Through the Seasons of Life

How often have you known something was prohibited, did it anyway, and suffered as a result? Can any amount of prior knowledge and preparation save us from the inevitable, especially when nature takes it course?

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring, the name a handful, is otherwise a beautiful Korean film about a young boy and his enlightened, old teacher. Both of them live in a floating temple, with a lake and mountains around them. As I write this, I can feel the rising mist from clear waters, pebbles scattering soundless ripples, the still trees, plaid ice under my feet, the innocent chuckle of the child, who scampers about playing with the cat, the insistent striking of the Gong, the Buddha’s smiling, serene face….

I can never forget the scene in which the little boy, as is fun for boys that age, ties a stone to the fish, the frog and the snake and giggles gleefully when they struggle to move. His disapproving master treats him the same way the next day – ties a huge stone on his back so that he can hardly walk. When the little one complains, his master tells him to go and free those animals, and if anyone of them has died, “He will hold the guilt in his heart forever.” It was heartbreaking to see the little boy weep uncontrollably when he finds the snake, bloodied and dead, dashed against the rocks.

Vastly symbolic movie. Sights and sounds have been used abundantly to help create a peaceful backdrop to the otherwise turbulent life of the boy. Was there any need for him to leave his protected, peaceful abode, for the love of a girl? But there was! Not many can escape this cycle – of love, pain, desire, and torment. We bear, we learn, we grow and then we bear again.

As seasons pass, we grow to be better, and that, my friend, is the goal of life.

Update - This is a good discussion on the film. I love how there are so many ways of looking at one thing - even when sometimes not intended :)

Exploring the Art of the Tribes

We started at point A, ran to point B, scratched our heads at Point C, passed points B, C to come back to Point A again. Lo behold! Was our destination!

It was Smr’s and my joint excitement of having discovered Tribalroute and we couldn’t wait to explore and ravage it to bits. Interior décor is my newest passion amongst others, also now that I have a home which deserves to be done up. But this store is tucked in the interiors of Aram Nagar – which by the name of it, Smr swears, is THE place we need to live in. At the end of our expedition (can’t call it anything else!) we must know Aram Nagar from end to end, and the people there must know us too.

A pretty store, with very good stuff – though much of it was a little expensive in my opinion. Still, good ideas for a rustic feel to your homes. I made Smr buy a few things (“Ah, you’ll never find those curtains anywhere else!”, “The cushions! They are amazing, you have to buy them!”).

More than anything else, this new genre of stores is a whole lot of experiences and ideas – the intricate embroidery, weaved stories on canvas, hand made art – it is amazing how multi hued and rich Indian art is.

We rewarded ourselves for all the running with a hearty meal at Riceboat. Authentic Malayali (The Chef took offense when I said, “Mallu food?”) cuisine, with waiters in veshti et al.

So much can happen when you get off early from work!

The Big Weekend Break

Ginni wanted a break.

“I want to meet everyone in Bombay. I shopped a lot in Hong Kong; won’t shop, will just hang out”.

On Saturday there was the usual frantic, cross SMSs between friends –
“G is in town, would be good to meet, can you let so and so know as well?”
“G is in town. We haven’t met since a while either, let’s go clubbing”
“Oh, you don’t know G that well, never mind, there will be booze!”

Fifteen of us met at Henry Tham. It is true; to have a good time one had better stick to like people. Groups formed soon enough, people left.

The high point of the night was the walk to the Gateway of India and the ride on a Victoria Buggy. After haggling for Rs. 350 (The extra 50 for the hypothetical policeman, who hypothetically would have fined us, if he found 6 passengers instead of 5!), we got a buggy eye view of Bombay between the Gateway and Marine Drive. India had just won the T20 match at Brabourne; thus, we also got a taste of after-victory fire crackers and celebrations. We did feel sad for the horse though.

Victoria - Ours was the best looking one around

G was a good girl till Sunday morning when she suddenly decided she needed to shop after all!
“No, it is just for Sarees. You never know when you might need them and I don’t have enough”
“But I don’t know where to find them”
“Let’s just walk around”

And walk around we did.

After some casual research, we headed off to Vile Parle station market. In the searing heat, relentless distance, a lot of hand wrenching, store hopping and “I like this. I like that also. Which do I take?”, she finally settled at Aari at Vile Parle (W) and loaded her bag. Before the salesman sold her some more, I dragged her out.

The only respite from the relentless walking in the heat was the sojourn at Iskon at Juhu. We sat there, amidst the beautiful idols, resting our feet on the cool marble and seeping in chants of Hare Rama, Hare Krishna. G snoozed.

Iskon, at Juhu

It was Bombay Black at night. G was watching her first play and I was nervous. The play is running houseful shows at Prithvi, so I was reassured. And it turned out to be good - with some clever acting, cleanly etched characters and incisive dialogues. Though at the start, we had some difficulty getting used to Radhika’s acting – her aggressiveness in dialogue delivery was difficult to fathom till one knows the reason behind the angst. Meenal and Shreyas were exceptional, Radhika a great dancer. Each one is mired in a love-hate relationship with the other. Two know the hate; it takes the blind Shreyas to bring in the love, and salvation along with it. Good watch.

A weekend used to the hilt. With friends around, the world seems a better place…

Getting a life

I took up the arts again.

I can afford to. I have two hours of free time after I get back from work, and I am tired of staring at the computer the whole day looking at stocks going up and down. I needed to create, to vent, to go beyond limits, to experiment, to be myself. Thus, I am reading, singing and painting again!

I am limping a little to begin with. It merely needs some polishing.

I have not been doing anything else blog worthy. Last three weeks was Mom time - shopping, visiting relatives, inviting friends for dinner (Food cooked by her licked off fancy borrowed plates). It has been hectic, fun, full of laughter and arguments. Spices, music, flowers and incense.

The home is silent again.

The Pujas are here! I need to find a Pandal to go to. And wear all my new dresses.

Happy Pujas to all!

Never a Yesterday

Yesterday! What can I do with that? I can’t go back and change it. I have to learn to live with it. And make the best of it. For today. For tomorrow. Until I live.

Yesterday. She has AIDS she contracted from her husband. She travels to Johannesburg to tell him. He beats her up when he hears it. He gets sick soon and comes back home. She forgives him. That was in the past she says. She builds a hut away from the prying, accusing eyes of the villagers, to nurse him. He dies anyway.

The doctor tells her she has a strong body. She is doing fine. She says it’s her mind. She will have to stay alive till her daughter starts going to school. For her little daughter, Beauty.

And I have problems!

Such a lovely, sad, lyrical movie; a life as bare and stark as the desert, as arduous, as painful. Where little joys are big – the daughter’s innocent questions, gossip at the village water pump, a juicer for present, an orange for snack.

I count my blessings.

Shirdi – It is often not the destination

It was pilgrimage time again.

This time it was to Shirdi, located in the Ahmedanagar district of Maharashtra – 250km away from Mumbai. Thousands of devotees flock this tiny city everyday to pray to Shri Sai Baba.

Four of us hired a car to get there. It seemed the most comfortable option since we intended to be back the same day. The six hours long journey sped through some very spectacular scenery – through vast green plains and huge windmills. The Maratha countryside in the monsoons is really very picturesque, why seek far and wide?

As soon as we landed at 12, we had touts running along, guiding us to their Prasad stalls. Sometimes I wonder if I have the concept of spirituality all wrong. Can one claim to be God’s true devotee if,
- He cheats his customers (Shopkeepers at every ‘holy’ place)
- Ill treats those with less power (His subordinates or his wife)
- Kills in the name of God
After much arguing and demanding our slippers back (Which had been snatched and packaged before we realized what happened), we managed to get the Prasad Thalis for a lower price than exorbitantly quoted. Barefoot, in the searing heat, we walked inside the temple.

The temple closes for a while at 1 pm. We only just managed to get in to start our slow trudge in the serpentine queue, which was exhausting not as much due to the heat but more due to the swarming, shoving devotees around (when will we learn that poking a person constantly will NOT make the queue move faster, just like honking at the red light will NOT turn it green!)

My mom went along with me this time, and she was complaining how long the wait was and how short the Darshan in contrast. But we see statues and temples around us all the time. It is the 6 hour uphill trek to Vaishno Devi, the four hour wait in Tirupati, and the three hour slow crawl in Shirdi – which makes the final glimpse worth it. Sometimes, it is just the joint, concentrated religious fervour of devotees which enthuses and fills the being. Maybe it is this energy which make miracle happen. It is often the journey and not the destination which is important. After all, God is omnipotent, is He not?

Baba’s statue is serene, peace etched out in its every fold. Just one look at the kind, benevolent face and you know that all will be right with the world.

I passed through Igatpuri yesterday – the same muddy plains, the tea stalls, the huts, the mountains – with the temple on top, fear of falling, shoes stuck in the mud, giggles, helping hands. I closed my eyes.

The unfinished past is a broken mirror. Shards jut out.