Young love is restless and impulsive, impatient and excitable. It can't wait or persevere. It is unable to contain the size of its own self and seeks to give shape and form to its inner being. Ask me; I was a young lover. Naive, innocent, hopelessly romantic! Lucky for me, I was held back by fear and inhibition that prevented me from giving in to the usual motions of a young lover. And I was (and continue) to be an old-fashioned romantic. Not so much hormonal as emotional... if you know what I mean.

Unfortunately, not all youth are bound by fear or inhibition, and they fall into some not-so-healthy behavioral patterns. I think I was lucky that Mom/Dad didn't give me a tight slap when they learned about my youthful romance. I wonder if I will be able to have that kind of generosity!

When P's parents were visiting, we got ourselves the Hindi channel package from Dish Network. So it happened that one lazy afternoon, I turned on the TV and found Amar Prem. An old classic featuring the gorgeous Sharmila Tagore and handsome Rajesh Khanna, the movie showcases R D Burman's timeless melodies, excellent performances, great dialogues and a well-written script.

Pushpa is thrown out of her home when her husband takes a fancy to a younger woman. She has nowhere to go, lands up in the big bad city, and is forced to resort to prostitution to keep herself alive. But she has a heart of gold that remains untouched by the squalor and dirt she lives amidst. She enjoys the patronage of Anand, a rich businessman whose wife has stopped caring for him. Anand is a cynic but he is charmed by Pushpa's beauty, her soul-stirring voice and goodness of heart. Pushpa runs into an old acquaintance who's newly moved to the city. From him, she comes to know that her mother is dead. The old woman passed away months ago but Pushpa's contact in the village (a seedy character himself) didn't relay the news to her and pocketed the money she used to regularly send to her mother. As the acquaintance learns about Pushpa's profession, he is scandalized. He begins to avoid her. Pushpa is pained but she realizes that it is a simple consequence of her life choice. She meets the gentleman's young son, develops a motherly love for the child. She invites him to her home, feeds him sweets and snacks, sings to him and plays with him. He, in turn, cares for her as if she were his own mother. How else could he react? His mean stepmother spared no opportunity to show her dislike towards him. Ah, well. One day, the child falls seriously ill. Finally, it is Pushpa who secretly arranges for a senior physician to come visit the child and prescribe medicines. She pays for the treatment but doesn't mention a word to the parents. Ultimately, the father comes to know about it, he realizes that he judged too soon. His son's true mother was not the lady at home but the prostitute who lived down the street, for who else but a mother could tend to a child with such devotion and loving care?

The family is moving to another town. Pushpa is heartbroken at the thought of her "son" leaving her but what is she to do? Years pass, everyone goes his/her own way. The child is now grown up, a successful architect(?), happily married and a young father. He comes back to the same city, sets up house. His baby son falls ill and he lands up at the clinic of the same doctor who treated him years ago. Old memories resurface and now he yearns to meet his "mother," Pushpa. But no one knows where she is. The brothel is long gone. He begins asking around, runs into Anand who directs him to a lodge where Pushpa now works as a cleaning woman, scrubbing floors and washing clothes and doing the dishes.

The years haven't been kind to Pushpa. She is old and alone, left to fend for herself. One day, going about her chores, she comes to know about a penniless lodger, sick and dying. There is a doctor visiting the patient and his fees need to be paid. Alas, no one cares. Finally Pushpa takes the money out of her meagre savings and pays the doctor. As he leaves the room, Pushpa turns to the patient and realizes that it's her husband who's the patient. He's blind, poor, alone, virtually unrecognizable. He asks for a drink of water. As Pushpa pours the water into his parched mouth, he breathes his last. What an irony.

Pushpa's "son" and Anand find her at the lodge, everyone is reunited.

I am positive that I have watched this movie earlier but this time's viewing was special. There is nothing unusual about the story, agreed. However, I couldn't help observing that it has to be a very special "Pushpa" or flower (more precisely, the lotus) that lives in muck yet retains its fragrance and beauty. Pushpa never allowed her surroundings to sully her; she remained pure and innocent, her heart eternally generous and compassionate. She was mistreated by almost everyone in her life, yet she found it within herself to love and care for others.

Maybe we come to expect such behavior from our leading men and ladies but let's be realistic, it is no easy task. To keep one's innate goodness alive in the face of adversity and cruelty is a truly magnificent quality. That's why I feel that Pushpa was no victim of her circumstances. In fact, she was a victor.

One gem of a song after another... Amar Prem has so many of them. Here is a personal favorite.

My love is sheer immensity. It is empty space, full and limitless and infinite, boundless and endless. It cannot be contained in a single person, one entity. It get stifled, suffocated. It begins to stagnate and stink. And decay, then die.

But the one who chose to accept my love is the most generous of everyone. He took it with both hands and threw it out to the sky, so it had all the space it needed. Without any adjustment, any condition, any compulsion. My love got its opportunity to expand and revel in its own self. And it came back to me. Gorgeous, generous, magnificent, spectacular.

What could I do but throw it back into the sky? And it embraced every being in this Universe, every breath of air, every second of time that ever existed. It touched the Sun, the Moon, the millions of stars and star fragments. And each one of them threw it back into the cosmos. And it continued. And it continues.

"Love is not an emotion; it is your very existence," says Sri Sri Ravi Shankar. Now I know what he means, yes I do!

Would love to get some recommendations on new LJ-friends I can add... Feel free to send me lots of names!

Vijayan is a school teacher but his heart isn't in teaching. He longs for the carefree days of his youth, roaming around town without a care in the world, basking in the company of friends and classmates, spending his father's money on movies, alcohol and jaunts. Those days are long gone since he now has a wife Shyamala and two daughters to support. But every once in a while, he sneaks away from his day job to play hooky with his buddies, indulging in drinking/gossiping sessions, causing his family much consternation.

"Is this how a grown man behaves? Utterly irresponsible! He steps out to buy a can of coconut oil and is gone for seven days! No one knows where the man is!" and so on.

The father and father-in-law rack their collective brains and hit on a great plan. Let's send the guy on a pilgrimage to Sabarimala. Now Sabarimala is not an easy trip. It requires dedication, focus, discipline, abstinence. After much resistance, Vijayan gives in and begins the 40-day routine. He gets through it without much fuss and proceeds to Sabarimala. Thousands of devotees making their way to the temple, subsisting on meagre food and rations, braving sleepless nights of discomfort and overcrowding, getting a momentary glimpse of the deity... Vijayan is touched to the core. He returns home a changed man. His beard grows longer and thicker, he dresses in black/white/saffron, makes 2-hour trips to the temple each morning, dispenses flowers and fruits to the devout few thronging his house. And delivers religious sermons to the students at school.

Family is baffled. The plan wasn't all that genius, after all. It backfired, and so bad.

When the elders confront Vijayan, he retorts - Isn't this what you guys wanted? Now I am a devotee, I don't drink alcohol or eat meat, I am engrossed in thoughts of the Divine. What is your problem?

No answers. Family finances are dwindling, everyone is worried.

One day, Vijayan runs away, leaving behind a note - I cannot take this any more. I am leaving. Don't expect me to return. Shyamala is distraught, the elders are distressed. Well, you gotta do what you got to do. Shyamala gets an old sewing machine, rounds up a small clientele, begins her life anew. And she gets busy, managing her little enterprise, and two darling daughters.

Vijayan is on a trip of his own. Wanders around from city to city, meets another seeker, and reaches an Ashram. Months pass by but he is unable to shake off the memories of the past. He does not want to teach, he does not want to work in the Ashram farm, he does not want to assist in the Ashram activities. The head monk asks him what he wishes to do. Vijayan's response? "I wish to contemplate on God, that's all I wish to do." The head monk responds, "If you contemplate on God 24/7, even He will be annoyed."

Forsaking your loved ones and causing them pain is not Sanyaasa, Vijayan learns. Neither is shirking one's responsibility. Vijayan is restless, plagued by guilt. He gets into a fight with another Ashram inmate, finally decides to leave. He returns home only to find that Shyamala is a busy woman, running a successful enterprise. She gives him the cold shoulder, acts as if he doesn't exist. He meets his father and father-in-law who make no bones about their anger and disappointment. His friends are happy to see him back but they cannot help him break the ice with his family. Finally Vijayan gives up, breaks down.

Shyamala's heart melts, she accepts the prodigal son into her life... all is well.

Chinthavishtayaaya Shyaamala is one of my favorite movies. Tight script, excellent performances, great dialogues and a superb message. A spiritual seeker is not one who runs away from responsibility or forsakes his/her duties. Sanyaasa has NOT a thing to do with an individual's external circumstance; it is an internal attitude. Cultivating a Sanyaasin's attitude is something even a householder can do. It is simply the practice of Vairaagya, dispassion. Like King Janaka or Lord Rama or Krishna.

What I adore about this movie is that this immensely profound message is delivered with much fun, humor and lightness. No heavy "hit-me-over-the-head" seriousness or preaching. Now that's what I call a fantastic movie.

Considering that I work in new media (I like that term although it's a tad dated), I am a lover of old media.

One time, we had gone on a trip with a bunch of friends. I grabbed my copy of the Sherlock Holmes omnibus to read on the flight. As we got out of the flight, my friend M took one look at the big book and laughed. She said, "You know that you can get that in e-book form, don't you?" I do know that but I'd take a book over an e-Reader any day. This may be a good place to admit that I have never used an e-reader. Never even held one of the gadgets in my hands. And in no particular rush to do so either. I am not averse to the idea of using an e-reader; it simply doesn't appeal to me as much as getting my hands around a real book, paper and print et al does.

I have an iPhone but honestly, I think I could make do with any other phone. It isn't that the the joy of design is lost on me. I love and appreciate simplicity and elegance in design and the tech gadget world is a great place to see examples of that style ethic. Yet I find myself aching for the more tactile pleasures. A real book, a handwritten letter, using a pen to take notes in a notepad...

At a recent meeting, I took out my tiny notepad to take notes while my companion whipped out his shiny iPad. I could almost picture him thinking, "She takes notes with a pen???"

I am tired of characters glowing on an electronic screen. I see P (and countless others), eyes glued to the stupid phone screen, clearly eschewing the vibrant human being before him (me, that is). I see attention wavering, eyes shifting, deteriorating listening skills, poor attentiveness.

I don't want to be clued into the world all the time. Sometimes we are better off without each other's company. And I like tactile sensations far more than electronic impulses.

Maybe all this makes me seem like a Luddite? Not really. I am just another person who's tired of gadgetry.

Each one of these thoughts could end up in a post of its own. But that inspiration has been a long time coming. So here they are, in their individual abridged glory.

1. I often fall into fantasies about my next cup of tea. Measure out the water in my tiny flowered cup, add sugar, tea masala, smashed ginger, mint leaves. Then add tea, a swirl of milk, watch the color change from a dark brown to a milky cream and then to a pale brown. Oooh, love it. I am not addicted to it (Test of addiction? The object gives no pleasure but not having it brings immense pain. Tea does not do that to me, so I am not addicted!) but I look forward to the quiet and tranquility that tea + book brings me. It is a solitary ritual and has to be very specific. I don't derive this kind of satisfaction from tea made by anyone else, so it's an exclusively personal indulgence.

Each time, my mind wanders into my tea fantasy, I think - Why are you anticipating bliss/tranquility in the future? Aren't you blissful now? Are you uncomfortable now? You are here, bliss is here. Look no further, little one. Situate yourself here, now, for this is what is. Be happy now, here.

2. Was privy to a conversation that left me deeply sympathetic. You can devour tomes and tomes, listen to countless lectures, pore over theories, study at the feet of giants... but if you aren't happy, there is no point. Intellectual prowess is NO MATCH for unqualified happiness. Happiness may very well be the beginning of an intellectual journey (that's kinda my story) but I don't think intellectual accomplishments can bring you joy.

3. I get called 'cool' a lot. Maybe it's my hair, my young face, the clothes I wear or the movies I watch. Or the fact that I work in new media... whatever. It's a little sad that there are some truly cool folks out there with none of these "cool" markers who don't ever get noticed. Like my parents. They are the coolest and really, I am nowhere as cool as they are. But then the really cool ones don't care either, I'd think.

4. A Bollywood movie (London, Paris, New York) left me exasperated. As P commented, "A whole generation of Indians is going to grow up believing that independence is about having your own apartment." To add to that, "and to have the ability to walk in/out of relationships at will." It's a TRAP! Independence has not a thing to do with owning an apartment or walking out of a relationship or traveling alone. It is a state of being, an inexpressible sense of freedom, fearlessness.

It's convenient to blame "Western values" for this turn of events but that's not true. If it was about adopting Western values, then why don't we see a spirit of volunteerism among Indians? Or a sense of national pride? Or civic responsibility? B-A-H.

It finally struck me a few days back as to why some of us tend to rush through eating.

I realized that the full intensity of flavor is only available in the first bite. Bite two, it diminishes. Bite three, it is even lesser and then some more. So, if you are the patient kind who takes thirty-two bites per mouthful, then Bite#32 is probably a bland cousin of Bite#1, virtually unrecognizable in flavor, texture, etc. As the mind senses that the food is gradually becoming less flavorful (read tasty), it prompts the hand to push in another spoonful (or forkful or handful) of food into the mouth. Thus, it so happens that even before you finish up the first mouthful of food, you have started on the second. And so on.

It says a lot about how sensitive the mind is to sensation, how it is always looking to be stimulated, and how it desires new experiences (sensory or otherwise).

It takes restraint and maturity to patiently chomp your way through thirty-two bites of food.

I started re-reading the Mahabharata, courtesy Amar Chitra Katha. This is an epic I am very familiar with. I read it in my kiddie days, watched the TV series every Sunday, knew the names of the characters by memory, knew how it all began, and knew how it ended. I even knew many of the obscure tales that thread their way through the main story arc, linking back and forth in beautiful sync, without missing a single character. Yes, I was quite an expert on the Mahabharata, even as a child.

  

Yet it is amazing that as I begin my nth reading of the epic, there are a host of new realizations that come to me. As a child, they never struck me as being particularly salient or meaningful but in my ripe middle age, they acquire a whole new meaning.

Time and again, I am reminded of how brave and courageous the Kuru Princes were. Oh, we take it for granted that Kshatriyas are bold individuals; doesn't it come with the territory? But fear is a palpable sensation and it spares no one. There are moments of intense fear, a wish to run away. But there is no running away from one's duty. You might make it once but not every time. You gotta do what you have to do, and the Mahabharata is a beautiful illustration of this cardinal principle.

As a reader, it was a foregone conclusion for me that victory is in store for those who tread the path of Dharma and righteousness. But as I read the earlier parts (where the Pandavas escape from the burning house at Varnavata), I was surprised to read that they experienced anxiety, fear even. They wondered how far they should flee so that they wouldn't be killed by the henchmen of their wicked cousin, Duryodhana. It was new to me because I had never imagined that the Pandavas could go through such "human" emotions; they always seemed superhuman to me.

I was also struck by the respect accorded to the preceptor, learning and knowledge. Today, we don't see many instances of that. Teachers are given scant respect and it breaks my heart. One who embodies knowledge, shares it freely without compunction, expects nothing in return (yes, I have been fortunate to meet many such luminaries) deserves to be worshipped, really. Learning is an illuminating process. It sharpens and softens the intellect; it brings the Universe within alive, sets it ablaze. To me, the one who facilitates such a life-transforming process is a precious blessing, worthy of respect and gratitude. 

I also realized the importance of discipline. Many youngsters fall in and out of love during their years at school/college. It is but natural to experience such emotions at that age. But wisdom lies in realizing that there is a time and place for every thing, and there is great value in waiting. In fact, wisdom and intuition will also tell you when the right time and place arrive. Many a student has forsaken his/her studies in pursuit of the heart. It is such a foolish endeavor! Lack of discipline and focus drives people to distraction. The Mahabharata is a beautiful lesson about discipline, focus and devotion to one's goal.

I was touched by how the elders on the Kaurava side - Bheeshma, Drona, Kripa - fought bravely, knowing fully well that they'd be slain at the hands of their beloved students. Bheeshma knew himself to be invincible, yet he shared to the Pandavas how he could be felled. Without that benevolent knowledge, there was no way the mighty warrior could be defeated. Everyone who fought in the war was staring Death in the face. Yet each one fought without fear or compulsion. It was their dharma, their rightful duty.


It also struck me that there was no middle path. There was no question of sparing anyone's life; either you slay them or you get slain. The Pandavas knew that they had to slay all their family members, else they wouldn't be victorious. Imagine the pain and suffering experienced while killing one's own cousins and family members, yet fully committing to the act and responsibility! It blows my mind, every time I think about it.


As a reader, I knew that war was inevitable. And I thought that the characters also saw it that way. So, I was surprised to see how hard everyone (except Duryodhana) tried to avert the war. But it was so not to be. Yet everyone put in their best efforts because they could see the large scale destruction and death that the war would bring.


Ultimately, I realized that the Mahabharata was a conflict between love and duty. What will you choose, my dear one?

"Do what you have to do." It seems to me that that is the essence of the Mahabharata.

On a second note, here is an excellent introduction to the Mahabharata. Totally enjoyed reading this one.

Driving home this evening, I heard a piece on NPR about a book club for young readers. Both books for the month had a common theme of immigration, loneliness, bullying. It reminded me of my years growing up in Bombay.

Lonely, friendless - who, me? If you know me in real life, I doubt you would ever think of me as a shy, sensitive or lonely kid. But I think that about describes me. I was too shy to speak with other kids my age, so I spoke with older people. And they thought that I was one smart girl, so well-spoken, so intelligent. Intelligent and well-spoken, I was. Smart, I don't know. I was (and continue to be) quite naive in many ways. Unfortunately, all that smartness and articulateness led other kids to believe that I was a snob. I was half-aware of this presumption but I didn't know how to change it. I tried to reach out, be friendly and I thought I had a few friends. But at the back of my mind, I knew that I had none. Oh, I was one of the school toppers (ranked 3rd). I don't think anyone was more surprised than I. I thought the other kids were way smarter, studied harder... But maybe I was smarter or luckier. Anyway, I graduated with great marks, went to junior college.

There, I met a great bunch of kids. We hung out together, had great conversations, fell in and out of love with each other, became good friends... and continue to be good friends. One of them who also happened to be from my school told me, many years later, that for the longest time, he used to think that I was a snob. Up until he met me in college and came to know me better. I remember wondering, what did I do (or not do) to merit such a description? The guy had had zero interaction with me, yet he seemed to have a clear idea of the kind of person I was.

This long-winded (and slightly pathetic) story is not to establish my lonely and friendless childhood (there, that sounds even worse!) but to explain that kids have it tough also.

I know that most people characterize childhood as a period of innocence and freedom. Yes, it is a time for fun, mischief, play and friendship. However, it may not be so for every kid. I was nervous playing sports. Since I had hardly any friends, I never went out to play. I sat at home and read instead. See how I became the smartest cookie in the class? The one who got great marks in English, whose grammar was impeccable and wrote the best essays? All those years of reading did that. But this also meant that I couldn't catch a ball. Or ride a bicycle, for the longest time. That made me nervous during PT class.

Anyway, I am alright now. Actually, I am GREAT. If you have been a long-time reader of this journal of mine, then you know that I have come up a winding path, learning a lot along the way. I am happier now than I can ever recall, I feel fulfilled and contented, and I know that I have many gifts to share. And I know that my experience as a smart little kid in Bombay will help me to show other little kids that you can be smart and talented and have friends too. That it's okay to be a little shy. That there is no need to be nervous about playing sports. That books can be great friends. That there are other nice kids out there waiting for you to go play with them.

Before you think that this is an issue only faced by smart girls, let me assure you that it isn't. If you are a class topper, I think others automatically assume that you must be terribly vain and hardly interested in fun activities, regardless of gender. I really didn't study that hard, and when I did, I got the results. And you know that type of student who studies hard but doesn't ever say so? People thought that I was that kind. There you have it... such a silly situation, no?