Be happy

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,

Strong and content I travel the open road.

- Walt Whitman

You know those if-I-had-my-life-to-live-over kinds of emails with a lot of homespun widom which make the rounds on the internet that you nod ruefully over and delete and promptly forget? I had my own purple hat moment the other day as I was organizing stacks of old photographs ranging all the way back a decade into albums. As I went through the photos I was struck by how much blessings and abundance life had graced us with - opportunities, travel, experiences, friends, family, places, homes - so much beauty. And I was haunted by the thought - had I been happy enough? Of course I was happy overall, but did I ever dare let myself be truly deeply thoroughly happy? Did I ever give myself over to the experience of happiness the way a three year old in a puddle does? I think not. I was cautious, I held back - I had my load of fears, judgements, worries the same as anyone else. Yet now I see how extraneous they all were. Like Mark Twain said, "I have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened."

I'm starting to realize the profundity of Baba's injunction, "Be Always Happy". He's always exhorting us to "be happy, be happy, be happy". What does it really mean? Being happy is to choose love over fear, to stop and pause and consciously choose it over and over again until it becomes second nature. To make the present moment into your best friend. To want what you have, and dwell by the perennial springs of gladness and contentment. To love well and give fully.

The awareness of being alive is exquisite joy enough. All the rest is cherry on top.

Henceforth may we have the grace to Be Always Happy.

Childhood's nest of gladness

The little warrior has done it again. Caused a little storm in our little teacup of existence, and when things settled down I found myself with changed perceptions and an altered world-view, soaring fearless and free from the shackles of convention.

I'd always had misgivings about turning him over to the tender mercies of the mainstream education system, but the Inner Compliant Student in me fondly hoped that things had changed now from when my generation went to school, and it mightn't be so bad after all. After changing three schools I was forced to conclude that nothing has changed - if anything, the accelerated pace of today's world might have made it worse. As John Taylor Gatto pungently remarks, "The old system where every child was locked away and set into nonstop, daily cut throat competition with every other child for silly prizes called grades is broken beyond repair. If it could be fixed it could have been fixed by now. Good riddance."

Things seemed to be going well at his latest school until they decided that he was ready to learn to write when he turned four. In the beginning, writing was a novelty - it was exciting to have homework just like the older kids. But it quickly turned into a regimental drilling of being made to practice pages and pages of cursive alphabets and numbers - complete with coercion, punishment and scolding if he didn't co-operate or do his homework. This certainly didn't go down well with the little warrior, spirited as he is, and he fought them every step of the way. He came home with clouded brow and sad eyes and threw tantrums out of the blue to release the stress. He who had considered the whole world and all the people in it his own started to look cowed and shied away when people he didn't know addressed him. He no longer had perfect confidence in his world.

Was I sending him to school to have his love for learning snuffed out and his whole creative being reduced to producing mechanistic output according to adult agendas? Could any true learning happen without a foundation of love and respect? The other parents seemed to think this par for the course and a necessary part of early schooling to prepare them for the "real world". Well, not this mama!

The need for movement, interaction with other children, free play, curiosity and experimentation are developmental nature-driven imperatives for which the child is routinely penalized in school. He is made to sit in one place, forbidden to talk or interact with other children, allowed only structured monitored "play" in the form of songs with actions and other adult-driven activities, subjected to a strict disciplinary atmosphere where scolding and shaming are common AND a manic cramming of reading and writing and math down his throat as fast and furious as possible. What a sacrilege on early childhood!

Joseph Chilton Pearce notes, "From all standpoints we find that this period, from ages four to seven, is designed for that one purpose to which the child is compulsively driven - play. Over the past fifty years, however, this is the age at which we have insisted on putting the child into a school desk, restricting his movement (and we know learning takes place only through movement at this age), and forcing that dreamer into into abstract pursuits suitable to pre-adolescence at best. Combined with the effects of hospital delivery, daycare, television, the collapse of family, and so on, the collapse of childhood itself has been accelarating."

He says further, "Children are driven by millions of years of genetic encoding to follow intuitively their only road to survival and intelligence - which is play." The discoveries of modern neuroscience are just starting to bear up this truth.

My vague memories of early childhood seem to recall that period as a state of homogenous grace. Innocent precious beingness. Dreamy wonder.

"Without, the frost, the binding snow,
The storm-wind's moody madness -
Within, the firelight's ruddy glow
And childhood's nest of gladness."
(Lewis Carroll)

"Childhood's nest of gladness" - a phrase so perfectly evocative of that time! Why rob that nest of its gladness by forcing abstract academic knowledge and adult notions too soon? Why this rabid urgency to hurry the child into learning faster and younger? Why this kolavari di?

I met the director of the school to tell her that I was moving my boy to an alternative play-based Waldorf school where academics would only be introduced in first standard.
"Of course children like that sort of thing - but what about your son's future?" she demanded. "What if he grows up and wants to be an artist or worse...a - a...photographer? (the horror!) How will he support himself? These alternative education options may seem romantic and appealing, but ultimately reality has to be faced!"
And there it is. It all comes down to fear. Fear that keeps us imprisoned in status quo in environments that don't serve our children in any way. Do we really want our kids to sell their lives to the highest bidder and enslave themselves to big corporations for the rest of their lives? "The spirit of Life that is always speaking to our souls" would have us do better.

The little warrior comes home from school now with the sparkle in his eyes undimmed. He is perfectly equal to addressing a stranger, a bee, a grown-up, a flower, a baby or an old person with his old confidence. The whole world is his own once again.

The sweetest days we'll know

Summer and monsoon is giving place to autumn with its falling leaves and misty mornings as I watch the little warrior shedding the last vestiges of littleness before my very eyes. He is a big boy of four now, with his own friends who call him out to play with a well-directed shout from below our balcony. He sometimes brings home a page of homework from his Montessori preschool, just like his big cousins, in his own school bag. He has definite ideas about how things should be done and has plenty to say for himself. He is plumbing new and wondrous ways of expressing his feelings: "Amma, your face is so nice. You are such a nice mother! If a cow comes and bites you, I'm going to be so sad."

But there are still those last traces of babyhood that my hungry eyes search for and covet - the roundness of his cheeks, the dimples on his hands: fast disappearing but still there for now, the high voice and childish pronounciation that is rapidly being improved out of existence as we speak, the intent long-lashed eyes that widen ever so slightly when they encounter a new phenomenon, the little body that is barely little enough for me to scoop up quickly into my arms when we need to cross a troublesome street. He can still perch on my hip, though I can't walk effortlessly when he does that anymore. In a year or so, I know he'll be too big for any more scooping or perching, so I gather him up into my arms often these days just because I still can.

You realize the preciousness and evanescence of life more after having a child - then you know pregnancy goes by in a heartbeat, babyhood is gone in a blink of an eye, toddlerhood in a flash - everything rushes by, though it feels like it's going to last forever when you're experiencing it. So I try to reverently hold and cherish in my attention each moment, good or bad, even as I'm achingly aware of the truth of impermanence.

It reminds me of that last scene from American Beauty: "Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life..."

It reminds me to give of myself willingly to the demands of this stage - the incessant questions, the mess as he turns the house into his playtime wonderland, the frequent demands for a story, for participating in the imaginary sequences of his play-acting, for this that or the other - with a keener realization of "this too shall pass".

Tree Of Life movie

Been hearing rumbles of this particular movie's surreality and brilliance, and took the first opportunity to watch it.

The movie is surreal, yet grounded in the exquisiteness of everyday moments - inspires awe of the sublime power that moves the cosmos, as also awe of the ordinary miracles of daily living that we take for granted - viscerally showing the freedom and wonder of childhood, yet also the helplessness of a child having his world shaped by powers beyond his control - impressionistic scenes portraying the rebellion and blind search for meaning of adolescence - the joy of life's blessings, as well as the sorrow of life's losses - the agony of grief, and the redemption of grace.

One review made this spot-on observation:

"Many films diminish us. They cheapen us, masturbate our senses, hammer us with shabby thrills, diminish the value of life. Some few films evoke the wonderment of life's experience, and those I consider a form of prayer. Not prayer "to" anyone or anything, but prayer "about" everyone and everything. I believe prayer that makes requests is pointless. What will be, will be. But I value the kind of prayer when you stand at the edge of the sea, or beneath a tree, or smell a flower, or love someone, or do a good thing. Those prayers validate existence and snatch it away from meaningless routine. It functions to pull us back from the distractions of the moment, and focus us on mystery and gratitude."

It is not an entertainer. It is a deep profound courageous look at our existence and the age old questions arising from the depths of suffering - "Lord, why? Where were you? Did you know what happened? Do you care?"

When you walk out of a movie hall, you retain a flavour of the world projected by the screen for a few minutes. But this movie does not draw you into its story world, it draws you deep into yourself, and you walk out of the movie hall wrapped in a strange solitude of being, not wanting to say anything for a long time afterwards.

Some defining lines from the movie (spoiler warning!) -

"The nuns taught us there were two ways through life - the way of nature and the way of grace. You have to choose which one you'll follow.

Grace doesn't try to please itself. Accepts being slighted, forgotten, disliked. Accepts insults and injuries.

Nature only wants to please itself. Get others to please it too. Likes to lord it over them. To have its own way. It finds reasons to be unhappy when all the world is shining around it. And love is smiling through all things.

The nuns taught us that no one who loves the way of grace ever comes to a bad end."

For those in Bangalore, the movie is currently running at PVR Koramangala (in Forum Mall).

Gurupoornima tribute - Omnipresent Teacher

Long enough have you dream’d contemptible dreams;
Now I wash the gum from your eyes;
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light, and of every moment of your life.

Long have you timidly waded, holding a plank by the shore;
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair.

- Walt Whitman

One evening in Fresno, after attending bhajans and study circle at the local Sathya Sai Baba center, I popped into Savemart to pick up some yogurt on the way home. As I walked into the store and made my way to the dairy aisle, I became aware that a couple of people I met on the way had looked at me a second longer, and one had actually done a double take. I discreetly checked my reflection in the glass doors and immediately spotted the rather big blob of vibhuthi on my forehead. Vibhuthi is customarily offered to those present after Arathi at the Sai center, and I must have got a bit more on my fingertip this time. Now I've always had a perfect horror of being conspicuous - I'm one of those who would rather fade into the woodwork than be in the limelight for any reason. I struggled for a moment to stay detached, but there was no way I was going to get stared at some more at the cashier's. So as I made my way back from the dairy aisle, I surreptitiously rubbed the vibhuthi off my forehead. I did feel a few pangs of conscience, but thought no more of it.

The next morning I opened a book of Sai discourses - my regular early morning reading. If I happen to have time I read an entire chapter, if not, just a few paragraphs. That morning I was running short on time to leave for the office, so I decided to open the book at random and just read a few lines. As I opened the book, my eyes were drawn to a paragraph beginning down the page. I read unsuspectingly, gasped, and then read it again incredulously,

"We are always afraid of what the world would say and also afraid of the diversity of our own thoughts. When we do good things, there is no reason why we should be afraid of the world. Your thoughts are yours and your happiness should be yours. Many people go to a temple and put on vibhuthi, but they rub it off as soon as they come out, thinking that their friends will laugh at them. Why should they go to the temple when they have no courage to do it? Why is it that you are afraid to say that you have gone to a temple and that you have your own faith? Why can you not say that you have your faith and that you are not a slave to someone else’s ideas? There is a great deal for us to learn from the actions of the gopikas. Their courage and self-confidence are indeed exemplary. It is also necessary for us to have a certain amount of self-confidence. For sorrow or for pleasure, for defeat or for victory, we should develop the courage to meet them with equanimity."

Incredible! Baba was actually chiding me for something I thought was known only to myself, and I felt suitably chastised. But behind it all was a big smile on my face and in my heart for the rest of that day - no wordly accolade is sweeter than a Sai scolding! Each of those instances of amazing grace is a treasured jewel I can take out of my memory and marvel over endlessly.

Rest assured you won't catch me doing any rubbing off again, or being afraid to be in the limelight for all the right reasons!

Gandhi's talisman

In one of the last notes left behind by Gandhi in 1948, he wrote,

"I will give you a talisman. Whenever you are in doubt, or when the self becomes too much with you, apply the following test. Recall the face of the poorest and the weakest man whom you may have seen, and ask yourself, if the step you contemplate is going to be of any use to him. Will he gain anything by it? Will it restore him to a control over his own life and destiny? In other words, will it lead to swaraj (self-governance) for the hungry and spiritually starving millions?
Then you will find your doubts and your self melt away."

I have often wondered whose that face may be, "the face of the poorest and the weakest man". Not a face that you can wince over for a minute, then submerge amidst the everyday busyness and needs and desires of your own existence - there is no dearth of such faces on the streets. But a face that will haunt you in the quiet moments before you fall asleep, when you sit down for dinner at a fancy restaurant, when you let yourself be tempted to buy that umpteenth pair of pretty strappy slippers.

A few weeks ago in the newspaper, I saw that face:
http://www.deccanherald.com/content/157714/for-poor-death-miserable-living.html

I want to burn the face of Hanumanthappa on my brain so I never again forget, slide into default easy ways of living, not thinking or doing anything for anyone except me and mine.

I need every gem of those swift kick in the pants shockers that Swami Vivekananda specialises in administering:

“The essential thing is renunciation. Without renunciation none can pour out his whole heart in working for others. The man of renunciation sees all with an equal eye and devotes himself to the service of all. Does not our Vedanta also teach us to see all with an equal eye? Why then do you cherish the idea that the wife and children are your own, more than others? At your very threshold, Narayana Himself in the form of a poor beggar is dying of starvation! Instead of giving him anything, would you only satisfy the appetite of your wife and children with delicacies? Why, that is beastly!”

Thank you Dr Asha Benakappa for writing that article and bringing alive Gandhi's talisman for so many of us.

What I wanted and what I got

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost

All I wanted was to stay put and gestate in peace without any drama - but I found myself sprinting between terminals with a 7 month pregnant belly to catch a plane to India - so he could be born there.

I moved heaven and earth for him to be born like most people, nicely on time, and in the way nature designed - but he came 7 days late through an unexpected coup of a cesarean.

His father is O+ and I am B+ - but of course he had to go and be a maverick O- The universal donor...some grand notions this kid has! The doc had to actually draw us a chart to explain how this could be possible.

All I wanted was for his newborn care to proceed uneventfully but the vaccine issue somehow rose up like a camel in a desert - he played his part right on cue to upstage our hithertofore unchallenged perceptions - and ended up not being vaccinated for the most part.

All I wanted was for him to toddle off to school like a good little boy along with all the other kids, but as his fate would have it, here he is, happily hanging out at home - a preschool drop-out at the grand old age of 3! And I find myself embracing the idea of homeschooling.

Even as I stew in occasional discomfiture when I am at odds with What Is, I applaud the spirit of our little warrior. I am proud of all that he has accomplished in just 3 years on earth so far. Here's to many more breaking-out-of-the-box adventures together!