer entertainment. Candidly speaking, The Alchemist gave me some of all this and will long remain a favorite.

WASTELAND

I have always revealed an uncanny propensity for verse. I choose to think of it as “uncanny” because no one in my family, as far back as I can trace, showed such a preference. One poem that I have read and had to re-read often to assimilate and appreciate is T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland. Every interface with the work is a surprise ------ allusions, references, symbols unfold a profound picture of a human plight that was and is.

The greatest appeal of the poem lies in its topicality. When Eliot wrote the poem he wrote of a “wasteland” as it was then (1900s), but what he wrote is true of even today. Recent years have been characterized by profound changes – financial upheavals, political shifts, personal tragedies and massive losses of life to disease and violence. ‘’April” now, more than ever before, is the “cruelest month” and man, as never before, well epitomizes “fear in a handful of dust.” With every reading of this prophetic masterpiece, readers like me toast the creator.

T.S. Eliot creates no utopia. On the contrary he shatters one. By analyzing the state of “our” lives he draws the bleakest of pictures in which there are only two outcomes – death, or worse than that, living death. Through the five “sections” of the poem Eliot moves on sketching with precision the disintegration of man and his value systems and building the grime to a crescendo by drawing on vivid imagery and reference to different symbols (“Hyacinth”, “Madame Sosostris”) and by resorting to very unconventional interpretations of myth, religion and tradition.

The refrain of the poem is the ‘death’ of a culture. The several speakers, all of them lost souls and each engaged in a soliloquy, unaware of one another, symbolically convey a decaying social body, too disjointed and fractured to convey and effect the strength of a meaningful entity. The poet, however, identifies the different plights and emerges as the central figure. At the end he speaks audaciously of his own inability to love and becomes a metaphor for the sickness of the world.

The most dramatic and appealing aspect of the poem is the element of hope T.S. Eliot ends on. Very realistically, spirituality is offered as the only succor, the only panacea for redemption.All else, retaliation, revenge, anger, despair and helplessness are futile solutions. The answer is spirituality – be it in the form of a God, a faith or just inner goodness.

The Wasteland ends with a prayer for rain and for the ability to love.


Shantih. Shantih. Shantih !!!!!!

How practical is even the best Theory?

As an Indian I have been imbued with the teachings of the Gita from a young age. In fact, every Indian has experienced the teachings of the Gita and is as such familiar with its central idea even without reading it. I chose however to let my interface with the book be a more ‘active’ one and picked up my own copy of the book while in college. The book, and the genre to which it belongs, never intended that the book be finished uninterrupted; in fact, the Bhagvad Gita, like all holy books, is best read piecemeal. I read it in generous instalments not because it didn’t grip me but because it “said” more than I would digest. I was often overwhelmed by the proverbial verses which were no less challenging than a riddle and was forced to stop and take stock of how far I had reached. The result was a completely different reading experience. I would sometimes read less and contemplate more and end up in a strangely introspective and philosophical mood. But then that is the power of the book; it has a strange propensity to force you to look within, to look around and to understand people, situations and the world in a different perspective. While reading the book you want to heed Krishna’s counsel, each word of it, and to thus entitle yourself to that peace and godliness Krishna vouches for.
The Gita’s appeal to achieve salvation by freeing oneself from material want is perhaps the fountainhead of inspiration for this strain of thought. All that we have, or want to have, is finally to be lost so it is not to be coveted beyond what it can give us temporarily. Nothing is ours and we are nothing no matter how magnificent and grand our material existence may be. The idea is that simplicity in our wants and life styles can bring beauty and intensity to life. Different thinkers at different phases of human progress have expressed the same philosophy in different terms. So be it. Whether we call it simplicity (Gita) or minimalism (Thoreau) or anti-clutter (Fromm), the truth is that every time mankind has been salvaged from a morass of his own making, the modus operandi has been the surrender of material obsession and the movement towards godliness through our pursuits.
The sad part however is that once you come out of the influence of the book or better put, once you are back in the midst of the real world, the teachings seem impractical, abstruse and virtually difficult to realize. Who of us has actually been able to put the teachings of the Gita to practice?

Few..............And those who have are truly fortunate and blessed.