Thursday, May 17, 2018

The Man Who Says Nothing


Silence, it is said, is the language of the wise. I had heard about this and read much about saints like Ramana Maharishi who said much by saying nothing. 

To find a common man living a simple, mundane life, and waxing eloquent through silence is a surprising rarity. To most of the people around him, it is unnerving and to those closest to him, it is often most exasperating. But their frustrated outpouring is water over a duck's back. He continues unaffected, unabated, as silent as ever. Maybe even more. 

He speaks when spoken to, though not always. He'll answer to the point, yet only when he thinks it's important to say something at all. Anything that does not concern him is none of his concern. And if it does concern him, it'll be dealt with in the fewest words possible, which is usually a soft, 'Hmm'. 

We might be sitting nearby roaring with laughter, he'll continue reading his book without as much as a glance our way. His funda is simple - what he needs to know will be pointedly told or shared with him. 

We may be engaged in a serious conversation in hushed tones. He might glance up once, that's all. He's no nosy parker. Curiosity has never itched out a 'who, what, why, when' from him. 

His wife may be talking dime a dozen, sitting beside him, yet she'll have no clue whether he's listening. Until she finally asks, ' Did you hear what I said?' Only for him to glance up and say, 'Eh?'  Frankly, I'm surprised how she hasn't yet socked him!

When I serve him food, I watch him closely for a hint of feedback.  No, not a flicker will be visible. Rare are the days when I receive praise or constructive criticism. But when he does, he conveys it all with a single adjective, 'Utkrushtt!' Trust me, it makes my weeks and not just my day!

One day, after much persuasion, he agreed to see a neurologist. Not because he complained of anything but because we had been 'observing' a change in his gait. 

Doctor: How are you? 
He: I'm fine. They feel the need for me to see you. 
We (smiling sheepishly): Hehe.
Doctor: Do you have any difficulty in doing mundane stuff?
He: I have difficulty in writing. 
Doctor: Since when?
He: Over a year.
We (nearly falling off our chairs): Eh?!!

We cringed as the doctor threw us a glance, accusing of neglect. Sigh… Facing such embarrassing situations was something we have had to learn to take in our stride.  

One morning as he sat reading the newspaper, he was given the sad news of the death of someone he loved and revered. The news was expected. Yet, I watched him with trepidation. He looked up, confirmed the news and turned back to his newspaper, thereafter continuing with his daily routine. 

Was he untouched by the news? Certainly not. But he's not one to make a show of what's going on within.

Like the lotus in murky waters, he is in the world but not of the world. The vicissitudes of life barely brush past him.  God must have broken the cast after creating him, for he's like no other person I've heard of or seen.  No wonder my respect for him goes up yet another notch, with every new incident. The beauty of silence is what I'm learning from him. 

To speak without a word
To convey without telling
To know without asking
To limit what he takes in.
That's him. That's him.

Thursday, March 22, 2018

Let Live!


It was a beautiful, wet morning. Light showers, and a bit of sunshine filtering through. The lone yellow flower blooming in the pot of office plants brought a smile to my face and wiped out all the pent up irritation that I had carried along from home. I soaked in the beauty around for a while, and then got on with my routine.

That morning the poder (traditional Goan baker) who delivers fresh bread every morning didn’t turn up at the usual time. I waited, my ears preening for the familiar honk of his horn. It was nearly 7:30 when he finally turned up. I rushed through breakfast, nicked my finger in the bargain, while cutting fruit and rushed to work, angry with the poder for making me late for work. You can imagine how the rest of my day must have been!

Whenever we end up in tears or are steamed up, 99% of the time it is not because of someone else, though we may like to believe so or rather, firmly believe so. What really gets us worked up or worn down is when things don’t go the way we would like them to, people don’t behave the way we’d like them to.

The poder (baker) turned up late this morning and threw my schedule off track. Grrr! That poder…!
She didn’t even call me back! What nerve!
He didn’t even wish me on my birthday. Sigh…
I took so much trouble to decorate the living room. They didn’t say one good word about it. Sniff…

The poder, she, he, they… are responsible for making you feel angry and upset, right? Wrong. It’s not how others respond or fail to respond, the angry or sad emotion is a result of things not happening the way would want them to. And therein lies the problem: expectations.

When I expect people to be there at a time that I want them to, when I expect my phone calls to be returned, when I expect everyone to remember my birthday and wish me, when I expect people to notice and appreciate the work I’ve put in… therein lies the recipe for disaster. The antidote to this malady is a simple mantra: Live and let live. Don’t burden people around with your expectations. Everyone has a right to live the way they want to, as much as you and I do.

So, let’s live. And let live.

Tuesday, February 27, 2018

Ties That Bind & Gag


What must be the searing pain,
Of a child abandoned at birth,
Maybe at the hospital, or at an orphanage,
A dustbin, the roadside, dirty gutter or worse?

For no fault of the infant,
For reasons of gender, rape, poverty
Recklessness in love.
Or whatever reason unknown to us.

That question of ‘why’
Constantly jabbing at the heart
The dull pain stinging
The tears long dried up.

The glorious fables of parents
Familial bonding and sibling love
Sharp in contrast
To what gets doled out.

Holding on tight, suffocating free thought
Or far from near, bereft of warmth
The child struggling to be
Or pining for what’s not.

Family, parents
Ties that bind and gag
Too lose or too tight,
A disconcerting noose nonetheless.

Some hold on too long
Some let go too soon
The sweet spot of balance
Very few do choose.

The kite let loose
Goes with the wind
Dipping and rising
With no purpose or direction.

Held tight by the string
The kite pulls towards the open sky
Never having tasted freedom
It believes that’s life.

Loosen the strings
And watch from aside
Glow in the fact
That your child’s soaring high.

The child with no strings at all
The child held on too tight
Neither is better off
Unless allowed to fly free in the sky.