The petunia is easily one of the most colourful garden flowers around. Months back when I was planning my winter garden, the petunia was on top of my ‘grow-well’ list. I saw all those wonderful pics of the flower on the net, and frankly I would become greedy seeing all those colours. I told myself, ‘I want this flower bad’ and bought close to 50 seedlings out which only about half have survived. But the ones that have survived and are now blooming and the colour they splash around, make all the effort worthwhile.
For me certainly, the petunia arrived late to the party. It started blooming in other people’s gardens in Jan itself but it made me wait till mid-Feb. And just like many good things that come late, the petunia is easily the show-stealer. Take a look for yourself.
Some time back I went to a party where they had impressive floral decorations. The halls were decked with bouquets of what looked like carnations and chrysanthemums, and other flowers I could not identify. On closer look, the flowers turned out to be perfectly formed… and fake. As I was squinted at one particularly gorgeous bunch, I saw a bee buzzing busily (see what I did here??!) around the flowers. Fake blossoms and a very real (and I suspect, really let down) bee. Well, that bee was not the only one who got fooled by perfect imitations of natural stuff. Take a look below!
Compulsive Pursuits Into Quaintness (CPiQ) was started with an initial intent to give vent to “personal” emotions, the kind we have on a daily basis in response to stuff happening around us. Many intense emotions though very personal to us and quite heartfelt, are nonetheless not too relateable to someone on the outside. The phrase ‘putting oneself in someone else’s shoes’ has been done to death; it is difficult. And to boot, even impossible in the blogging world, where I guess, we search for amazing insights into life and living, not to understand why X is suddenly so happy and certainly, not into why that same X gets dejected at other times.
I remember how pleasantly astonished I was to learn of a film legend treating a customer service guy with civility, warmth even. That tale though it happened to a person whom I met only once, stayed with me for a long time until I decided to post it as an integral feature of The Original Indian Tobogganist. So I intended CPiQ as a personal monologue (1st post 'So Dark for April' reflects this) but later, I got inspired by the idea of penning my thoughts about external stuff - if I could relate to the simplicity around me even if second-hand and the profoundness that often accompanies such portraits, many others would too.
CPiQ is today a year-old baby (I do not count my first post as the beginning) – a baby seeking to precariously strike a balance between being meaningful and playing the fool, between seeing and understanding, and indeed, between pursuing and not pursuing. For in solemn pursuit, the joys of the road being travelled are often lost and the whole escapade turns purposeless. When Steve Tyler croons, “Life’s a journey, not a destination”, the year-old baby sings in complete accompaniment. A Very Happy 1st Birthday, CPiQ!
We all know the story of Sir Isaac Newton resting under an apple tree when a merry fruit goes boink and lands on his head; a happy incident culminating in what is now known as Newton’s Laws of Gravity. I can appreciate now basis my own experience a couple of evenings ago, about how falling fruits tend to get people’s minds working on overdrive, leading to observations galore.
It was the evening of Maha Shivratri (literally meaning ‘the great night of Shiva’) – a Hindu festival celebrated annually in reverence of Lord Shiva, the Hindu God of Transformation or Destruction. This year Shivratri was celebrated on 20thFeb. I was out strolling that particular evening with a friend through one of the leafier avenues of the city when we hear a loud thunk and see what appears to be a robust, round-shaped thingy lying on the ground. I pick it up, my friend remarks that it is a bael fruit (or wood apple, a type of marmelos). The skin of this fruit is green and speckled with yellow marks and a few indentations from the fall. I keep the fruit cos it gives off a nice rosy, citrusy aroma and bring it back from our walk, not ascribing any other thought to it other than perhaps, keeping it in my room for its rich aroma. I had never eaten the fruit raw though I had tasted its drink a few times.
I had just reached the lane in front of our house when I see my brother Sunny outside and give the bael to him, when things start happening quickly. You see, the bael is considered the favourite fruit of Lord Shiva, and its leaves are an integral part of Shivratri rituals, as per The Holy Book of Shiva, the Shiv Purana. Devotees offer the fruit to the Lord that day, partaking of a bit of the offering as a Divinely-invested gift (prasad) of Shiva. On any other day, the bael falling onto my path would have been a simple good fortune to taste free fruit, but on that day which was ‘the great night of Shiva’, it was positively receiving Divine Benediction – a feat for which the Lord himself intervened.
A few neighbours gathered around Sunny, all agog with the now-famous story of how the Bael transported itself by some Divine will, down for its devotees. The bael was smashed on the ground just like a coconut, and its aromatic, pulpy fruit bits instantly consumed as prasad by the eager throng. I too tasted the raw fruit for the first time. The bael never even reached the house; so much for my plans of using it as a room freshener!
This story is a typical tale of how we seek and receive assurances (purely symbolic, I mean) from the external environment. A fruit, an animal, a happy coincidence – everything is grist to our assurance-seeking nature. I have earlier explored this theme in one of my previous posts When Keys get Stuck. That evening though, I was just basking in the glow of being “one of God’s favoured”, the "deliverer of Divine Prasad". You understand I am sure, that I was just living up my own Newton Moment.
The older brother holds his younger brother’s hand as he lies upon a stretcher, covered in a loose blue robe just before he is about to be wheeled into the OT for a surgery which might enable him to move upright again, or might even paralyse him from the waist down, if it failed. As the duo were waiting for the OT crew to usher them in, the younger brother his head immovably strapped to a hideous neck collar, asks his brother with tears in his eyes, “Dada, why did this happen to me?” The older brother looks down at the tear-stained face of his sibling, ineffectually tries to wipe out the moisture from his own and not knowing what to do, just clutches his brother’s hand tighter. That younger brother was my brother Sunny and that fateful day, I was dearly holding onto his hand. Due to God’s grace, the operation was successful and post-surgery, Sunny is now perfectly well.
Sunny had a road accident in May 2005 right after his Class X exams, and fractured his C1 and C2 cervical vertebrae which as our orthopaedic surgeon proclaimed, are the 2 uppermost bones in the spine. The skull rests on the ring-shaped C1 which serves as the base, and the C2 forms the pivot upon which the C1 rests. So, my brother was in danger of his skull hanging loose from the spine (C1 fracture), as also the added risk of not being able to move his head around (C2 fracture) even if he overcame the first danger.
We admitted Sunny into intensive care in a Guwahati medical facility for some days. Due to the injury, Sunny’s head was supported by a neck collar and since he could not move his head, he had to perpetually stare at the ceiling above. The doctors were non-committal and running a battery of tests, and we waited for advice. Resting Sunny on his side for a few minutes each day for wiping clean his bed sores was a complicated task involving atleast 3 people, and required careful manipulation of his upper body so that his head did not move more than it had to. This typically took around 15 – 20 minutes each time. Family came to see Sunny at the facility, and concerned members, grown people at that, broke down outside with fear and sadness, after visiting Sunny in ICU. My brother however, was the one with a smile on his face almost all the time, through the daily injections and the frequent saline solution infusions, and even bantering with the medical personnel who attended to him. Finally we were informed that Sunny had to be operated to walk again and move around normally, a surgical procedure for which our case was referred to AIIMS, Delhi.
Flying Sunny to Delhi presented another challenge; since he had to lie on his stretcher throughout, 3 seats had to be unhinged from the airplane floor, and the stretcher had to be fitted there. Apparently out of all the flights flying out of Guwahati, Indian Airlines was the only one who could do it. This was Sunny’s first flight and he spent it tied to the airplane floor for a flight time of 3 hours. We spent close to a fortnight in AIIMS before Sunny could be operated upon, and another fortnight post-surgery. Throughout this entire period of close to 2 months, the only moment of vulnerability when Sunny expressed his fears and cried, was when we were waiting to be taken into the OT. As we were waiting outside, we were told that one family member could escort Sunny to within the OT, and I went along with him holding his right hand with my left.
Pals playing "Mustache Mafiosi"
with Sunny (middle)
It has been more than half a decade since then. Even now family members reminisce about the strength and inner courage that Sunny showed when others around him were sobbing openly. It is a source of secret pride for me that my brother, all of 16 years then and with his whole young life ahead of him, never subjected himself and others to frustration and fear. I know all too well, the helplessness that sometimes creeps in and the all-too-normal reaction of bitterness and proclivity to blame God and Man for the present misery.
Sunny is now a Masters student and imbued with a joie de vivre which is infectious. He is living upto his name now and I am sure, will for all days.
(The title has been adapted from a line in the film ‘Auntie Mame’ and for me, invokes the core of a person shining with radiance and a flinty character, both qualities synonymous with the diamond of which Tiffany's is a major designer.)
Nature's Bouquet: Dianthus radiant in the centre,
Phlox in the top left & right ,
Petunia smiling shyly in bottom left
Winter for me as for many others I suspect, is a season associated with late mornings, snug quilts, piping bowls of hot soup and outings to the countryside. This winter however, has been different. The season has acquired a different meaning for me now – it is now also the season for chrysanthemums, dahlias, petunias, marigolds, dianthus, pansies and so many other pretty flower varieties that thrive in our short winter.
During my trips to florists to buy (mostly) roses and gladiolus, I had always admired the sunny faces of the blooms, the hint of fragrance in the air and the natural cheerfulness which a nice bouquet almost always induces. Looking at them, I asked myself ‘How difficult will it be to grow my own flowers?’ Starting from January last year, I tried my hand at growing flowers and got my answer. Growing flowers is not an easy task but when the flowers bloom (for all too short a time, it always seems), one is rewarded.
Kabir the weaver (or Kabira), was born in India in the 1400s. He also came to be known as a great saint and poet, his thoughts holding sway over millions even today. Folk songs in Sindhi and Punjabi carrying within their words the magic of Kabir’s thoughts, have seeped into contemporary Indian oral traditions. Till just the other day, I did not realize that some of the widely-used truisms in Hindi vernacular have come all the way from Kabir’s mouth e.g., “Kal kare so Aaj Kar, Aaj kare so Ab” (“Tommorow’s work do Today, Today’s work do Now”). As is only natural, the language of the people finds expression in Bollywood – the recent fountain of film songs steeped in Sufi spirit of ‘Love’ and ‘Longing’ and ‘Complete Devotion’ are reminiscent of some of the teachings of this extraordinary person.
Kabir who is regarded by Hindus as a Vaishnava Bhakat (Vishnu’s Disciple), by Muslims as a Pir (Saint/ Guide/ Teacher) and by Sikhs as a Bhagat (God’s Disciple), was it is said, almost illiterate. Raised by Muslim parents, he was never formally educated. The only word he could ever write was ‘Rama’ (the name of the 7th re-incarnation of Hindu God, Vishnu who is considered as the embodiment of mercy and goodness). Thus, Kabir’s lyrics are simple and based on colloquial language and nuances, and stems from his keen observation of mundane and everyday things.
Breaking away from religious dogmas and ritualistic allegiances and a casteist society, Kabir propagated a Divine union through love, devotion and an awareness-filled life. Kabir’s poetry is expressed in the form of songs and couplets (‘Dohas’). The spiritual depth Kabir expresses in just 2 lines is extraordinary, communicating universal truths about life as it is supposed to be lived (I think). I am reproducing 3 dohas below for a preliminary understanding of what Kabir says.
Jab tu aaya Jagat mein, Log hanse tu Roye,
Aise karni Na Kari, Pache hanse Sab Koye.
(When You were born in this world, Everyone laughed while You Cried,
Conduct NOT yourself in manner such, That they Laugh too when you are gone.)
Akath kahaani Prem ki, Kuch kahi na Jaaye
Goonge keri Sarkara, Baithe Muskae.
(Inexpressible is the story of Love, Not revealed by Words,
Like the Dumb eating sweet-meats, Only smiles, the Sweetness He cannot Tell.)
Jyon nainon mein Putli, Tyon Maalik ghat Maahin,
Murakh log na Jaanhin, Bahaar Dhudhan Jahin
(Like the Pupil in the Eyes, The Lord resides Inside
The Ignorant not knowing this, Searches for Him outside.)
If you would like to hear how good Kabir’s words sound in the golden voice of the great Sufi singer Abida Parveen, I highly recommend the album “Kabir by Abida”. The songs are just like Gulzar says in one of the introductions in the album, ‘twin intoxication – getting drunk on the verses of Kabir and then again on the voice and rendition by Abida’.
It is said that people spend a long time in searching for the meaning for their existence, and a dissonance between a life lived and a life sought, creates tumult in the mind. Kabir the weaver and his words I am convinced, have been teaching us for centuries on how to limit this dissonance. I find his teachings intrinsically true and simple to understand but as with most things true and simple, difficult to practise. So every day I Learn Kabir’s teachings only to Unlearn them later but the next morning, I try to pick up the thread again…
