From my teacher

Years ago, I had a Zen teacher named Mikimbizii. She had a deep influence on me — gently guiding me toward art, nature, books, cinema, and the idea of living a renaissance life.

Here are some pearls of wisdom she shared with me:

1. Love. Love makes everything ok. Find the real thing, the seemingly impossible thing, the near-nonexistent thing – and then, love. 

2. Discern and understand, in splinters and scatters, the hidden wholeness of all things.

3. Savour those little moments when you feel perfect contentedness, a perfect harmony, a magnificent connectedness with the whole. 

4. Relish slowness. Live an unhurried, cultured life brimming with ideas. Reading, writing, dreaming, watching the world glide by while you sip tea and introspect. 

5. Be absurdly pure, intrinsically beautiful and loftily and determinedly idealistic.

6. When you read, feel verses in the lungs, in the knuckles, in the arch of the feet. 

7. Take time to sit in ignored corners – old stair bends, mildewed window-sills, forgotten parks, an inconspicuous café in a street corner. 

8. It is ok to dream away a day, or spend it on Tumblr. Really. 

9. Be yourself. Absolutely, intrinsically and staunchly yourself.

10. Get involved exuberantly in things you love. Lose sleep. Skip meals. Flout societal conventions and expectations. Obsess.

11. Read more poems. Dwell, delve and delight in the very vein of poetry.

12. Exist in your own timelessness. 

13. Embrace your inner brokenness and its essential fullness.

14. Bloom where you are planted. 

15. Sit beside a warbling stream purling away under the sleepy stars. Feel the pebbles, the water flowing between your toes. 

16. Don’t limit your curiosity. Ever. 

17. Embrace the universe.

18. Explore every cadence of your mind. 

19. Study yourself every day. Hack away the inessential. 

20. Take long walks. Feel the throb of a city in your muscles, in the ache of your feet, in the sear of your soars. 

21. Read Nabokov. Taste the delicately convoluted trellises of unusual syllables. 

22. Don’t let anyone con you into following banal conventions. 

23. If you love your own company, you’ll never be bored. Don’t let anything intrude upon your precious solitude. 

24. Hear music in your marrows. Listen to post rock. Transform.

25. Look beyond the reality of the world around you. When you look up, imagine wings unfurling in the unperturbed evening air. 

26. Love sunsets, sunrises, the whole drama of dawn and dusk. Become one with the changing sky - an infused, swirling purple. A piece of cloudy twilight.

27. Simplify the eating experience. Discover the subtle tang in a grape, the bright headiness in a slice of papaya. 

28. Understand that this is a precious dawn between two infinities off dusk.

29. Spend a day in a forest; soak up the stirrings and stillness. Talk to a shy fern. 

30. Apologize without hesitation, but know if someone is taking advantage of you. If you have to grovel endlessly or listen to ceaseless tirades then move on. Life is too short.

31. Memorize a whole tree - every inch of the bark, every shade of the petals, every whisper of the leaves and fold it away among the pages of remembrance.

32. Go to a second-hand book store. Simply sit there and inhale. If you are allergic to dust, look at photographs of books on Pinterest. 

33. Become a river – gently carve into the landscape and nourish the woods you pass by. Listen to the throbs and pulses of the aquatic lives. Sparkle in the sun, dream under the frosty skies and eventually become one with the ocean. 

34. Live deeply in this distracted world. Become the renaissance. 

35. Catch and treasure the molecules of extraordinary in the ordinary. Store them up to be recollected, drop by tender drop, years later. 

36. Watch a nest being built, twig by twig. 

37. Have dreams as large as mountains and as brittle as old flowers.

38. When you write, let untamed verses grow from your pores and evaporate. Write at least a page a day. 

39. Be like the windows of a mountain cabin – charming, quiet and present. The perceptive lodger shall open you and breathe in the undulating landscapes. 

40. Saudade. 

41. Expand beyond the prison of your body and embrace this immense mystery. 

42. There will always be critics. Just sail by. You are a sheer sphere in this world of foggy circles. 

43. Become a tantalizing nuance, the degree of difference between blue and blue.

44. Collect bits of nature - fill your space with pebbles, interesting twigs, fronds, shells. 

45. Be like a melting flake. Live in a state of infra-lucidity, peer at the world through the limpid depths of a rain drop. 

46. Become marcescent - be exposed to life’s assaults and marvels and abrade away until you become a translucent abstraction, a distilled verse. No walls. No filters. 

47. Listen. Listen with every fiber of your body. You will hear a mushroom swelling, a butterfly sighing, a tea leaf unfolding. Trip on that. 

48. Leave behind the windows you created for others to open and see.

49. Accept the innate substance of life. 

50. Wither with grace.

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The flying dog

"Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth" - Albert Camus 

Part 1: The dog

No one knew the origin of his name, but everyone called the dog "Hotspot". Even his drunk master answered me that he was born "Hotspot" and that he could not recall as to how he got that name. Hotspot was a no-nonsense dog and clearly lived a great nonchalant life in the mountains. He was assured of food from the owner's cafe, so he didn't have to be servile or wag his tail to others. Hotspot had this luxurious habit of sleeping alot and barking rarely. Only time I noticed him barking was when few butterflies sat and  annoyed him hovering around his body. He didn't like butterflies as they posed a nuisance to his free sleepy life. When sleeping, they would sit on his nose and when he would try to shake them off, they would flutter near his eyes. Angrily, he would often bark to shoo them off but then it seemed that butterflies had fun teasing Hotspot.

Part 2: The Cafe Owner

The cafe owner (and also Hotspot's master) was a misogynist. Post his evening drinks, he shared his strong opinion about women and marriages. According to him, marriages were designed by women to enslave men and one should stay away from this horrible institution as much. It seemed women were like butterflies to the Hotspot in the cafe owner. I tried to listen as little from that discussion.

I have been a part of so many corporate office parties that the art of listening-from-one-ear-and-taking-out-from-other has been mastered by now. In corporate parties, people in position of power would get drunk and arrive at you sharing their stories of machoism and then you can't be rude and escape away. The better ones are even able to fuel to that machoism and later rewarded in their appraisals. 

Anways, back to cafe owner, I didn't want to dig deep into the rationale of his misogynistic approach to life. According to one my fake psychologist friend: people who have been heartbroken by a girl at an early age end up becoming misogynists. 

Instead I enquired about Hotspot and told him that for a dog, he slept alot and he clearly hated butterflies.  And then the cafe owner giggled and said that he wanted a nonchalant life like Hotspot. 

Part 3: The Girls

Next day in the evening some young girls (I guess college students) arrived at the cafe. They had brought their own alcohol, Lays chips packets and plastic glasses to relish their booze with the food around the bonfire. I chose to stay away from that party as they were too loud and played unpalatable songs from their mobile phones. But the cafe owner joined them, probably his love for alcohol overpowered his detest for feminine gender or probably he only detested losing his freedom by virtue of relationships only.

After some time from my hotel window, I noticed that everyone (the girls and the cafe owner) dancing via circling around the fire. Due to the heat he had taken off his sweater and his dance moves had turned very funny. Some of the girls had clearly left the space and cheered for him to continue his violent dance moves while some danced along to instigate him into his funny dance moves (one of them being snake dance on the floor).

Part 4: The Butterflies

Next morning I woke up to the cold mountains and from my window saw the cafe owner sleeping in the open in his fully dusty clothes near the dead fire and Hotspot was licking his drunk and fully asleep master. Later multiple butterflies arrived and sat on Hotspot to disturb him. There were so many of them clung to his body that only looking carefully one could notice Hotspot's eyes and the tongue with which he was licking his master. 

And little I could believe my eyes when I saw that all the butterflies fluttered their wings in unison and took Hotspot flying up in the air until he disappeared amidst the clouds!

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Children and Grown-ups

 "All grown-ups were once children.....but only few of them remember it."  -Antoine de Saint-Expury, The Little Prince

Dear friend, 

It has been about eight years now since we last met. I vividly and fondly remember our last meeting at my Delhi flat, us sipping wine and pointlessly discussing authors and film-makers we adored. You were a frequent visitor to my self-curated film festivals and it was a pleasure to host someone with so much thirst for life and hunger for art. 

Today I write to you, not sure whether this email will even reach you or stay unread or bounce back undelivered. It was while reading Camus' book 'Personal Writings', I was reminded of you and our conversations around this charming writer. I even made a futile attempt at searching for you on social media and I must say that your absence was quite anticipated but admirable. Hope you will respond to my email as I would want to know your side of eight years gone by.

Personally, to my discomfort and also with some sense of achievement, I feel more grown up. I speak more sense now and less of non-sense (super-sense as you called it). Don't ask me why I have reduced this non-sense (or super-sense) part, I guess this also comes with a package of growing up. You start caring more or should I say that you start thinking more as to how others would react and end up limiting or binding yourself. On the contrary, the beautiful part of this package is that you expect less from people and their good feelings, acts of friendships and noble deeds seem like miracles to cherish. 

I get to speak non-sense now only to kids of my friends or relatives. They enjoy such stuff or should I say that they are the only people capable of enjoying such stuff. When you play hide and seek with a four year old kid, the game is so much fun. She would hide behind that curtain or a door despite being completely aware that you are standing and noticing her. Then you act the struggle of seeking her in that exciting game of hide and seek and finally when you find her, she would jump with joy of being found. That's a sign of a successful game - that it must end. I was once answering to my friends' daughter with some non-fictional excuses of dwarfs, fairies and magic to a very sensible question of hers. My friend's wife objected to me telling lies to her daughter and instead asked me to give her the right and scientific logic to her questions.

Speaking of grown-ups, they are a crazy lot. My friend was once narrating about his grandmother who was diagnosed with a fatal disease and doctors had given her a month's time to get all her wishes fulfilled. Instead, she asked her son to get her the bank's passbook updated. My friend reminded her that she was going to die and asked her about where was she going to go with so much money in her bank account. She said that all the principal and interest accumulation gave her peace and who didn't want to die in peace. One fine day, his father got the passbook updated and she slept with the passbook clutched to her breast and next morning the grandmother's heart stopped beating. She died in peace with a smile on her face! Isn't it crazy?

Well, I am writing to you after so long and instead of telling you about my last eight years, I am telling you about some random comparison between children and grown-ups. Would you really be interested in knowing that I work for a multi-national company or in trivial details like greying of my hair? I am sure not. You would be more interested in knowing that this work from home has ensured that standing from my balcony I can witness sunsets everyday, you would want to know about the good books and some stories from the travels I would have experienced. But first I need to listen from you. You were quite a celebrated student at National School of Drama and quite close to the supersensical world of theater. I was a student of business studies and now am quite an ordinary ambassador of that MBA education as I preach people to take up art and instead develop their emotional intelligence. 

I would leave the letter with some lines from Camus book (Personal Writings) I just finished. This book similar to my letter is reflective and laments the loss of innocence in the author's journey from age of 20 to 40. 

" There is more love in these awkward pages than in all that have followed. Every artist thus keeps within himself a single source which nourishes during his lifetime what he is and what he says. When that spring runs dry, little by little one sees his work shrivel and crack. These are arts wastelands, no longer watered by the invisible current..... yet nothing prevents one from dreaming in the very hour of exile, since at least I know this, with sure and certain knowledge: a man’s work is nothing more but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened."

Shall wait for your response!

Till then, take care!

-vC

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A Story about Stories

Part 1: Irreverent stories

 I had once written a collection of around eight to ten stories, all of them twisted and whimsical. I shared them with a voracious reader friend of mine. She read them all while I nervously waited for her feedback. She warm-heartedly responded "dude-they-are-brillliant. Try getting them published. The world needs to read them. They are like a fine mixture of Etgar Keret, Kundera, Salinger and Kafka". I told her that she was extra kind and asked he if she found the stories to be too irreverent. She said it hardly mattered and reiterated that the world needed to read these stories.

Part 2: Book publisher

I went out in search of a book publisher. I didn't know anyone except a faintly acquainted college senior whose love for my college was quite conspicuous. I hadn't liked him much for he felt like too businessy. I had that same bad taste meeting him which you get after meeting some extrovert MBA. Too many shenanigans and too less content. But then in my work life, I learnt that I should not judge anyone and instead ask for help. 

It was in that college bonding, I mailed my stories to the school senior who with his business air and fake professionalism sent me some rules of his publishing house. I wonder if he read the stories or not but the senior responded that he was ok to publish on two conditions First,  I needed to pay him some money for his fixed charges (as COVID19 had dented his business too, I wondered how) and second the stories needed to be edited by professional editors. He also told me that he will be sharing some 11.5% royalty with me over and above sales of some fixed count. I agreed on all conditions and asked him to forward the copy to his professional editors.

Part 3: Ex-boss

The so-called professional editors fucked my stories. They not only corrected my grammar but added adjectives and adverbs, rephrased sentences from active to passive thus completely distorting the twists, the plot and the humour. The senior excitedly mailed me asking for an OK on the mail to proceed for publishing the book. I was too sad to respond for two days and then an idea came to my mind. 

I called my ex-boss. My ex-boss always wanted to be famous and he had this habit of taking credits for things he never did in the office. So I offered him a deal of making him the author of a book and pay the fixed charges to my college senior. My ex-boss was exhilarated at the idea of being a published author and he gladly agreed. I responded to my senior's mail by saying OK but that the author name and author details will have to be changed as I had decided not to be an author of the edited stories. The school senior got shocked and asked why I wanted to give on my creative possession to somebody else. 

Part 4: Literature Festival

The book got published and it made a lot of noise in my ex-company whatsapp group. People were startled at the creative inclination of my ex-boss, although nobody ever read the book. I never contacted my school senior or ex-boss to get any idea of how well was the book received. It was only today that I got a whatsapp forward video of my ex-boss reading from the same book in a literature festival and then I noticed that the literature festival was sponsored by my ex-company giving a hint as to how he got that reading slot.

Part 5: Its just a story

Lot of people ask me as to why I did that. They suggest that I should have instead asked the senior to restore the stories or else go to some other publisher. I lie to them that nothing like that happened. It is just a story!

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The yellow butterfly story

Aisha, his six year old niece, was on the other side of the phone call. In an usual cute voice of hers, she demanded a bed time story from her favourite uncle.  Last winter, when he had visited his sister, he had pampered Aisha with a bed time story every night and the ending of these stories marked the beginning of Aisha's night dreams.  And today in the lock down when he cannot visit her,  he obliged her with a story  instructing her to switch off the lights, tuck herself in the blanket, put the phone on the speaker mode and close her eyes to listen to him. He asked her to choose one: a butterfly, an elephant or a star as the protagonist of the story. She chose "butterfly".

The story:

The yellow butterfly was once flying bored in a garden until she noticed another butterfly, the white one with blue polka dots on it. The yellow butterfly tried approaching her to say hello but then the white butterfly gave a cold shoulder with an arrogant and a rude vibe. The yellow butterfly came back to her own plant and to escape the hurt of the arrogance of the white butterfly, she tried delving in nostalgia of her childhood. She was reminded of her carefree caterpillarhood, how easy life was, how no one expected much, you just sit on one leaf and chill. Obviously, back then you have dreams of being a butterfly and flying freely here and there but then its only when you become a butterfly, you realise that it is just a hollow dream.

And then sitting on her plant, deep in her nostalgia, she noticed another caterpillar lazing and chilling around on a leaf nearby. Smiling at the caterpillar, the butterfly felt that the caterpillar was well mannered to return her smile and also with a smile which seemed quite genuine. The butterfly flew to the caterpillar and started giving him gyan about how to relish the caterpillarhood and that it would not last long. And in between the long gyaan, the caterpillar noticed his mother back with the nectar. The yellow butterfly realised that the mother was the same ill-mannered white polka dot butterfly who had evaded her hello few minutes back. Before the yellow butterfly could fly back, the mother butterfly started shouting expletives at her and threatened to de-wing the butterfly if she came near her son next time.

The yellow butterfly feeling a bit sad left the garden and started looking for another garden. She stumbled on a garden of bougainvillea where she met a group of butterflies discussing about humans. They were gossiping on the weirdness of adult humans and waited for their six year old friend who would be there anytime. And then Aisha, the friend they were waiting, arrived at this bougainvillea garden to play with the butterflies. 

(Narrating the story, he checked whether his niece was still awake or had he bored her to sleep. Pleasantly, Aisha was awake and excitedly shouted at him to complete the story.) 

Aisha started playing the game of pakdam-pakdai with the butterflies where one player had to touch fleeing players and the one who was caught had to chase others. Aisha was good at the game and whenever the butterfly would come near her, she would duck or sway so smoothly that it was difficult for the butterfly to catch her. The yellow butterfly also joined the game. Due to her lack of stamina and newness of the game, she was most of the time chasing other butterflies and Aisha. At the end of the game, when Aisha's mother asked for Aisha to return to her house, she like a true sportsperson went to the yellow butterfly to wish her well and asked her to practise daily to get better. The yellow butterfly promised that she would come daily and that she really had a good time.  That night, the yellow butterfly tired after the game slept happily like a log and dreamt a beautiful dream of stars and elephants.

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Epilogue: His sister called him (the storytelling uncle) the next morning to complain as to what story had he narrated to Aisha last night that she is vehemently denying to wear her erstwhile-favourite-polka-dot frock.

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The Identity

" I have no desires, save the desire to express myself in defiance of all the world's muteness" - Vladimir Nabokov

_____________________________________________________________________________

Part 1: The Identity

Who am I? A question so simple yet so philosophical that it has soothed souls as well as provoked numerous wounds.. In search of belonging, everybody strives to find an identity: an adjective or a noun which is so dangerous that it ends up causing limitless chaos, both individually and socially. I am a Muslim or a Christian, an American or a Chinese, a lawyer or a doctor, a wife or a mother, an introvert or an extrovert and so on. A label, you see, is that dangerous simplistic social identity we assume which not only makes us lose our individual identity but also gives us a collective identity for us to own, defend and demarcate. All of these actions ultimately cause relativity and thus the root of this volatile and complex world.

Part 2: The Lock down

He looked at the elegant watch he had not worn since long. The lockdown had lasted long now and he was not sure when would things go back to normal. He knew things wouldn't be the same and it should not be. The consumption economy had caused enough harm to people but while his heart was optimistic, his brain knew that the consumption economy would be back or rather further causing more harm.

In a random webinar he was once shown a video where a monk was briefly passing by the topic- "Who am I". In simple and brief words, he said that our identity is a sum function of all the people/ideas/things we love. People/ideas/things we love give us our identity and love is the supreme emotion which defines us who we are. According to him, when somebody goes through a breakup he/she basically remorses over the loss of his identity. Even the death of somebody closer gives us a feeling of hollowness for the loss of our identity. When somebody betrays us or breaches our trust, it actually leads to loss of our identity. Every feeling he said : a feeling of happiness or sadness was a byproduct of this identity strengthening or identity crisis and this identity was a by product of love. When asked by the audience, how to escape this identity, his answer was to love God. When we attach ourselves to God (infinite) or zero (Buddha way), the identity crisis would not happen.


Part 3: The migrant labour

He had just returned home after walking and hitchhiking several kilometers of distance from the fields of Punjab to his village in UP. It was a long run away from those arduous fields where everyday he had to plough yards of land for his rich master just for some pittance of money. Back in his rickety home, he could notice the conspicuous discomfort in the eyes of his four other brothers for one more brother had arrived to share the resources left by their deceased father. In contrast, the mother was happy on the occasion of her eldest son coming back and that too in the holy month of Ramadan. Probably, the virus causing mayhem in the world had become an Eid gift sent by Allah for her eldest son was with her after fifteen long years.

The entire family broke the evening fast together, the mother chose to give some of her iftar food to her eldest son who himself had taken less of the potion to ease the discomfort of his younger brothers. In the night, he went and sat by his mother's cot massaging her feet to help her sleep. The mother asked him about how had he spent his last fifteen years and commented him on his heavy Punjabi accent. She switched on to sharing tales of his underrated father (who had died when he was just twelve) as to how talented a musician (a qawwaal) he was. His qawwaali performances used to mesmerise everyone and was once blessed by the maestro shehnai player late Bismillah Khan himself.

In the night, he slept on the ground beside his mothers cot and saw (it was a dream or an imagination, he wasn't sure) Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan performing for a large audience in Punjabi and when he looked closely he realised it was his father's face singing the hymns of love in a language he would never have understood...

"Nitt khair mangaa soneya main teri, dua naa koi hor mang di
tere pairan ch akhir hove meri, dua na koi aur mang di"
(Forever I ask God for your well being, I don't ask anything else from Him
May I live at your feet till I die, I don't ask anything else from Him)

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A letter of good spirits

"Human life is but a series of  footnotes to a vast obscure unfinished masterpiece"- Vladimir Nabokov

This post is an epistolary attempt where a psychologist based out of Mumbai writes a hand-written letter to his wife in US, who is also locked down with their daughter (Ayesha) due to the ongoing corona virus crisis. This letter tries to step a notch ahead in conveying some warm wishes and love in an otherwise technologically communicative world of video-chats and social media.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear love,

I am writing this letter in anticipation that it would bring you lots of hope, happiness and harmony more-so during these eventful days of a pandemic across the globe. I really miss being with you and Ayesha and not being able to travel and this inability to spend the weekend together is a discomfort I try to brush off. While we do catch up on video chats, but you are apprehensive of my helpless uneasiness with technology. Speaking with Ayesha on phone (than in person) becomes so difficult because I feel that on phone, the words lose their lightness and spiritual precision and with her I have to be extra careful as she is so tender and can easily be bruised by any ugly diminutive from my end.

My dear, how have you been? How is your work going? Have you been able to learn the art of taking classes through video conferencing? Here, in Bombay, thanks to lot of good word of mouth about my work, the demand has increased but I have to deny taking up new patients as I am barely managing the existing ones. Also, I am trying to take out lot of time for myself.

On my work front, there is a very interesting coincidence I wish to write to you about. One year back I had a lady patient, I am not sure I would have mentioned to you about her. I should not call her a patient but a girl undergoing a very difficult period in her life. In her work life, she had a boss who micromanaged her and was also less intelligent than her. Everyday she struggled managing and scuffled being managed by him. Even her personal life was chaotic, she tried dating men but then most of them felt threatened by her intelligence and the remaining few ones (she perceived) were too immature for any relationship. During her first therapy session, I could totally perceive the bitterness in her. Living alone with an uncontrolled mind, she had started getting suicidal thoughts. Hence she came to my therapy sessions and it wasn't difficult helping her heal.

Part two of the story goes like this. Six months back, I had another patient: a tall, well-read but a very confused man. He lived with this notion that  no one understood him: neither his parents nor his friends. A very disturbing notion indeed. He wanted to take a path of spirituality away from this mundane and materialistic world. At his parents behest, he had tried his hand at working in corporate sector but  he felt miserable in this otherwise insensitive and insolent world of business. Unable to cope up, he ran away to Rishikesh to be guided by an able guru. To put the further story short, this guru like so many other verbose gurus was a fraud and had put him addicted to psychedelic drugs. His parents finally tracing him in Rishikesh got him back to Bombay. Interestingly, the parents asked me to help and reluctantly I took up this guy's case. This was not an easy case as he was also undergoing a strict drug rehab phase. But like a true champion, this guy came out clean and healed. And also, he has some really good sense of humor which helped him heal.

Now, the interesting part. The girl and the guy are dating each other. The guy called me yesterday just for a chit chat and he informed me about the liaison. The idea that the two of them are in love with each other is so flattering to me. I keep telling these youngsters to ensure humor in life. If you can laugh genuinely, no mental health issue can even touch you.

Anyways, what do you do apart from your work? I am reading some other books of Kahlil Gibran, (apart from the Prophet). I have a client who is a passionate stock-broker and has also left me interested in the stock market and valuations. I have downloaded a copy of Intelligent Investor by Graham Benjamin but then reading books online is so difficult that I am planning to buy it later. In the movies section, I am watching this fabulous Iranian director named Jafar Pananhi. Remind me to tell you about him during our next video call. I am so enamoured of this genius director that I can go on and on. Meanwhile, if it interests you, you can research him online as well.

I guess I have written alot. Do take care of yourself and hoping things get normal soon for us to travel and see each other. I am always there in spirits with you.

See you soon and take good care!
Yours and only yours,
P

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Annual Letter to the Students

Prague, 02.05.2019

"We all have our times machines, don't we. Those that take us back are memories...And those that carry us forward, are dreams." - H.G. Wells

Dear Students,

As the calendar changes, I hope that with mirth and laughter you let your old wrinkles come to the year 2020! Like every year, I retain my habit of writing to you my dear students, this annual letter about charming nostalgia, tender resolutions, vacillating hopes and formidable plans. Most people in the world have their weird own ways to celebrate: some drink and dance, some sleep in that cozy blanket, some visit the temple, some travel to scenic locations. I humbly write to you all!

Charming Nostalgia

Austrian Alps, 27.04.2019 

"The future is only an indifferent void no one cares about, but the past is filled with life, and its countenance is irritating, repellent, wounding, to the point that we want to destroy or repaint it. We want to be the masters of the future only for the power to change the past." - Milan Kundera

So many books, so little time! We managed to cover few books this year. Borges was special with his book Labyrinth, what a head spinner the book was! Most of you complained about difficult time you had submitting the assignments on this labyrinth of a book. How convenient, no one came over with flattery of how easy the assignments of others books (Camus, Ishiguro, Calvino) were. Also, I totally endorse your complains of taking the bestseller book Ikigai in such a senior class as yours but I hope you will pardon me for the idea was to introduce the Japanese culture to you. Next year we will delve deeper in the aesthetically maddening culture of Japan. Hope you have all submitted your last assignments for the year on the documentary"Jiro dreams of Sushi".

Travel wise, the year would have been definitely better for you. We managed some funds and traveled to Europe, a continent whose classical literature and films we were most familiar with. Prague was as charming as in the books of Kafka, Kundera or Hrabal. And those blue skies, white mountains and majestic landscapes of the Austrian Alps and the charming pebble streets of Bratislava, I think all of these were soulfully humbling.

Always remember what Pessoa says, life is what we make of it. Travel is the traveler. What we see isn't what we see but what we are!

Tender resolutions, Vacillating hopes and Formidable Plans

"To be great, be whole;
Exclude nothing, exaggerate nothing that is not you.
Be whole in everything. Put all you are
Into the smallest thing you do.
So, in each lake, the moon shines with splendor
Because it blooms up above."
                           - Fernando Pessoa

Now looking forward to 2020, we will intend to read more, travel more and listen more. We have more poetry coming in your syllabus next year, also we have applied for funds for the trips to Nepal and Turkey. The trip to village in the Rann of Kutch area has been sanctioned. The idea of this trip would also involve stargazing, apart from the village hikes and soaking up the stillness of the salt desert.

This year's course also teaches you how to simplify your eating experience. There is no love sincerer than love of food.  Apart from the food course, there are some really good chapters this time like how to spend money. Earning money is easier than spending money and very few know how to spend money and not be enslaved by our consumption. Also we will be back to few chapters on music appreciation this year. There is another chapter on how to master technology, chaos and lower your worryability (Yes, Calvino!). In the books section, we will take on further books by Marcel Proust, Nabokov, Italo Calvino, and Bruno Schulz.

Some of you will also be volunteering to be mentors to the new joinees and will accompany them to various trips. Show them how to see beauty and help them "mature" into childhood.

I will not detail this year's course further and steal any further thunder of it. Hope you have a great year ahead and enjoy the little things. For in the dew of little things, does the heart find its morning and is refreshed!

Happy New Year!

-Yours.

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In the local train journey

"Abiding in the midst of ignorance, thinking themselves wise and learned, fools go aimlessly hither and thither, like blind led by the blind"
                          -Katha Upanishad

Part 1: He tweets and believes

Everyday he boards the same Mumbai local train from the Ville Parle station and stands at nearly the same spot close to the gate leaning on the seats. He would take out his mobile phone and open the twitter app. Everyday, without fail, during his daily travel, he becomes a social media warrior, vehemently commenting against anyone who had tweeted against the current Indian Government. He is a die-hard fan of the current Indian Prime Minister and is one of his biggest silent crusader on social media. His everyday thirty-five minutes local train journey is his tribute to the nation and in making this country a better place. At least that is what he firmly believed!

Part 2: They play and hope

The two boarded the same Mumbai local train from the starting station and that is how everyday they managed to get a corner seat by the window. Everyday on their fifty minutes local train journey, they would play ludo on their mobile phone. At times she would win and at times him. And in that losing themselves in the losses and wins, they would hug, peck, pat, emote. Few times, celebrating his victory, he would kiss her on the cheek and she would nudge him by reminding him that they were in local train and not some private space. And in love, playing the game of luck, they would reach their respective offices (probably same or different) gleaming in hope of a common destiny together...

Part 3: He sells and prays

He would board the train relatively for a shorter period of time. He had the loudest voice of them all and wore even a louder sandalwood paste on his forehead and neck. He had a melodious voice as often he would sing hindi religious bhajans to himself. And in between the bhajans, he would take out his phone and put his tiny earpods which were so invisible that if anybody didn't know that earpods existed would think that he was crazily talking to himself. Most of his phone calls were sales calls where he sold expensive flats to people. He would negotiate hard smooth-talking, exaggerating, cajoling and once his call was over, he, like a devout, would touch his forehead and then his heart as if asking God to intervene and help him close the deals. And then post his mini-prayer, he would mumble few abuses to his clients for being stingy and few to the Government for killing the real estate market in Mumbai. Finally when his destination came, like a daily ritual, he would again touch his forehead and heart, walking back to his office, hanging his lunch box, singing his bhajans and praying for a sales closure...

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Epilogue:

And in this daily clutter of life, she reflected on her life and realised her sense of loneliness in that endless ebb and flow of that crowded local train. She smiled at the thought that each one of us are ultimately islands, in our universe, running to barely manage our own businesses of living, far beyond the grasp of others, hoping, thinking, praying for solace from these daily ephemerals.. 

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And it rained

Part 1:The Office

The clock had hit few minutes past six in the evening and she rushed to finish her work so that she could step out early and spend some time by herself. As she was trying to concentrate on her last mile of work, one of her colleague came and asked her as to when was she leaving for the day. She responded "just a few minutes and I am done." To which her colleague smiled and left for her day. It was only a minute later her another colleague arrived and asked her as to when was she leaving and that why had she not left. She responded "just a mail sweety and I am done". Her colleague also left with the satisfaction of having reminded somebody of the work-life balance she very well deserved. And just few minutes later, third colleague arrived and reminded her of why she should leave and that the company didn't pay her extra for sitting any longer. She patiently responded she would leave in a minute as she had some work and that she will be done soon.
And before any fourth colleague came and reminded her of anything further, she packed her bag leaving her work unfinished and left for the day. And in the lift, on her way out, she forced herself smiles to the people heading homewards...


Part 2: Marine Drive

Rather than heading home, she took a taxi for the marine drive, as if the sea was pulling her. The marine drive wasn't that far from her office, her tiny 1bhk flat was. Sitting calmly at marine drive, unwavering thoughts kept coming to her like the tides in the violent sea. Her thoughts trembled from her failed past relationships to the couple sitting next to her, from her difficult boss to the old man strolling with his dog, from her best friend leaving the city to get married to the three ladies wearing scarves passing by her. It was in those pelting thoughts, it started drizzling and everybody around (the couple, the old man, the dog, the scarf ladies) started running for a shelter. Contrarily, she decided to sit and get drenched in the rain. And as the rains grew stronger, her thoughts had changed to the beautiful yellow streetlamps necklaced at marine drive, to the music she had last danced to, to the carefree street children playing around. After few hours of having soaked in rain, wind and light, she decided to head home and effortlessly, she was smiling at everyone around..

Part 3: Home
Footboarding on the local train, jumping on a puddle near her society gate, greeting the old security guard, she reached home all drenched. She ate her dinner which somehow tasted better today. She realised that she hadn't called her parents since long(they were the ones who always called her). Her parents felt relieved by her daughter sounding calmer and happier. In the phone call, her mother even warned her of not falling for any stupid guy again to which she laughingly responded that her taste for men had improved. And as the day was about to end, she switched on her old radio and smiled to the serendipity of the song:

Ek ladki bheegi bhaagi si..

Tan bheega hai sar geela hai

Us kaa koyi pech bhi dheela hai

Tan ti jhukti chalti rukti

Nikli andheri raaton mein

Mili ik ajnabi se

Koyi aage na peechhe

Tum hi kaho ye koyi baat hai

Ek ladki bheegi bhaagi si..

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Tale of the two

"This is true happiness: to have no ambition and to work like a horse as if you had every ambition. To live far from men, not to need them and yet to love them. To have the stars above, the land to your left and sea to your right and to realise all of a sudden that in your heart, life has accomplished its final miracle: it has become a fairy tale" - Lines from Zorba, the Greek

Part 1: North East India

One beautiful morning, in a serene and humble homestay in the hills of North East India, She sat on the porch engrossed reading a fancy looking book. Meanwhile in the kitchen of the homestay, the lady of the house finished her daily household chores and went on to prepare two cups of her favourite tea. On being offered the tea, she happily received the elegant teacup with an equally pleasant and aromatic smile. The lady of the house realised that the tea had distracted her out of the book and that the time was apt to sneak in a conversation. And then they both started chit chatting where the two ladies conversed to know more about each other. The discussion went on from recognising the happy married life of both to the common joyful preferences of simple joys of life. The lady of the house told her "You are different, you are more like us. Simple, positive, calm and smiling. Other people who visit us from the Indian mainland are so restless, chaotic and demanding. Your husband is surely a lucky man." To which, she silently responded in her mind, " you haven't met my husband, if you meet him you will realise how lucky I am. He is far more calm and alive.".

Part 2: Meiringen, Switzerland

One beautiful morning, in a plush hotel room in Central Switzerland, He pressed the send button of his email and went on to dress up for honouring a lunch invitation from one of his departing employees at his Swiss Office. The old man had worked in his office for around 33 years and during his farewell dinner, in an emotional and inebriated state, he had invited this Indian colleague to his house for a lunch. From the hotel to the old man's house was a beautiful walk surrounded by hills. The quiet hills reminded him of his childhood days back in India; for those were peaceful and irresponsibly great days of his life.  Finally when he reached the house, the old man and his wife greeted him at the gate and in response, he handed over the the wine bottle he had bought at a store in Bern. The lunch was sumptuous and homely and the following discussions even more welcoming. And in the evening before the sunset he asked for leave from the family thanking them for the lunch and the conversation.  The wife of the old man went in and brought two elegant Swiss watches for him and handed him as farewell gifts and said one for your lucky wife who has such a charming man as her husband. To which he smiled and silently responded in his mind "you haven't met her, she is one bubbly, jovial person. I am far more luckier that way".

And coincidentally after the sun had set for the husband by the Swiss lake and the night had crawled in for the wife sitting on the porch, they both gazed at the open sky enjoying the play between clouds and stars while serendipitously their earphones hummed to the common melody of Beatles playing....

There's nothing you can know that isn't known
Nothing you can see that isn't shown
There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be
It's easy

All you need is love
All you need is love
All you need is love, love
Love is all you need

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A day in the life

"For the mind is very restless, turbulent, strong and obstinate, O Krishna. It appears to me that it is more difficult to control than the wind." - Bhagavad Geeta (Chapter 6, Verse 34)

Part 1: Morning

The shabby advertisement in the newspaper jacket reminded him that it was 14th of February, popularly celebrated as Valentines Day. He, after his usual morning routine, sat down on his table but got a huge resistance from within to further open the newspaper. The content in the newspapers had offlate been depressing and it seemed like every news in the newspaper had a hidden motive to sell something. So instead he chose to pick up the book he had borrowed from his friend and started reading it. He realised that he hadn't read and traveled much last year and that reading more books and traveling more places were few of his silent new year resolutions this year.

Part 2: Afternoon

The day in the office was not turning out to be well. He had suffered lot of last minute cancellations and rejections to his sales funnel. The thought that he would not meet his revenue target for a consecutive fifth month made him feel disappointed and lonely.  He packed his bag and informing his boss that he was heading for a sales meeting, he headed to the sea beach. The sea had always pacified him.
The beach side was hot and sunny, so he chose to sit and read in a nearby cafe. Although a non-profitable customer, he had been a regular visitor to the cafe. Every time he visited he would just order a coffee and spend good hours till the sun reached closer to the horizon. He liked spending time in the cafe because of the friendly staff and the literary aroma it had.

Part 3: Evening

The sun was about to set and he headed to the sea which had a low tide today. It was a crowded evening at the beach today with lot of couples buying and a lot of vendors selling roses and ice creams. Love was in the air and what made him happier was the sight of old couples celebrating their relationships which had withstood the destructive nature of time. He bought an ice cream for himself and even for some children who were selling flowers to the couples. The smiles of gratitude on their faces added to the beauty of the sunset around. 

Part 4: The night

He reached home contented and happy and switched on his music player. He was reminded of his ex-girlfriend who had once told him that when one is happy, one focuses more on the music of the song and when one is sad one focuses more on the lyrics of the song, to which he had responded that he was perpetually a sad person. To his response she had smiled and kissed him on his forehead. The music in the room and the view of the moon from the window provoked a strange feeling of sleep inducing contentment which was stemming out from discontent.

In his sleep, he dreamt of being in the hills and running a small book cafe.

He woke up smilingly to realise that the music was still playing. Jagjeet Singh in his soulful voice was singing

"Hazaaron khwaishein aisi ki har khwaish pe dam nikle 

Bahut nikle mere armaan phir bhi kam nikle"

 (I have a thousand desires, all desires worth dying for

Though many of my desires were fulfilled, yet I yearn for more..)

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Musical walks of life

Part 1: Bombay

As he left his office at 11pm, the security guard at his office gate gave him a pitiful farewell smile. He was getting used to these smiles from everyone: friends, flatmates, colleagues and at times he (turning into both the watcher and the watched) would also end up giving himself a commiserating smile. Hanging his bag with a laptop and a book, he crossed the foot-over-bridge and began walking on the marine drive stretch. Everyday walk on the marine drive listening to his ipod playing old hindi songs helped him calm his restless mind.

The background music from his ipod, the aesthetic settings of marine drive and melancholic feeling of being a corporate slave gave him the perfect setting of being a protagonist from some art movie (the kind of movies which stir our minds instead of our wallets). Then he walked upto the Church Gate station and took on the fast local train to Andheri, where lived with his 3 flatmates in a tiny apartment. Everyday, he enjoyed standing on the gate of the train with the wind gushing on his face, it added on to that art movie feeling. Then after getting down at Andheri station, being denied by several auto guys he started to walk towards his home. And in that very walk, from the railway station to his home, every day, he passed through several vendors, some who sold tea, some who sold footwears and all these vendors were oblivious of his presence while he kept walking like a protagonist acting in his own soulful art movie.

And when he entered the lift of his building, his attention fell to the apt lyrics of the song playing in his ipod:
"Gham aur khushi mein farq naa mehsoos ho jahaan,
main dil ko us mukaam par laata chalaa gaya,
main zindagi kaa saath nibhaata chalaa gaya" 


Part 2: Delhi

It was a charming Delhi winter and he left his office early and boarded the local metro. Unlike the doors of the local Mumbai train, the doors of the metro would shut and that made him feel claustrophobic. He got off from the Green Park metro station and started walking towards his home. The pleasant weather was conducive for a walk. He took out his mobile phone and ear phones to listen to the FM radio to aid his walk. Somehow he always needed a background music for his walks. The thought of his stolen ipod  came to his mind, it had been one of his closest friends during his Bombay days; sadly it had been pick-pocketed in the crowded Delhi metro.

And in the walk from the metro and his home, he stopped by to eat a plate of steamed chicken momos. He enjoyed the idea of eating under the open sky and he knew that those momos tasted well only in this set of ambience because once he had got them packed for his flatmates and when they ate it there, momos didn't seam tasty at all. So today he ate his momos, paid his bill, thanked the vendor and started walking to his apartment listening to the RJ playing a soulful song which was serendipitously his most played song in the old ipod:

"Barbaadiyon ka shok manaana fizul thaa,
barbaadiyon ka jashn manaata chalaa gaya,
main zindagi kaa saath nibhaata chalaa gayaa"

Part 3: Bangalore

He shut down his cafe doors at around 11pm and after having dinner with his team, he walked back home.

Bangalore weather was really pleasant for good long walks but sadly the roads weren't (contrary to delhi where earth was conducive and the sky was not). And as he walked, he didn't want to analyse much as to where he was going towards in his entrepreneurial journey, all he knew was that he had walked away from the mediocrity of corporate life. And at times walking-away was more crucial than walking-towards.

And then amongst the tiny drizzle falling across the yellow street lamp, a sudden thought of his past travel to the hills came to his mind and the pleasant nostalgia brought relief to his mind amidst so much chaos and pandemonium. As he reached the gate, he smiled at the security guard of the apartment and exchanged the regular well-wishing pleasantries with him. The security guard, having found someone to share his happiness with, took out the recently bought second-hand mobile phone and proudly navigated him through some of the already installed apps like Uber, Whatsapp and flipkart, for which the guard had paid extra money. He even played some of the music from the songs which might have been downloaded by the previous owner of the phone. One of the songs triggered very strong emotions in him for the lyrics were:

"Jo mil gaya, use muqaddar samajh liya
jo kho gaya usko bhulaata chalaa gaya
main zindagi kaa saath nibhaata chala gaya"

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The Strangers

"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion"- Albert Camus

The Guy 

This is a story about a guy who was completely carefree. He was as free as a freebird, no one ever saw him worried and his attitude was truly devil-may-care kind.  Some liked him, mostly hated him, but he didn't care. Elderly men suggested him to start caring about his career, elderly women suggested him to start caring about his relationships, but very few suggested him to be the way he was. He did not care about any of their suggestions and continued to be the way he was.

One fine day he met a girl who asked him why-are-you-the-way-you-are. He answered in his typical . idiosyncratic manner I-am-the-way-I-am. But then when he saw her eyes in detail, he saw beauty, a raw black and white beauty. He saw that rare kind of beauty which offered him the glimpse of eternity that he wanted to stretch out over the whole of time. She being a sensitive girl noticed the change in him having seen her beautiful eyes.


The Girl 

This is a story about a sensitive girl whose life was a perpetual pendulum swinging between her strong mind and her fragile heart.  An outsider, she felt that she never belonged-to nor could fit-in anywhere. Life felt like a movie to her and everyone except she herself felt like a character from a movie. She was just one spectator watching the movie from outside the frame. One fine evening, a friend of her told her about this completely carefree guy who didn't care and that she, who had a thing for "different", should meet him. Initially she was reluctant but then lot many people had told her that he was actually "different". So she decided to meet him and ask him why-was-he-the-way-he-was.

The Guy and The Girl 

This is a story about a guy and a girl who fell in love with each other. It all started when he saw beauty in her eyes and she found a companion in his indifference. It all started when he felt her presence and the worship of her eyes, and then his heart had turned to her in quiet sufferance of her gaze, without shame or wantonness. No, it all started when the girl first heard about the guy being different. Ideally, by that logic it all started when he (or she) was born. But then it was love, logic didn't apply there. The Guy started caring and the Girl stopped feeling like an outsider. Both stepped in the frame of their own movies and thus their unfettered love story began.

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                                                                                                                                                                                           Picture: Close Noir Art by Quibe
                                                                                                                                                                         Inspiration: Albert Camus and James Joyce

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Of the hills and the seas

Blessed is he, for the hills are his family and the seas are his friends...


Hills are his family

Unsettled in every city, departing from every gate, it is in the hills he finds his home. Isn't he, the free bird, expected to make a home above all those abysses?  Hills are his bright home, supportive family and the omnipresent teacher. Hills taught him to possess less for he who possesses little is so much the less possessed: praised be a moderate poverty.

Up there, the food is pure, the air is fresh, the people are pure. The trees sway, the flowers blossom, the birds chirp for he, their own, is back in his physical self.  He liked to lie here where children play, beside that oak tree, among thistles and red poppies.

The outsider feeling evaporates when he is wandering in the hills. They bless him with the messages of humility, the joys of giving and to embrace the peaks and troughs of life.

And thus he has become the river, beautifully carved into the landscape, nourishing all the plants and trees passing by...

Seas are his friends

Still is the bottom of his friends: who could guess that the sea hides its loyalty and trustworthiness beneath it. Imperturbable is their depth: but his friends glitter with swimming riddles and laughter. Well, you don't choose family but you choose friends. He didn't even had to choose friends, he just swam with the tide and they chose him.

"He" and "him" converse often and as they say that the friend of a hermit is always the third one. His third one is the "sea". The sea was there to listen to him, to calm him. It was dependable and above all it was non-judgemental. He would sit by his friend and observe the large heartedness of it. A true friend is one who gives you a background to the frame you walk in.

This friend supported him in his voyage of an outrageous, scornful and untroubled life. And with his friend he shared the greatest events; for they are not our noisiest but our stillest hours.........


Blessed is he, for his family are the hills and his friends are the seas...

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(Inspired by Nietzsche's Thus Spake Zarathustra)

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Demonetization Story

Like many others, I was informed of the the demonetization move by Narendra Modi to tackle the black money problem through one of the Whatsapp Groups. Immediately, I checked my wallet and I was relieved that I didn't have a single five hundred or a thousand rupee note. I wouldn't have to go to the bank and stand in the long queue.

Next morning I was driving to my office. Oh wait, let me tell you about my interesting drive to office. While driving from my home to the office, there is one big traffic signal which comes on the way and everyday or rather most of the days, I meet this young girl who would come begging for money. Most of the times, I gave her some money (usually in the range of one rupee to ten rupees, maximum I gave was hundred rupee on the day of the festival Holi). I am not this usual beggar giving guy but this girl has so much positive energy in her that I could never resist giving her money. On the festival of Holi, she came with this color bowl in her hand and I gave her hundred rupees to which she asked me to step out of the her car, applied color on my face and made me meet her family (her sister, her brother and her mother). Everytime she took the money, she would come and talk to me and in the end uttered her rehearsed line"bhaiyya aapko bhagwaan khush rakhe" (Brother, May God keep you happy). I was not sure how much did God listen to her but somehow she did pass on some of that much needed positive energy to me.

Now, lets get back to the my drive to office on the next day to the demonetization announcement. I stopped at the same traffic signal I told you about. As I stopped my car, I noticed the begging girl excitedly running to me. I asked her to why was she so happy and ecstatic. She took out a five hunder rupee note from her pocket in the torn dress she was wearing. She told me "ek bahut acche sahab ne aaj pehli baar diya" (One very good gentleman gave me this for the first time). I was sure that she was not aware of the announcement that the five hundred rupee notes had been banned and that it was a mere piece of paper. She was so ecstatic at receiving the large currency that she even blessed the man infront of me "bhagwaan unko bahut khush rakhe" (May God keep him very happy).

I realised that I had little time to explain her about demonetization and then it would depress her. Instead I told her that if somebody saw that large currency with her, he will assume that she had stolen it from someone. And thus I took five of the hundred rupee notes from my wallet and asked her to change it for that one five hundred note she had. She was surprised as to why I did that but then I had built an image of a nice guy, so she agreed.

She then asked me as to where was my share of alms to her. I thought to tell her that I had given my share of alms to her by exchanging the notes but I took out my wallet and took out a 5 rupee coin and gave it to her. She looked at me and ran away saying "bhagwaan aapko bhi khush rakhe" (May God also keep you happy).

I  drove to office with my mind smiling at the idea that yes, that man who had given her the larger currency actually needed more blessings than me.

And befittingly the radio in my car played:

Maanaa apni jeb se fakeer hain, phir bhi yaaron dil ke hum ameer hain,
Mitte jo pyaar ke liye woh zindagi, chale bahaar ke liye woh zindagi
Kisi ko ho naa ho hamein to aitbaar hai, jeena isi ka naam hai
Kisi ki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, kisi ka dard mil sake to le udhaar
Kisi ke waaste ho tere dil mein pyaar, jeena isi kaa naam hai...

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Stories of wander

Picture clicked at Angkor Wat

“We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us. Even while the earth sleeps we travel. We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered.” 
                                                                                                            ― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet


I am sure you would not have realised that I have been suffering from this writer's block. While I was able to weave ideas in my head, even narrate stories to my little cousin, but when I tried to write them on paper, it did not make much sense.

Last night I narrated a story about one of the serendipitous experiences of a well traveled woman. The story starts with the woman discovering a breathtakingly beautiful mosque while strolling around in Yousmarg, Kashmir. The mosque was so beautiful that it triggered a strong urge in her to witness the mosque from inside. But then, she noticed a board in Urdu which mentioned that women were not allowed in the mosque. She was remorsing over the idea of women not allowed in mosques and about other basic discrimination against women, that she saw a man (traveler looking) stepping out of the mosque. She reached out to him as to how mosque looked from inside. He also affirmed that the mosque was one of the most beautiful one he had seen, truly a hidden gem, ten times more beautiful than the ones in Istanbul or Iran. He showed her pictures (in his phone) of the murals and the engravings in the mosque's walls and ceiling. She realised that the mosque was really beautiful but the man was a bad photographer and he had not done justice to the beautiful mosque. Her craving to witness the mosque and click pictures increased multi-folds. The man, seeing her sad face, advised her that she could really sneak in; as there was no one inside the mosque.
The woman finally overcame her fear of being spotted by someone and sneaked in the mosque after he also agreed to come along her. She was overwhelmed with the beauty of the mosque and the artists who had created it. While she took out her DSLR camera to click pictures, one of the imams of the mosque came in. The imam calmly asked as to what was she doing inside as women were not allowed. The accompanying man (gave an expression of oh-is-it-women-are-not-allowed) told the maulvi that they did not notice any board outside to which the girl (also giving an expression of oh-is-it-women-are-not-allowed) nodded her head. The imam smiled at the girl and said that "I think females should be allowed in the mosques but lying shouldn't"....
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And by then my cousin had slept on my lap and looking at her fairy like sleeping face, I thought of putting  the story on paper... .

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Story: Biography of a monk

A very revered monk once called his favourite disciple and informed him that his soul was going to leave his body (he was going to die) in a couple of days. He briefly gave the instructions of his last rites to the disciple which the young and the humble student sadly listened to and agreed to follow.

After the monk died, lot of people from various walks of life visited the funeral. It was a very modest funeral and there was a sense of calm throughout the last rites. It was during these rites, the disciple of the monk noticed that it was a woman who appeared to be saddest. Almost all people were sad (that their favorite monk had died) but then the woman's extreme sadness was quite conspicuous to the disciple.

Few months after the funeral, a famous biographer from Germany arrived at the monastery and sought cooperation from the disciple for he wanted to write a book on the monk. The disciple agreed to help the biographer with all facts about his favourite teacher. He also informed him about a woman who had arrived at the funeral and that she might be having something really special for the biography. Finally both the disciple and biographer searched for the woman and finally got to know that she lived in the mountains with her adopted family. The two people finally went on to meet her at her beautifully decorated house. But sadly, the two could not get anything from her as she blatantly told them that she was like yet another disciple and she used to follow his sermons on TV. The biographer and the disciple sadly left the mountain house with nothing from the graceful woman.

After few months, the book about the monk released and it became a best seller across continents. It also went on to become the second highest book to be sold across the world after the holy Bible.

Few months after the book's release, the disciple gathered himself and pondered over the teachings of the monk. His favorite teacher (monk) had taught him to follow the path of truth , sensitivity and curiosity. Thus, true to his teacher, the disciple left in search of truth to the woman who once had appeared to be the saddest to him. When he reached her house, she was angry to see him again. But he persisted and politely asked her to make him her disciple. She initially asked to go away as she was no teacher but then the disciple was persistent and adamant. He just asked her that he would stay with her and observe her. That would be the greatest learning as his monk had taught him that to observe a great soul is the biggest lesson one could undergo in life. The woman gave up to the persistence and agreed to keep him in the house. As the days passed ,the woman started developing sentimental ties with the kid for he reminded her of the monk.

Finally she told the monk's story to him:

Long back, in a very conservative town, the woman and the monk loved each other madly. Frustrated with the society, the monk constructed the idea of eloping with the woman to a distant land, which the woman reluctantly agreed. The monk charted the entire strategy of eloping and just gave one simple instruction to the woman to reach the railway station at a certain time. And like you guessed it, the woman didn't arrive and the monk had to leave the town alone.

The monk got dejected and assumed that the woman had chosen her family over him. He rushed to the mountains and took a vow of monkhood.  The monk also started undergoing the rigorous course of a monk. But after few months, the woman arrived looking for him and told him that she had missed the train. The monk got angry and asked her as to how can one miss the train of the lifetime. She politely reminded him of how casual she was with time and asked him to forgive her and leave monkhood for a happy marriage. The monk refused and said that he cannot take back his vow for monkhood.

The woman angrily left him with words of "Go to hell". Later they exchanged a lot of letters between them where the woman kept cajoling him as to leave monkhood and join her for a life rich of marital joys. She wrote to him that he was not meant for this boring monkhood but exciting bike trips, treks, hikes, building their own house, family and gardens.

Later, the persistent monk started becoming famous (in the world of monks) for he was a smooth talker and could heal souls with his long soulful speeches. His sermons were being attended by global thought leaders and lot of thesis on his teachings started being written by philosophers and spiritual leaders.

The old woman keenly followed the monk's speeches and teachings. She wrote him a letter as to how she found his teachings to be bullshit and mere crap. He replied her that he also agreed that they were bullshit and crap but lies and crap are what heal. He even wrote that all other religious teaching were equally crappy.

After the disciple heard the story, he asked her to show the letter where he stated that whatever he preached were bullshit. She agreed to show the letter to him.

Later the disciple left and wrote a book on the monk as the story of the bullshitter. This book went on to become the best seller, even beating the bible as the most sold book of all times.

But beyond everything, this book also marked the beginning of the revolution against all the religions and religious practices and thus an end to all the religions from the face of this world. 

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