Baggage

(This post is in response to a message which my dad received the other day, below is the message)
Question for spiritual guru --- to add growth to a plant it is a common practice to prune it from time to time ; what is a eqv in case of humans, obviously you are not going to prune physically, so what do you do to grow?

(This is purely an attempt at decoding the question, not committing the sacrilege of considering myself a spiritual guru)

Each day, along with the continual addition to the number of days we have spent on earth, what also increases is the baggage we carry. The emotional baggage and the mental baggage, to be more specific.
I have not interacted with a gargantuan number of people in my infinitesimal lifespan of nineteen years but nevertheless, I have come across people who though, despite seeming emancipated, do end up taking certain things to heart.
For the less intellectually whetted individuals, such as us, even the most insignificant details can become hurtful.
We might pretend to ignore something or behave like it did not make any difference to us at all, but deep down inside, a harsh word does leave a scar.
In addition to the not so major, slighting incidents, there are also people who undergo serious emotional damage owing to certain circumstances.
The point in all of this being that all those scars (or scabs in some cases) pile on to our mind. Without realising it we are adding endless layers of absolutely unessential emotions and carrying the same around with us.
A small altercation in the office, or at home and subconsciously you start holding a grudge, deep down inside.

So start cutting down on all this baggage. Cutting down on all the pain and the hurt. On the innumerable grudges you are holding and stifling yourself with.
From time to time, remember to take a look inside and forgive what happened in the past, forgive the people (even if you don't speak to them anymore) not for their sake, but yours. Every  six months or any particular time period of sorts, indulge in a little introspection and find all the noxious, venomous emotions, that you might have held on to, by mistake.

I can't entirely recall where I read this, but your emotions must be enough to fit into your child's school bag. The question is would you then fill it with all the joy or the bitterness?

Maya

I find it a cruel joke that humans spend their lives believing and acting like they'll never perish, whereas life is actually nothing but a collection of short lived phases.
Our minds are so befuddled by material incantations that we seldom realise our time here is limited.
I do not mean to be the preacher who asked a little boy to stop eating sugar and couldn't give up sugar himself but I wish humanity employed their time to find a way around these foggy curtains of attachment.
For myself, I wish the sustenance to go beyond this material world.
Imagine a cliff, if you jump from the cliff into the gorge, you presume you will die, what if, one dip in the gorge and you find yourself in another world? Redeemed as a detached individual?
And the promise of redemption isn't made before the jump. It is a risk you've to take.
The high cliff symbolises the high that comes with money and power. Only after attainment of the two can you find the courage to begin the shredding of the thread, the bond, between you and the lust for money and power.

The truth is, this concept is too idealistic to be true. Getting out of the maya jaal is probably tougher than moving mountains. These material attachments, like a spider's web start off from the periphery of our lives, slowly working their way in. As we grow, so does the stronghold of the web. The irony being, we can't feel the web strengthen its grip till the moment we realise we want to free ourselves from this web. A captor that leads you to enjoying and loving each minute of captivity. So much so that you go on to consider that captive existence, your life.

Free ourselves, let us.

Inspiration

I recently joined a summer school in my city for want of a better way to spend my vacation. I'm being honest in admitting that I partially expected this course to be an unmitigated disaster of sorts (I feared the course would be miles above sub normal levels and I'd end up feeling like a fish in a lake, staring at the trees on the banks, trying to figure  how the process of climbing works.)
This post is actually an adulation for the most brilliant teacher I've got a chance to learn from.
It is not entirely about how he made, the most complex concepts easily graspable but about how his affection for each one of us seemed devoid of any partiality (Indian education system, I hope you're listening), how his level of informality and approachability made the class feel like it belonged to our individual comfort zones.
Right from taking efforts to memorising our names to relating Fordism with a Charlie Chaplin clip he just made International Political Economy seem not even vaguely as intimidating as it really is.
10 days in this class and I've never been more sure of pursuing IPE in my future.

Despite being the daughter of a teacher, I've never entirely respected the profession (I've dutifully respected the professionals involved though, no matter what.)
I would actually want to thank him for lifting the veil off the absolute beauty of teaching.
For making me realise that imparting knowledge is noble and joyous. For making me feel that if tomorrow, I end up teaching, it would probably be one of the best things that could happen to me.
Thank you Gonzo.
PS brownie points for the "shant ho jaye."

MH370 taught me.

As the mystery of the missing plain MH370 deepens, the only people whose absence (death probably) struck me really hard is of the two Iranians using the fake passports.
I don't, in any way, intend to sound insensitive towards the souls or the grief of the loved one's of the others aboard that unfortunate plane.
A chance reading of an article about the last status update by those two Iranians made me break down into convulsive sobs. (http://time.com/20592/mh370-nourmohammadi-iran-malaysia/)
It makes me miserable to think of the irony of the post which has the man saying no when asked are they ever coming back.
It makes me feel thankful for being blessed but more than gratitude there is a strong surge of guilt gripping my body and mind.
Guilty of living a life that they were running away for. Guilty of how having everything they must have spent nights yearning for and despite having all of this, complaining about the most minor elements of discord in my otherwise seemingly perfect life. Guilty of how despite, the younger one being as old as me, won't live to see a glorious future. Guilty of having been chosen to be blessed.
I have never really prayed for a stranger but this is the purest form of gratitude and askance of peace for their souls. For everybody who was there on that doomed plane. For their loved ones and anybody who has ever died before having a shot at life.

It has gotten me to a really poignant conclusion which is a fact that must've been hidden away from me owing to my absolute ignorance and disregard for all that is good and lovely in my world.
Life is the most precious gift.
Squandering it, should feel more devastating than ending it.

PS the painting attached, is my depiction of the above post, I'm not exactly good at it, but as one of my friends said, "All arts are about reflections. :)"

Fate and some other thing

There is a question that has been plaguing me. Can fate be controlled?
People have blind faith in gem stones, a talking parrot picking out a card that would predict your future, tarot cards that are supposed to tell you how your future will shape up but my question is that despite all these manifestations of the human obsession with wanting control over the unknown (fate), can we actually manage to do so?
The philosophy of whatever happens, happens for the best is mildly baffling me.
If it is indeed true, why are certain people beggars? Why does suffering exist?
If someone looses their parents or spouse, is it for the best?
A recent discussion opened my mind to another belief that we all get what we deserve, which explains the concept of suffering better.
There is another possibility that while we have been falsely lead into believing that our actions control our fate, our fate is probably predetermined and our actions have no implications over it.
I believe that centuries ago, when the world must've been a haven for the dark and the twisted, some man probably to lessen the mean behavior of man kind, came up with this concept to make the world a better place to live in. The fear of your present changing your future is bound to get a few people to move away from their vile ways.

Chronic urge to run.

Something is absolutely wrong with me.
Or rather something is finally right with me.
I guess I can devote this clouded phase of mine to a case of the blues.
God alone knows.

Coming back to the phase, I think I have a split personality disorder.
One part of me, is elated about new work opportunities and things like that. The other part is absolutely frustrated with the prospect of new assignments and loads of things to deal with.
Basically I am frustrated with the prospect of life.
I want to buy roller blades, get skinned knees in the process of learning how to roller-blade. I want to spend a year wallowing in abstraction. Doing random things.
In fact, I have a list for the same.
1. Train to be a bartender.
2. Learn how to do a headstand.
3. Go on a Satvik diet for a month.
4. Go bald.
5. Step out in an ice blue colored wig for the next twenty days.
6. Watch Aurora Borealis.
7. Go visit a nude beach.
8. Try and leech onto a person. (By leech, I mean cling to them, quite literally.)
9. Make a will.
10. Buy and try one of those pills that are supposed to make you loose weight.

I want to run away from my mundane existence. I want chaos. I want the dreary black and white in my life to be filled with the vivid colors of chaos and trouble.

"What did you learn from your time in the solitary

Cell of your mind there was noises distractions

From anything good and the old prison food

Color my life with the chaos of trouble 'cause anythings better

Than posh isolation I missed the bus you were laid on your back

With the boy from the Arab strap, with the boy from the Arab strap"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuNLJ1I1-vw

Conscience

(The following is in response to this writer's cue, from this amazing page on Facebook.
Link: http://writers-write-creative-blog.posthaven.com/daily-writing-prompt-kGW1D7 )
The scariest place I've ever visited, is my conscience.
My conscience, where all my masks, all my pretension, comes undone.
Where all my lies, white or not, get refurbished with the strength of reality to look me in the eye.
Where there is a series of situations playing on a white screen. Situations where I've let someone down, hurt somebody intentionally, turned a blind eye towards a person who needs my help.
It's a room.
I enter the room naked.
Sans any ostentatious facade.
And when I open the door to this almirah which seems to be bursting at the seams, all my deeds come crashing onto me.
A room which despite seeming massive, feels like it is warping and shrinking. Which despite giving me enough room to breathe, seems to be choking me mentally.
This room does exist. Despite being fictional and purely a part of my imagination, it is somehow a part of reality.
Every day, me, a person scared of the repercussions of all my crimes looks in to this room through a keyhole, partially mortified and partially curious. And right when I feel my hand at the door knob trying to unlock the door, the fear of bearing the consequences, the pain of re-living each misdeed I committed, grips me and I turn away. Procrastinating the exploration of that room to another a day, a day when I'll probably be ready to face the fact that no matter how mighty high my thoughts might be, my shallowness has, sometimes, been overpowering enough to lead me to commit deeds that invite me to nothing more than self-contempt.