A NEW ROBE

Give me a new robe
That I may walk out of this wrapper
Long worn out, stained,
And be worthy of your presence.
But, your eyes, you think
My skin might have earned
A few patches, flesh some ulcers,
Which would defile my new robe ?
You would rather wait
Until I buy some balms from your stores,
Paint the corrupting discolour,
Heal myself,
And then join the queue?
Ah! That of course is quite constitutional,
For you always say you are rule-bound.
I have no complaints.
But you can give me one of
Your old robes, you have used and put away,
For such purposes, your volunteers have
No access. Even if you do so,
It is not the first time you would,
And you shall be doing it to me
For the last time.

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Take A Ride With Him

“What have you learnt in all you life with God?” someone asked me.
“Please do not use the present perfect tense, use present progressive”, I replied.

He looked askance.

Learning is not a rounded up thing, a finished product. It isn’t a cricket ball, tight and solid, held together by the seams. When the seams weaken, the ball is good for nothing. Learning isn’t like that. It is a brook, it starts over the hills, fed by the clouds; runs into planes at various speeds, overcomes breaking bends, yawning chasms, wanton moods, fills itself again and again in intermittent showers, never loses its song until it jumps into the sea. Learning is a ceaseless experiment, an endless experience, a daunting adventure, and a powerful song. Learning continues for ever.

We learnt ‘Twinkle twinkle little star’ in class one. During the early seventies Prof Kasturi wrote a poem and read it out in Bhagwan’s presence for a kavi sammelan during dasara, and it started ‘twinkle twinkle little star’. The twinkling stars had so much twinkle in them that they pursued him seven decades until he composed that ecstatic song for Bhagwan. People like him always keep learning new lessons from old pages, for as their awareness continues to grow, vision continues to expand, the horizon of learning keeps on expanding. The Varnabodha we studied in our pre-primary classes contained a couplet which said, all that we see, hear, do and think, is known to God. Now at sixty plus, I see it validated every day, it still writes lessons for me everyday. Can we ever say ‘have learnt’? I dare not. I whisper to myself ‘am learning every day’.

One of the greatest things that engages our attention when we meet Swami is His gentleness to a fault. He never hurts anyone, never gives up anyone, never insults anyone. That is ahimsa in practice. We know that He knows us inside out, and our insides hardly ever make us proud. Yet He walks up to one, and asks, ‘When did you come, bangaru?’ Then His fingers churn the space, produce a ring, slip it into a particular finger of the receiver, and with a contented smile He moves on. The person who receives the gift is left behind in a daze of joy. Swami has just turned his life upside down! Someone kneels up to tell him the saddest story of his life, the death of a loved one. He stands there, listens to him quietly, pats him gently, and without a word moves on. And what a relief He leaves behind ! He creates a new man not with a bang, but with a gentle smile, a little ‘ash’, and a soft pat. At that moment the person begins learning lessons in gentleness, and I assure you from personal experience, that is going to be the most arduous journey. We slip into our old ways, remember Him, come out of it with a jerk, slip back again after a while, and the journey continues. I can never say, ‘I have learnt gentleness from Him’, for I am still learning.

Another thing that hits us hard is His absolute unselfish love. Millions have come to Him across the globe, and they have been immediately sold out to His love. No one can love so many for so long with such undiminished depth. He had nothing to gain from them, but they had everything to gain from Him. There was no expectation in that love, no motive, not even a desire of publicity in it. In fact when someone, in his first visit to Swami, asked permission to write His life, He told him, ‘What do you know about me that you want to write? …First make your love steady…’ Our loves bind us, imprison us, for they are based on our selfish desires; but His love is the power of freedom. Do you ever realise what it takes to say, ‘love never asks anything for itself, while it gives away everything of itself’ ? He alone could declare, ‘Just as I love myself in you, you learn to love yourself in me’. That starts a learning process which takes us to ‘I end in you, and you in me’. I again assure you my dear readers, there is no more exciting journey than this. This game of ‘I in you, and you in me’ can teach us fresh lessons every hour, every day till eternity. I can never say, ‘I have learnt that love from Him’, for I am still learning.

The third thing that overwhelms us is His complete focus on spiritual truths. Once Swami went to the Primary school at Prasanthinilayam and spoke there to the kids between seven and seventeen. Prof. Kasturi translated His talk to them. After He came back to His room in the Mandir, Kasturi told Him, ‘Swami you spoke to them about Atma and Paramatma. What the kids would understand?’ Swami replied, ‘Kasturi, I can speak only truth, and there is no truth more than Atma and Paramatma’. His every word, every example, every deed points towards God. Once after distributing ice cream to school kids Swami pointed out to them how God is like ice cream! He wants us to learn that God is a greater reality than the world around us. And this is like eating ice cream from an endless cup! That is being tuned to God all the time. We must see the world imbued with God, ‘see not the stone in God, but God in the stone’. Does this ‘seeing’ ever cease? Seeing is becoming. So long becoming continues, seeing does, and learning too. Swami says, ‘Being is lost in becoming’. Becoming brings us closer to Being. To see God in everything we see, is to be God every moment we be. Can you ever say you have learnt seeing Him in all you see? I dare not, for I am still learning.

Being with Swami has been a constant challenge. He is within you, as well as without. To take the without within, and express the within without, that is the challenge. We divide Him in so many ways, like far and near, loving and indifferent, divine and human, and then try to integrate them! It is like the child Birbal who first asked Akbar to cut the sugar cane into pieces, and then asked him to join them to make a single piece! We have to learn to see Him as one undivided wholesome Truth. That is the challenge. As long as the challenge continues, learning continues. Living is synonymous with learning. When learning stops, becoming stops; and when becoming stops, life stops. We are as good as dead. When water stagnates, it rots; when blood stagnates it is death, when learning stagnates, ego takes over, and that is the undoing of whatever you have done over a lifetime. In the Upanishads too life is defined as a constant movement, and the student is urged by the guru to keep learning in the forefront. ‘Keep moving in the forefront, for movement is progress, movement is fulfillment, movement is achievement, movement is learning’.

You still ask me what I have learnt being with Him?

Well, I am excited about riding with Him, and learning lessons every day.

ONLY LOVE

Across my window sill
I noticed a bird in quiet reverie
Nibbling at the young leaves
On old, hard stems –
Biting, breaking, spitting out.
I asked her, aren’t you hungry, dear ?
I am, too much; but I relish
My hunger, more than its appeasement.
My jaws dropped in wonder –
You surprise me little birdie, I said,
How can pain be sweeter
Than its relief ?
The relief kills the pain,
And then, both are ordinary, neither
Have any significance, both forgotten
As if they never were.
Have you ever lost a game
When you were about to win ?
Or, won when about to lose ?
Which perpetuates what ?
True, losing hurt me more,
But for days though I cried,
My yearning for a win
Was a greater reality than my failure.
You understand now, don’t you
Pain has a sweetness better than relief.
My beloved has flown away,
Leaving me to feed on his sweet company;
Though I know he is for ever gone,
For-ever is too short
For what he has left behind.
We sat together here,
Ate these young leaves together,
Looked at each other’s eyes
Till time ceased to be –
Can he take that away ?
Can he erase from the ceased time
His ceaseless presence ?
So my friend, the bird told me,
I would be my hunger,
And my hunger he,
Until there is no me and he,
Only Love.

TWO INDIAS

I was waiting at the window to draw some money from a bank. There were a lot of people in the line, and since I wasn’t in any hurry, I preferred to linger on in the air conditioned lounge until the long queue has spent itself a little more. Presently a middle aged gentleman, immaculately dressed, rather overdressed for an Indian summer, came to the sofa, gave me an aristocratic smile, and bumped into it. I gave him a little more area of operation, returned an unconvincing smile, and secretly eyed him. Expensive denim trousers, a designer sea blue full shirt, sleeves rolled up. Clean shaven chins except a goatee, rimless photo sensitive glasses, a new generation huge wrist watch, and a leather purse, big for a purse, small for a portfolio bag. An image of contentment and pride that new wealth has given Indians to cherish as status symptom.
‘How d’ U do’, he said still looking at the bunch of documents he had in his hands.
I returned ‘how d’ U do’ with the same formality.
Do you belong here? he asked.
Yes, I do.
You see, I used to come here to see Sai Baba at least once a year. So I bought a flat here to stay in some comfort. Now he is gone, so I would like to sell it away. I bought it for ten lakhs, spent another ten to add some more conveniences. I would give it away for around fifteen. Single bed A/C apartment on the fourth floor. Quite comfortable.
Oh, I see. So you are here to seal some property deal.
You can say that. Sai Baba was a genuine holy man. So I used to come to see him. Now there is no need to come here. So before I leave the country and go to California to settle down with my son, I thought I would come and dispose of this property. But you see, Indians have no proper sense of value. They are asking it for no more than eight lakhs!
So you are kicking off to west. I said matter-of-factly.
What is here in India that I drag myself around until I eat dust? You have never gone to the west. Once you go there you will hate India. Look at their roads, their discipline, their science, their literature, look at their liberated society, look at their administration, their economic strength…. Tell me any aspect of their life which you can remotely compare with yours.
Obviously. You are correct. The west can not at all compare with anything genuinely Indian.
So you agree with me.
Can not agree any better.
Then what are you doing here? Come out there, and live a life of comfort and plenty.
I am looking for my genuine India. The India you see around today is a superimposition of the west. The imitation can not be as good as the original. The true, eternal India can not be seen by the eyes that sees comfort and plenty as the only purpose of life.
I noticed that the queue had substantially reduced. I excused myself to join the line.

Then I went to the General Hospital. I had to meet a doctor there. I parked my scooter in the shade and looked around to guess where exactly I could see him. Suddenly I overheard two persons talking. They had both passed their middle age, lower middle class as far as economic status is concerned. One is either from a village in UP or Bihar, the other from the suburbs of Hyderabad, as I gathered from their conversation. They both spoke Hindi. Both came to be here in Prasanthinilayam for Sivaratri. The Bihar person developed some health problem, and stayed on for a check. Probably they were just acquainted with each other. I will reproduce their conversation.
H – Ram Ram bhayya.
B – Ram Ram bhayya.
H – When are you leaving?
B – What to do bhayya, suddenly my old lower abdominal problem recurred. I thought I should see someone here in Sai Baba’s hospital. They suspect all is not well with my kidney. Human body
you know is home to a thousand diseases. But why are you here?
H – I have got my wife for a check. She got chest pain again. I left her with the doctor and came out.
B – Sairam will look after her. In our village people said Sairam is gone. I told them, where will He go? He is always present everywhere.
H – Yes bhayya, Ram to shaswat hai (Ram is eternal), Ram is inside you, inside me, and outside also.
B – Therefore bhayya, my pain recurred here. If I had it in my village where would I go? Sairam gave me the pain here so that I can see a doctor here. How kind is our Sairam.
H – My wife wanted to come here for Sivaratri. I told her she had chest pain, if something happens ? You know what she said? She said, ‘If I die taking God’s name, I will get moksha. Is there anything better than that?’
B – Yes brother, what can be better than that? Inside, He creates a disease; outside, He takes us to a Doctor! Look at His leela.
H – Happiness Ram gives, pain Ram gives, then He alone saves you from pain. Why does He do all that bhayya?
B – Arre bhayya, happiness He gives, because He wants us to be happy. Then pain also He gives so that we do not forget Him. But when we cry, His heart melts, and He saves.

Ah, what excellent homegrown solution! I was enthralled. A suburban dweller saying God is eternal! And he isn’t quoting anybody; his conviction was apparent in his eyes and his voice. A nearly unlettered woman assures her husband she would get liberation if she has God’s name on her lips at the last moment, and tells him that it is the best thing to happen to a person. A villager knows pain and suffering are both God’s gifts for our own good. His God is both human, for you must ask his help if you need it, and divine, for He knows all, loves all, can do all. None of them have any ‘stress’ either with a ‘heart problem’ or with long standing ‘abdominal problem’, while even our 3rd class kids suffer from ‘exam stress’ in our big cities. Both of them are reconciled to pain, suffering, and death, and need no psychiatrist for ‘management of reality’. This is my true India.

H – But then why so many people suffer so long, almost all life?
B – My old mother used to tell me, ‘Son, if you have any problem, first tell Ram, then if you want, others’. But now we never tell Ram, we go to a doctor first, and if the doctor can not do anything, we scold Ram! We first go to adalat (law court) to settle a quarrel, never go to Ram!
H – That is true brother. When my younger brother quarrelled with me to partition our old house, my wife went to our puja room, and prayed to Sairam to solve it. Whole night she sat there praying. Next morning my brother came to her, fell at her feet and begged to forgive him! Look what Ram can do! If I had gone to court!
B – It takes more than two days to come here from our village. We got food for one full day. Next day lunch time the train stood in the platform for a very short time. I could not get down to buy food. What to do ? Just before the train began moving away a young man came to us and gave us two packets of puri, and said, ‘Uncle I went to get some food for myself. I noticed you did not have any food, and you were not going down. So I got for you too’. You see, he did not take any money for that! We thanked Ram, and then thanked him. He was in our compartment, and we became very good friends. Who asked him to get food packets for us? Sairam only. In his heart.
H – All Ram’s work brother. He is in everyone’s heart; so if you love Him, everyone will love you.

I was stunned at the utter simplicity of God-man relationship. If you love God, everyone will love you. The whole society, which has no borders, is a single family. You do not need in India a Jesus, whom you can crucify for telling inconvenient truths, to ask you to love your neighbour. An unknown young man gets down the train, and buys food for you without your asking, and even refuses to accept money for it. In the school of life in India love, affection, unselfishness, mutuality, neighbourliness are an integral part of a beautiful canvas where man and God move hand in hand. Here philosophies are lived unconsciously, not left to debate halls of universities.

At this time I saw the doctor coming out. So I went to see him.

That was another India, my eternal, genuine India. This India does not live in metros, in high rise blocks, in university halls, in state of the art labs, corporate offices, or power corridors of politics. That India, my own India, lives in my heart, in my noble convictions, my beliefs, my understanding, my love for God, and my love for my fellowmen; the India where sages walk unknown, Avatars come to mingle with men, people celebrate a birth and a death with equal élan, and where even unlettered people live philosophies perfected over millennia. We have successfully driven this India out of our minds, and the consequences have been fear, violence, loneliness, disease and insecurity. Bhagwan came to revitalise this India. The other India which the gentleman in the bank was running away from is a garbage heap of undigested imported stuff, alien to the India that the villager from Bihar, and the gentleman from Hyderabad suburb live, the never-dying real Bharat which was so dear to Bhagwan. May we deserve to live in this punyabhumi bharat.


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are you listening

It was some important day in the college calendar. Some guest speaker had been invited to address the faculty and the students in the auditorium. I had joined the faculty the year before, and was already drawing attention as a dashing teacher. I was 27, full of assumptions about myself, quick with a comment for everything, and expected people to pay attention to what I said.

I listened to the talk for first five minutes. At the end of the seventh I was looking around to discover if anyone else was listening. By the tenth I had looked at my watch three times, and yawned once. In twenty minutes I was thoroughly bored, and was telling myself, it was awful to sit through such an insipid talk. I wanted to exchange some my favourite quips with my neighbour. But he was sold out to the speaker, as if it was the greatest day in his life. I was disgusted. I tried to catch a word or a phrase from the talk only to convince myself that this should be the last talk in his life.

The one hour talk took ages to end, and before thanks were fully said I jumped to my feet with a loud sigh of relief. My neighbour looked at me with a smile, and said, “The talk was wonderful, wasn’t it?” I retorted, “It almost killed me with appreciation”.

We had a small black scroll hanging in our staff room. We had made a habit of writing everyday on it some quote from some famous person. Usually the first thing I do on entering the staff room everyday is to go the scroll, read the quote, and make a comment. The next day I found scribbled on it, “Don’t say yes, or no to anything; yes attaches you, no repulses you. They don’t lead you to truth. Take from both whatever promotes your search for truth”. The source was mentioned as ‘Be a Man, My Son’.

I was confused. I knew a famous poem of Rudyard Kipling that ends with those words. But the quotation was not from the poem! The words, though, caught my imagination. Next day I found another quotation scribbled on the scroll from the same source: “Growing up is automatic, but maturing is a matter of choice”. I could take it no more. I found out that the colleague who was my neighbour during the talk had done this. I saw him a little later in the day, and asked him about the ghostly source. He simply said, that was the topic of the talk which the other day bored me to death. He was quoting from the talk. He waited for my unfailing habit of making a comment. When it was not forthcoming, he said, “Listening is half the wisdom”.

It was a great eye-opener for my arrogant youth. I was bored because I was not listening.

We get bored when we refuse to listen to sounds that abound around us. Life speaks to us through many voices. The tweeting little bird on a tree across our window sill, the whish-whish of the passing breeze, the pattering raindrops on the cloudy asphalt, the humming of someone in the bathroom under shower, a haunting Lata or Jagajit ringing the mobile, rolling voices of kids playing next door- a million anonymous sounds help us to mature into noticing the composition of life around us. We can’t hear them because we hear only what we choose, and the poverty of what we choose easily bores us. Someone inside us wants to hear all the voices of life endless, and explore the infinite ways our living can be enriched, while we bore ourselves to death in our utter poverty. We are afraid to explore, afraid of fresh frontiers, scared of the sights and sounds our ‘programming’ can not handle. We have lost our freedom before seeking it. And naturally, in bondage to ourselves, we break.

Boredom is a sign of our slavery to our programming, our surrender to inputs filtered through a rigid mind. When we fail to see beyond what we see, hear more than what we hear we are bored. Pundits of economics tell us that ‘insatiable desires’ of man are a key to economic growth. Moral philosophers tell us that these desires are responsible for all our sorrows. Vedantists are of the view that man’s craving for unlimited happiness is a pointer towards his own limitless Self. Life is a metaphor for non-linear growth. When we stifle it, life rebels with boredom.

In my teens I loved to chant the Mugle Azam thriller ‘pyar kiya to darna kya’. Later when I heard the Subhalakshmi classic ‘mere to giridhar gopal’, I cried. One day when I came home after a couple of days from a tour, my 4 year daughter came running, jumped on me and said just one word, ‘papa’, I again cried, and suddenly understood the two songs as I never did till then. I travelled between my teens, and my thirties, and the whole stretch of time lighted up with a new wisdom. The mundane and the sublime lost their borders.

Over the years since I woke up to the need of listening, I have learnt that life is a beautiful gift provided we don’t ration out its abilities.