Why I need Vipassana

I get up at 830, get ready in 15 minutes, tuck my shirt in my skirt, slog on the streets and reach office in by 930, annoyed. Everyday.

I thump the water bottle on my desk.

I am irritated. Am always. Don't know why. None has ever asked me. And I never tried to find out the reason. I always thought there was none. So I continue to feel irritated.

I keep sitting at my desk and fix my gaze at desktop watching dollar falling against other currencies, refreshing the computer screen, ignoring my hunger panks poking my belly.  I let them bother me for another hour till my frustration calms down some inches and am able to tolerate the fat South Indian woman sitting across my table munching chips and patting her belly.

After an hour, I snail and pour some milk and water in a bowl of oats and try to gulp down my throat. I pour some sugar into the tasteless paste. I look at my bloated tummy. I keep it aside.

I look out of the window. Foggy clouds hovering over the sky scrapers and lights lit in the late mid morning. I get lost in useless thoughts and half of the day is over.

The next half is spent replying emails agreeing that Boss is Boss and looking at the black fat lady peeling bananas and laughing over crappiest jokes over phone.

It turns dark, I shut down my machine, sway my bag and spend sleepless nights on my shared apartment with a jittery flatmate. And the next morning and night is going to be no different.

Am convinced, I need Vipassana. 

Shade

There is neither imbalance

Nor absence

Of a tear for a smile

On the cheek or in the eyes

For there lie
a hundred reasons to start

and a million to restart

At where you lost all

Or waive all that you got  

For the shade that lies in the uncertain skies

Milestones on the way

The small castles we make

During our stop overs..

While on our way

As a part of our journeys..

Probably

Become our mile stones..

When we look back and gaze at them

Waving at us..

A Ghost

A Ghost is
A derivative
of borrowed apprehensions.

A Ghost is

A senseless pain
of being the painful unknown.


A Ghost is
A powerless power
and the fear from none.

A Ghost is
A still you
in the running and speeding time. 

A Ghost is
An artificial mass
fed on your impotencies.

A Ghost is
A certainty carrying scar
on the doubtful you.

A Ghost is
 A replica
of insecurity, uncertainty and helplessness 

A Ghost is
An outcry
for yearning togetherness

A Ghost is
Cannibalism
of your conscience feeding on your sub conscious.

A Ghost is
An acutely severe phenomenon
Of tearing you from inside, and not letting the wounds heal. 

A Ghost is
An inescapable trail
Of suffering and unheard prayers for death

A to Z of Mumbai

A-     A for Auto. Half of an average Mumbaikar’s life is lived (or wasted) bowing before three persons- His Boss, his maid and the Auto rickshaw driver. Some bosses and maids are considerate, though.

B-      B for BSE and NSE. Every Mumbaikar is a story teller when it comes to how he/she lost or earned exorbitantly  by selling or holding a particular share market stock. 

C-      C for Chhatrapati Shivaji. Every second thing in Mumbai is named after Chhatrapati Shivaji: be it the airport, museum including the biggest ‘sex change’ operation of them all converting Victoria Terminus to Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus.

D-     D for Dadar.  Each time you call someone, he/ she is either going to Dadar, or coming back or reaching, or is in train to Dadar, or asks you to meet in Dadar.

E-      E for Ek minute. All works are promised to be done in this one minute- from clicking passport photos to getting bank loan or treating piles or treating virility. Even areas in Mumbai are not measured in kilometers but minutes.

F-      F for Fast Train. You ditch your babes, miss your court hearings, leap interview schedules and jump signals to catch this. 

G-    G for Goa. That’s the planned venue for every rich or not so rich, on the job or jobless  Mumbaikar on any approaching long weekend.

H-    H for Hawaldaar (policeman). He is powerful when is dressed and more powerful when he is not.

I-     I for Idli- dosa. If not at breakfast, Mumbaikar will have it in lunch. If not lunch, then dinner, otherwise, his esophagus will dry out without it. Available at all nukkads and hotels from 4 am to 1 am, though the quantum of bacteria served with it may vary.

J-     J for Jealousy for Delhi walas. This is what you become naturally inflicted with each time you see someone showing off their wealth or bloating jokes on their attitude.

K-      K for Kuch bhi.  This is the limit for taking someones’ bull sh!t. Can’t digest a fact or find it beyond exaggeration limits, you express your concern!

L-      L for Lalbaug. There is no red garden but this area comes to lime light during Ganpati festival season when the queues go endless and you stand day and night to get the glimpse of the Elephant God- Lalbaug cha Raja.

M-    M for Marathi. This is like Cantonese in Hong Kong and Japanese in Tokyo. You will find helpful Government dept staff, can jump long queues in  if you have this magic wand in your tongue.

N-      N for Navi Mumbai. Any part of Mumbai where you have never been or have never heard of, is (also) referred to as Vashi.

O-      O for O’ paanwale bhaiyya. There is one favorite for almost everyone. Paanwalas’ secondary business is selling paan, while their primary social responsibility remains guiding the lost passersby.   

P-       P for Patil. Every second man you are surrounded by in train, office, college, Mantralaya is a Patil, or married to one or stays with one.

Q-      Q for Queue. Queue for taxi, toilet, shops, graveyards.  Jumping any queue is the heinous crime that you can commit and this is the only thing that can make the silent Mumbaikar lose his patience.

R-       R for re. A word that you can suffix after every word, to get mixed with the crowd-Haan re, Nahi re, Jaa na re. This will give you a local dialect.

S-      S for Striyan saathi (i.e. reserved for women) You dare sit on the priority Striyansaathi seat in bus or platform and face the music of the kaashta clad maausi while the rest of the passengers will join her to teach you all manners you couldn’t learn since childhood. S also refers to Shiv Sena, which needs no explanation. 

T-     T  for Train. Where an average Mumbaikar spends half of his life. This is like your surname. You may dislike, hate to use it or even call it names, but Mumbai  has no existence without it.

U-    Ulhasnagar.  The USA (Ulhasnagar Sindhi Asso) of Mumbai. The Shenzhen of China. From free lessons of doing business to fake bags and furniture, you get all on demand.

V-      V for Vada Pao. National food of Mumbai. Boon to human kind, available in all prices and all qualities and situations and roadsides and five starred hotels.   

W-    W for weight. A problem that Mumbaikars suffers from. A weight gain attracts laughter whereas a weight loss is envied. 

X-       X for X-Confused-Chromosome i.e. Eunuchs. You find them at every traffic signals, or poking the couple doing coochie-coo. They dress in hottest ways, with Scandinavian hair styles and accept anything between 5-10 bucks and bless you depending upon who you are with.

Y-      Y for yeda ban ke peda khana. You see loathes of help, free advice and tips coming your way if you try to show that you are new to Mumbai.

Z-      Z for Zhunka bhakar Kendra. These are small fixed food stalls founded by the Government at every street of the busy areas in Mumbai selling quick sandwiches and bhel-poori. Interestingly, you get everything there except zhunka bhakar.     

An Unusual Morning

Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.  ~Elizabeth Stone.

An early morning call from the family, knowing that in India, it would be wee hours is frightening.

“Hello” said I in scariest voice.
“It is me, Dear” Mom opens up in her just-got-up voice, only to make my heart beat faster.

She esquires if I am fine. My quivering heart cant bear the useless sugar coated words.
“Come to the point, Mom, without creating any preamble please”, I shouted in my dominating first child of the family voice. Realizing she can’t beat around the bush with me, so she cuts the conversation short.
“I dreamt that I was sleeping and your brother wakes me up to tell that you consumed poison and dying”, she explains with a heavy throat, controlling her moisture filled voice on the phone.

I had to laugh so as to pacify her. I did. She felt relieved.
I could feel how a worried mother would feel leaving her insane girl 4000 km away from her.
I knew she'd would ask me to come back home, and she knew I wont.
In India, children are gifted with obeying parents. 

There are two lasting bequests we can give our children.  One is roots.  The other is wings.  ~Hodding Carter, Jr.