11^th March 2017

I am doing well.  All the current medical parameters in the radar- Creatinine, haemoglobin, stiffness in my limbs, Ejection Factor of my heart, Liver parameters, remain status quo.  There are huge improvements in energy levels.  Thankfully sleep, eating etc.. are sound.  My weight has crept up to 60Kgs – quite a distance from my measly 51Kgs.  Sporting a delicate paunch.  Legs and shoulders are ahead of the curve.  Hands and shoulders still look like they need some buffing.

I feel the nature of these noodles are changing slightly.  There is, thankfully, a lot less to write about my health, and more about just “stuff” – often inquiries and observations of life.  I feel reasonable about continuing this noodles as this is still a post “pulled” and read by a few and is not a “push” to many.  I claim no credit for any of these inquiries or observations – they are often inspired by incredible music, poets, thinkers, monks, books, movies, theatre and so on.

This is a longer than usual post. Just completed a month celebrating life; in contrast to recent hermetic 5 years.  It started with a trip to the Kerala backwaters celebrating our 26 years together.  Followed by a trip to Kochi Biennale,– an extra ordinary celebration of contemporary art.  And then, Varanasi, Bodh Gaya and Patna.  I have taken the liberty of layering the post, allowing for more pick and choose.

Musings

Every time I mention that there was no fight, no fight, no heroism, no goals during my illness,  just acceptance; it is usually dismissed and I am eulogized as a superman that fought terrible odds.  Some indulge me in a conversation that inevitably leads to the fear that “acceptance” will lead to “lethargy” “fatalism” “in action” and “ennui”.  After trying to explain for years, I have concluded that there is no answer for this. The only thing we can do is to analyse an action, and see how much time was spent executing that action and how much time spent in anticipation, un necessary preparation, vacuous discussions, unnecessary what-if scenarios, celebration upon success, mourning/jealousy in adversity, advertising on social media etc…

In that razor thin line separating bliss and fatalism;

There are no desires but such fulfilment.
There are no goals but such purpose.
Such uncertainty but so stable.
There is such disdain but so much love.
Such longing but such disinterest.
Such presence in the void.
So alone but no loneliness.
So fragile yet strong.
Such lethargy in such action.

 

In the lap of the infinite, language fails and the most sublime seem eerily like the idiotic.  There is no differentiating a sage from the intellectually challenged.

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I was having a conversation with someone.  It drifted into a great question that was asked “who do you spend most time with?”.  The answer was, after a couple of false starts, of course , ME.  With this fact, nothing becomes more important than having no quarrels with oneself, isn’t it?.  If I got angry – I got angry.  That’s it.  I don’t have to be “not angry”.  In that stillness, love flowers.  But, how do we answer the question, “Then then then, what you are saying is that I can do anything with this philosophy? I can kill and accept. etc…”

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Was reading an article about Martin Crowe, one of New Zealand’s greatest cricketers.  He was diagnosed with blood related cancer in 2004 and died last year.  His timeline paralleled mine and we were the same age.   I remember posting an article from Martin Crowe on this blog a few years back.  The peace that he obtained during his illness was something else.   He said “My Illness cured me. It made me swap ego for love”.  He will continue to spread his wisdom.

Sharing – Kochi & The Biennale

Our month started with a trip to Allepey – The Kerala backwaters.   A resort owned by a friend gave us 2 days of great tranquillity.  Some friends joined us for the fun.  We then visited Kochi mostly for The Biennale – a worldwide celebration of contemporary art.  Oh, the importance of art!! Stripped of all knowledge, art became a teacher, a lover and a mirror.  No commentaries, just echoes of our thoughts.

Many of the exhibits were breath taking. I could write a lot about those, but one was extraordinary and intense. The five-year-old brother of Alan Kurdi, the toddler whose prone body found set against the Mediterranean Sea in September 2015 remains the definitive image of the Syrian refugee crisis.

http://www.gulte.com/news/41934/Heartbreaking-Pictures-of-a-kid/4

 

For Zurita, a Chilean poet, taking part in the third edition of Kochi-Muziris Biennale, “I am not his father, but Galip Kurdi is my son,” reads Raúl Zurita’s poignant eulogy to Galip Kurdi, the five year brother of Alan who died without a trace looking to save Alan.  Galip is the victim the world overlooked – “There are no photographs of Galip Kurdi, he can’t hear, he can’t see, he can’t feel. He is a representative of the other faceless forgotten in other crises and conflicts around the world,” the poet says.

Zurita makes us walk in the “Sea of Pain”, a room filled with shallow seawater where canvases on the walls pose questions. Taking our shoes off and wade in the seawater to admit our collective failure for living in a system that is inhuman.    “Don’t you listen? Don’t you look? Don’t you hear me? Don’t you see me? Don’t you feel me? In the Sea of Pain,” Zurita asks rhetorically, making repeated calls to action.

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1L-LMZ6RbVZ-IBe4n7KjLNSFT2GbQC5cmaA

is a video shot by Amita during the walk

 

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1Yz2WheTv8gkazTMaIr7kdY1fotK8d8wFBg

is the writing at the end of the walk through the water

I cried for 5 minutes, sorry for my and our collective obsession with ourselves.

Sharing – Varanasi

And then we went to Varanasi.  Oh! Varanasi. Oh! Varanasi.  I fell in love with it.  And it loved me right back.  The medieval chaotic cauldron of high scholastic, faith and arts.  It entices, horrifies, inspires in the same moment.  Breath taking moments compete with each other for moments of life awards.

“Bhoomiji”, a boatman who refused Bollywood contracts but sings some of the most moving songs on The Ganga, as he paddles his customers.   A deserted lonely Kabir mutt, home to the greatest saint in modern India – Kabir Das.  A barren home where Tulsi Das wrote Ram Charit Manas.  A hotel clerk casually telling me that if I did not have the cash, I could wire transfer 30000Rs when I get home.   Dead bodies burning in the Ghats, juxtaposed and celebrating life with some of the most beautiful Hindusthani music nearby.   One of the most revered temples in India – The Kashi Vishwanath temple with its approach road that is maybe slightly bigger than the pathway connecting my living room and family room, yet, fully adorned in its un assuming chaos and simplicity.   Westerners, probably hours from taking a holy dip in the Ganges and listening to bhajans on their ipod.  A T stall owner who summarily requests you to find another place for tea in case you are too busy for his elaborate tea making ceremony. BTW; he shows up when it happens.   The by lanes of Varanasi with revving motorcycles inches away from an orthopaedic calamity, seemingly a provocation away from a riot – exuding safety and warmth at 11PM.

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1QaE2Ai43SHsaaueCWisNSDCAy5PaETbUhg

is a video of the boatman “bhoomiji” singing his heart out for Mother Ganga

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1W6-3_tUaTgT1MkxnuHJ12GE9SnGcPg2kcw

is a beautiful bhajan by a visitor at the Tulsidas shrine

 

 

No wonder this ancient city is home to Pandit Ravi Shankar, Bismillah Khan, Channulal Mishra, Kabir Das, Premchand, Tulsidas, Rani of Jhansi and so on.  There is none greater than Kabir Das from Varanasi.  It would probably not be wrong to credit him for the harmony that exists between faiths in Varanasi.  It is wonderful that he achieved harmony by not seeking a middle ground but by rejecting both!  Kabir rejected the hypocrisy and misguided rituals evident in various religious practices of his day, including those in Islam and Hinduism.

Some of his classics;

    Reading book after book the whole world died,

    and none ever became learned !

— Kabir Granthavali, XXXIII.3

 

 

    Saints I’ve seen both ways.

    Hindus and Muslims don’t want discipline, they want tasty food.

    The Hindu keeps the eleventh-day fast, eating chestnuts and milk.

    He curbs his grain but not his brain, and breaks his fast with meat.

    The Turk [Muslim] prays daily, fasts once a year, and crows “God!, God!” like a cock.

    What heaven is reserved for people who kill chickens in the dark?

    Instead of kindness and compassion, they’ve cast out all desire.

    One kills with a chop, one lets the blood drop, in both houses burns the same fire.

    Turks and Hindus have one way, the guru’s made it clear.

    Don’t say Ram, don’t say Khuda [Allah], so says Kabir.

— Kabir, Śabda 10,

Sharing – Bodh Gaya  – Land of The Buddha

We stayed in a Buddhist monastery/institute for an immersion experience.  And that we were blessed.  The extraordinary Maha Bodhi temple, charged with the chants of 1000’s of monks was stunning.  Describing the Maha Bodhi tree, the same spot where Buddha meditated and received enlightenment cannot be justified in any language.  There is a bit of a stampede for leaves that fall off the Bodhi tree, and we were presented with one.

The immersion got me in touch with some Buddhist monks, books places and discussions.

While Buddha always inspired me, Buddhism has constantly under whelmed me.  Growing up in a Hindustic household, I always felt there was nothing terribly new in Buddhism.  It tried to do away with rituals, symbols and images of Gods and formed “Renunciation”, “compassion to all sentient beings” and “emptiness” as its basic tenets.  That doesn’t seem terribly different from Hindu thought.  Buddhism seems riddled with the normal rote discourses, disjointed arguments, authoritative speak and confusing contradictions that mark all traditional religions.  The Mahayana (Greater Vehicle of the Law) and the Hirayana way (lesser vehicle, conveniently contemptuously baptised by the Mahayana guys!) form the two main branches of Buddhism.  While they agree on most Buddhist principles of craving to possess being the cause of all suffering, Karuna or compassion, karma and rebirth etc.. They quibble on Buddha’s silence on the question of the self.  Hinayana takes this to mean “no self” while Mahayana propounds a real self is realized when the false one is renounced.  Whatever!

The freedom came, to me, from Kabir, Byron Katie, a bit of Osho, J Krishnamurthy and the advaitic Hindu tradition (Ramesh Balsekhar,  Nisaragadutta Maharaj) that rose above these.  The last few years added Zen Buddhism to this exotic mix.  I seem to have found a very happy mix of a Zen approach to daily life, while clinging on to an Advaitic notion of “That” or the “Universe” as a reality.  Life is an impossible conundrum – there was nothing but a prayer and a mantra when I was on a gurney to the operating table.

To me, Zen is the shining star in all of Buddhism. It is original, refreshing, irreverent and beautiful.   It holds a peculiar fascination for minds, who are weary of conventional religion and philosophy. Zen dispenses with all forms of theorization, instruction and formality.   Zen is an extra ordinary attempt to come into direct contact with the truth itself without allowing theories and symbols and symbols to stand between the knower and the known.  It preserved the Buddhist concepts of annihilating “Prophets”, “Brahman” , “Holy Ghost”, “Krishna” etc.. and urges to find the truth it daily life – cooking, dusting, a stone etc..

The whole technique of Zen was to stun people out their comfort zones of symbols.  The masters asked ambiguous, awkward and un answerable questions.  We have;

Master Hsuan-chien saying “Nirvana and Bodhi are dead stumps to tie your donkey”

Master Tung-shan fabulous answer “Three pounds of flax” when asked “What is the Buddha”?”. 

The secret of Zen humour is that they never took the objective world too seriously.  They constantly made fun of all intellectual intellect, conventionality and pomposity.  Their pictures are never pretty – mostly caricatures or fat or little men.  Monks refer to themselves as “Old rice bags”.

Zen stories are many and simultaneously boggles and stills the mind.  A master asks his disciples “what is this pitcher”. One of them says “I cannot call this a piece of wood”. He is summarily dismissed.  Another comes and pushes the pitcher over, and voila, he is anointed as the successor!!!  There is satori (the sudden turning over of the mind) and Koan (a problem based on actions and sayings of masters).  Typically these have no logical conclusions.   A sample of a  koan is “A sound is made by the clapping of two hands.  What sound is made by the clapping of one hand?!”

My friend just sent this to me .. and this could certainly qualify as a modern day Koan –

Humans are odd.

They think order and chaos

are somehow opposites

and try to control what won’t be!

– A dialogue from The Avengers

A great Zen parable probably sums it all up.   To those who know nothing of Zen, a mountain is a mountain, trees are just trees and men are just men.  After one has studied Zen for a little time, the emptiness and transience of all forms is perceived, and mountains are no longer mountains, trees are no longer trees, and men no longer men  The parable concludes, to him who has a full understanding of Zen, mountains are once again mountains, trees are trees, and men are men.

What Fun!!!  It leaves us to enjoy music without intellectual reactions to a symphony, without analysing the construction of a chord or to linger over a particular phrase. The flow of notes come into being and go, and in its passing is utter peace and joy.  No interruption of the symphony of life – just reality.  A bird is enjoyed without naming it.  Amazing stuff !!!

So much of this Zen section is learnt from so many books and people – Shunryu Suzuki, DT Suzuki, Alan Watts and others.    Nothing is original.

Sharing – In Patna

Three years ago, I had mentioned in my blog – Manish – who was taking care of his mom who was admitted in an adjacent room.  His devotion and determination stood out.  Unfortunately his mother passed away.  We had much to share as she battled exactly the same diagnosis and treatment.  Our relationship has blossomed and I promised him that I will visit him.  It was a moving moment for me to represent his mom and stay at his home for 3 days.  He and his family are more than all of the above saints, to me.