All in a day’s work

February is a rather peculiar month where I live. You are beginning to see a sly hello from Spring when Winter is not quite ready to say goodbye. “Hey, may I enter the main hall ? I am the next speaker. “ 

“ Um, we are happy you are here, M’am. Let us show you to the nice lounge we have where you can be comfortable until we call you. Would that be ok? The previous speaker is still not done with her talk.”

“ What’s the point of coming on time? The organizers seem to not enforce on the speakers their time limit.”

“We are really sorry M’am that you have to wait. Would you like some water ? We also have a sauna in the lounge.” 

Yes, there’s water in the lounge pouring from the clouds and when it takes a break, the lounge turns into a cozy sauna. The clouds make a taut canopy for some time, dimming the lights in the room and then without notice a panel in the ceiling opens up letting in rays of warm sunshine. Suddenly the room in brightly illuminated. The smallest furnishings of the room grabs your attention. Until then you didn’t know how carefully the room was decorated. 

Light and shade, rain and sunshine, cold and warmth are playing this delightful hide and seek in February. The trees everywhere, and especially in the surrounding farming area are partially in their “sticks only” attire that they had donned for winter, and partially appear to be trying on new clothing for the next season. A few leaves unfolding here and there, a few buds sneaking elsewhere and some of them even showing off flowers. The bare ground also trying on some green makeup here and there. 

The internal milieu seemed to be in a copycat mood today. Woke up in a rather gloomy state of mind that fortunately had not occurred in a long long time. Just the quiet worry about “why this doomsday feeling now” overshadowed the mind as I attended the usual morning routines. A short session of Pilates before grating fresh organic ginger for a nice hot cup of masala tea. A chocolate almond croissant that was picked up fresh from a favorite bakery in San Francisco last Sunday didn’t seem too happy to be ignored for four-five days but I tried to make it feel pampered anyway. While the tea and the croissant introduced themselves to each other and connected happily, I settled down to scroll through social media on the phone. A post about Vivian Liberto grabbed my attention. I had never heard that name before. But I had heard the name of her husband. Johnny Cash! I didn’t know much about either of them until I read their story today. Something about that story made my early life flash right in front of my eyes. The total magnitude and intensity of the incident that occurred so long ago suddenly became freshly apparent to me, this time not as a victim but rather as an observer. As a witness who had seen it firsthand when it happened. I realized in that moment the unfathomable amount of heat that had emanated from the passion and anger surrounding the situation, which was compounded by the feeling of utter helplessness, sadness and shock. The world had turned upside down within matter of days. The disruptive energy at the time could have spiraled out of control in any direction as it was obviously hard to contain. It seems like a miracle that it didn’t blow up into a volcano. 

As I write this I am reminded of the story from the Mahabharat where at the end of the war at Kurukshetra, Krishna ordered Arjun to get off and move away from their shared chariot as fast as possible before Krishna himself abandoned it. No sooner had they both been off, the chariot exploded and was consumed by flames. Much to Arjun’s unawareness, the chariot had effectively sustained all impacts from powerful weapons during the entire war simply because Krishna stood on that chariot protecting it from destruction. Once the war ended Krishna pulled Arjun to safety before letting the chariot collapse. 

In the aftermath of the fire that engulfed my life, instead of me burning down, the trajectory took a surprising turn, unbeknownst to me. The old phrase, ‘it takes a village’, proves itself in this case. My parents and my close friends formed a protective circle around me. I’m sure they had sleepless nights for a long time wondering if I would ever recover from the trauma. On the inside, literally on my chariot, Krishna began to navigate the vehicle. I was initiated into karma yoga. All the fire that burned inside me was applied, without my understanding, towards immediate tasks at hand. It took almost four decades for that fire to die down! And it did so without burning down the house. In the process of living life it mysteriously got diverted towards spiritual causes. 

The war is not over. But the danger of the fire is much reduced. There is just enough insight now about not playing with fire and exercising caution with desires and passions. 

Within moments, Vivian Liberto’s story had given me a flashback and rearview mirror glimpse of what really happened in my life during and after a traumatic event. My eyes were tearing with gratitude for the people in my life and for Krishna. 

A few moments later I was in the kitchen again clearing some clutter on the counter. Some copper and brass containers were crowding the counter. I had picked them up in Pune just before coming back. I decided to give them their own place for storage. As I put one set into a glass cabinet I couldn’t help giving it a glance of admiration, just like I used to when the home was newly built and all precious china and collectibles were carefully arranged into customized display cabinets. I smiled at myself for this look of pride and satisfaction towards the kitchen. Although the natural tendency to admire the kitchen remains, much has changed inside. The fixation is not as intense as before. And in many ways it cannot be called a fixation anymore. I realized that the intervening years have brought about much greater changes than the greys on the scalp and crow’s feet on the face. The perception from within has widened more than I can describe in words. 

Having put away the new glittering objects of the kitchen in a better place, I relaxed again with the phone. This time there was a video shared by a friend from Mumbai. Video was made to commemorate Marathi Language Day by recognizing prominent people who contributed to highlighting Marathi literature through music. This friend had come from Mumbai to Pune in December, wanted to see me and gifted me a beautiful purse and a pair of bracelets when we met. When I was back in Bakersfield emptying my bags I found these goodies and those from other friends and wanted to send them my thoughts. Then life got busy and I hadn’t sent those messages yet. Now seeing her message I seized the opportunity and sent her a message acknowledging her kindness. Then I sent similar message of appreciation to another friend who had gifted me a lovely silk scarf. That friend happened to be online at the moment and immediately called me. By then Abhay had finished chopping green beans for me. I happily chatted with this delightful Parsi friend who is almost 15 years senior to me, turning the speaker on as I began to cook the beans for lunch. 

When the call was over I couldn’t help silently be grateful for such lovely friendships from all over the globe that have enriched my life. Friendships that are unconditional, meaningful and charming. 

Just as the beans were cooked, I washed and set dal into the pressure cooker and began the prep for the recipe that my maternal grandmother used to make. Every cousin knows it was my favorite and that aaji used to make it for me, so now the family refers to that dal by my name. I have started to see this dal as my way of keeping the memory of my grandmother alive in my heart. As the dal was getting ready mom asked if she could cook rice to go with it. She had in mind the native rice I had picked on my trip to Goa in December. Soon our lunch was ready.

The piping hot small grain rice with a faint pink tinge, fresh out of the rice cooker, a light sprinkle of salt and a fair amount of homemade ghee over it, along with a bowl of the dal and a few spoonfuls of the curried sautéed bean on the side. It was a deceptively simple lunch. I put the first spoonful of the rice into my mouth and instantly felt a sense of happiness. It was sheer pleasure. A taste that was guardedly anticipated and the spontaneous joy that came when all doubts were suddenly lifted and the expectations were more than delivered. It was a heavenly experience. One that awakened all senses at once. And then came reflex caution. I was in a danger zone. The taste buds were provoked, the brain centers were triggered and a memory created for an item that brought immense gratification. This rice is going to be stored in memory in the list of “likes”. Suddenly I realized the value of things that are perceived as unlikable. I laughed again at the paradox of things. The unattractive things become wanted or preferable only when the dangers of attractive things are understood. Indeed a spiritually inclined person’s perspective is going to be ridiculed or not understood by anyone who sees the world from a normal perspective. I don’t blame them. I am probably a crazy person for someone who reads my mind.

 But that’s my reality. It has taken a long travel for me to reach home to myself. To weed out “objects” from my head and prune down tendencies that don’t allow to stay “home”. I just can’t afford to lose my way again. 

Lunch was done. It was enjoyable but over and above the pleasure, it had taught me to take any enjoyment with a grain of salt and give more credit to the things that don’t draw my senses to indulge. 

Abhay was calling the insurance company about some changes we needed to make and I needed to pull out my wallet for the card for this communication. After the call when I went to put the wallet back into the handbag something fell out of the bag. It was a small drawstring purse that contained a small jap mala( rosary) that I carry. My spiritual practice has never relied too much on regular japa( chanting the holy name or mantra). I still carry the beads with me with the thought that “ if I feel like or find time, I will use it”. That almost never happens. I think a lot about the Holy Spirit or whatever one may call it. Krishna. Brahman. God. In my spare time that’s what I do. It’s my favorite pastime. But I don’t force myself to repeat HIS name with a japa mala. It doesn’t work for me. But a strange thing happened today when the bag containing the mala fell out of the handbag.

A thought came: Should I do some chanting? 

Nah, I probably would gain more from some reading! 

And in that instant came a spontaneous realization that the Name( of God) is like a condensed version of everything there is worth learning, all put into a capsule! 

That instantly negated the previous thought that reading would have been more productive. 

I had never seen it that way before. 

To make the long story short, from waking up feeling bummed out to arriving at a highly precious realization that will last with me, the mind had been through a kaleidoscope of experiences within a single day. A very ordinary day in the life of an even more ordinary person. The experience it had delivered was far from ordinary.