Call Me by My True Names

As a wanderer I am on the internet, came across this beautiful gem- This poem by Thich Nhat Hanh embodies the essence of what he calls "interbeing," the innerconnectedness of all things.



Please Call Me by My True Names,
because I have so many names
When I hear one of the of these names
I have to say, "Yes."

Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow 
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive in every second 
to be a bud on a spring branch, 
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile, 
learning to sing in my new nest, 
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower, 
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry, 
in order to fear and to hope. 
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and 
death of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time 
to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond, 
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence, 
feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones, 
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks, 
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to 
Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain if like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.
Please call me by my true names, 
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once, 
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names, 
so I can wake up, 
and so the door of my heart can be left open, 
the door of compassion.

Finding Peace in Adventure

The more I have tried to restrict myself, the more life has pushed me. In terms of limits- be it geographical or inner. And each push has demanded a lot of pull from within. With each push it bombarded my assumptions and with each pull I busted my own tyranny.

And finally what it leaves me with? A better view. Everytime.

Yes, each time after the storm has passed, it is unexceptionably lovely to see my wrecked barge wobbling on the waves- a soggy body, drenched in water and blood. And I record on my timeline- I survived that too.

This journey of journeys has become so gratifying because I see that there is no way I wouldn’t have undertaken it. Even if I chose not to, this nasty woman called Life had been stretching her arms with a baton up my arse.

There is so much peace in adventure….

Sharing with Mom

I don’t share everything with my parents, like most of us. I have strongly believed in not doing so.
It started initially when I was growing up in a conservative set of family background, where children are not expected to 'share' but 'follow' their parents.

This took form of a habit and later when I started to stay away from them, this further shaped up in the 'need-to-know' based conversations.

Furthermore, I started to tell them only the best things or the favorable incidents and they were absolutely ignorant about the dark phases I was going through in life.

Until one day-

Some years back, I met one of my friends in Mumbai, who happens to be a mother of a girl of my age. While I was sharing a patchy experience with her, she asked, "So what did your Mom say about this". I told her that I hadn't told Mom anything about this as I didn't want to get her to get worried.

And then, her reply to this reversed my ideology.

She said, "I think what you are doing is very wrong. You are depriving your mother of the right she has as a mother over you. I'd feel very unfortunate if my daughter doesn’t share her heart out with me thinking I’ll get hurt? Ill be terribly hurt to see that she doesn’t chooses me to be a part of her life. It is gut trenching to note that whatever I gave birth to doesn't believe in me."

The thought hit me in my head. I had been terribly wrong and careless while trying to act right and careful.

On that incident onwards, I gradually (on test basis) formed this habit of sharing things with Mom to observe her reaction. And I found that she very well understood the fact that her daughter’s life wouldn’t be simple always.

She had concerns about me not living a ‘perfect life’ but I deliberately started involving her in my everyday chores and helped her see my definition of ‘perfect’.

I started discussing many things that helped me see her point of view, see her as a woman, not just as a concerned mother.

Consequently, I found that the more I shared my f'cked up stories with her, the more she believed me and the more she supported me. The second observation was- she too got rid of her habit of showing me only the rosy side, and her emotions became barer. 

Since the experiment was successful, sharing became important and a regular practice and so does the level of trust. Now, even if I happen to go to eat a buffet at Bombay Dreams Restaurant, I send her photo of my thali. I try an overtly sexy dress, I send her pictures from trial-rooms.

​Nothing great has happened to my life but just that clearing up mist from my window has made me see that my mother has always stood by me. 

From Loneliness to Lion-liness

​

When someone asks me: Hey..How are you doing?

I reply- In every way.

I am like a new lion in the circus. A lion that had been caged for years, out of jungle and out of wildness. I have recently come back to civilization (to find the true uncivilized Me) and am so excited with everything that I get to see or do. 

At circus, they ask me- Hey, can you stand on the stool? Without knowing how to, I tell them that I can. And I do it somehow. They come up with the new suggestions “Hey, can you twist your whiskers while displaying your molars”. “Hey, can you work on part time basis as a leopard”. To which, I invariably reply "Yasss".

Some women were giggling the other day when I was doing a pro-bono overtime for a jaguar. One of them commented- You look so much non-liony when you do that, but I didn’t let that bother me. I slept well that night and the next morning climbed up the stage and followed the ring master’s instructions, carried visitors on my back and let them click selfies, looking at the crowd around cheering.

They laughed their asses off the other day when they asked me if I can be the ring-master and I said “Yes”.

I sometimes get tempted to gulp down the mushy head of the Chinese ring master when he puts his head inside my mouth during the morning show but then I remind myself of ‘giving myself some time before I can be myself’. I had been locked inside a cage for years and haven’t tested my wild-side yet. I don’t know if I can attack, or kill, or chase (or run away).

The life back then in the cage had been so un-happening that for the first few days here, I couldn’t kick down the rabbits they put in my cell for diner. I had gotten so much used to eating meat that I had forgotten to hunt.

I have been so much trapped into my loneliness that that I almost lost my lion-liness.

Every morning when I am getting ready- I have only one thing in my mind “Let the show begin”.

Yesterday a jackal made fun of me seeing me burn my tail while jumping out of the burning rings. That was then, I picked him by his collars and openly intimidated- “I may have forgotten how to hunt but I still know how to roar….”

Your Train

"When you have more mats to fold than luggage to pack"

‎ 
How do u feel when:

You are a platform waiting for your train. With a bag-pack and a suitcase.

You are told that your train has been delayed due to some technical reasons. You feel disappointed but then you realize that your iPod has full battery, so does your phone; you have enough snacks to munch upon. You go back to the waiting room, plug in your headphones, give a 'wtf' look at the people already occupying the most comfortable seats. You locate a corner near the window from where you can listen to all the announcements. Because you are not here to spend a night like them. 

3 hours are over. You have scooped the best cherries from the box and surfed the best apps on the phone. There is still no announcement for your train. You put your phone on battery saving mode.

It is 10 hours, and no sign yet. You feel impatient. May be you missed the announcement while you were on phone. You run to check. No, no announcement. It is indefinitely late. You go back to the waiting room.

Seems like you'll have to spend the night here. You unpack your jacket to wrap your freezing legs. Tired of waiting, you fall asleep.

You get up by the noise of people flushing the toilets. You check your phone. You should have reached by now had the train been on time. You feel sad and irritated. You proceed to inquiry counter only to be told that you might have to wait but train will certainly arrive today.

The whole day passes. The train didn’t arrive. You don't want to stay another night but that is the only option. You wear your grey track-pants to spend a warmer night.

You watch all other trains being on time, people boarding and alighting. You feel lost in the hustle and bustle of the station, crackling of the suitcase wheels and humanly chatter. You have utilized all your roaming data by now. You get cut off with the virtual world. At night, you realize that your bagpack can be a good pillow. You spend a restless night.

It’s a sunny day next morning. “Today is a new day” you mumble forgetting the pensive night. You aggressively follow up with the station master who assures that there is no chance for it to be amiss today.
All trains get cancelled due to bad weather. You cry your heart out at night, hiding your tears from the strangers.

Nothing changes the next morning. It rained the whole day. Your socks absorbed all the moisture. You are not ashamed of crying anymore.

Wait a minute! How about checking out bus routes or catching any available train. Why didn’t it strike you before. Yes! You’d check that out tomorrow. It was you who had been making life complicated.

You never had been that energetic before. You find out all the schedules for the buses. All other routes pass through a different territory that need a visa to enter. All other trains are pre- booked. Shit Shit Shit!

You get drunk and don’t remember where you spent the night.

Every night you lose hope, every morning you intake an extra dose of adrenaline. Run aimlessly and sleep, dreaming of your train. 

Now you are becoming used to it. It is more than a month now. At the same station from where you were to start your journey. You watch people coming and going but for you, nothing changes. Except that you have some friends around who tell you that it is just a matter of time.

It is summers now. You miss home. You cry again. It would be summer vacations had you reached your destination.

​You lose count as to for how many months you had been waiting for the train.

So many years now actually that you even forget that you came here to catch a train; that you actually had plans about your life. 

The journey you planned, never started. 

You accept that wait is a journey too. An endless and fruitless one though. You have hated it so much that you cant love it anymore. You wrap your philosophies in a sticky wrapper and dash it to the bin. 

Now you have become so used to 'wait' that you have stopped 'waiting'.

One morning while crossing the foot over bridge in your chappals and unwashed pyjama, you see a train -with its engine making a noise, its metallic surface shining bright in the sunrays. You laugh at yourself as you now look at the trains and not look for them.

Wait! That number looks like a familiar one. It spells your destination too. 
Is it.... Is it.... The Train? Holy shit!.. Your Train?
You run to have a closer look... you stumble from the stairs.

​You are blank. Why there is so much mist on this bright day light. Why everything is going in slow motion. ​You cant fathom- what is what, where is where and who is who. Are you, you. Yes, you are you. Ok, breathe, breathe, breathe. 

Where was the train in all these years?  Is it really there now. What for. What was the journey about. How long.
Everyone around is congratulating. Everyone is saying- finally, you got it! 

You have more of mats to fold than luggages to pack now.
While you are rummaging through your bag to find tickets, you look outside- Your train is whistling. It is 'waiting for you'.
Time to board now...  

P.S. So, now you know how I feel. 

Sea of Ignorance.

We live on an island surrounded by a sea of ignorance. As our island of knowledge grows, so does the shore of our ignorance.
- John Archibald Wheeler

Time

Time is nature's way to keep everything from happening all at once. 

- John Archibald Wheeler

Amma

Are soul mates necessarily lovers?
Can they be of same genders?
Do they necessarily need to have something in common? Is having no connection, a connection too?

I feel that we meet our soul mates in different ways. Sometimes in the form of lovers, friends, parents, siblings, even strangers.

I had a soul-mate. My grandmother.


My relationship with my grandmother was extraordinary. Not because I was special, but what 'we' shared was. Ours was not granny-grand daughter relation. We were friends... or, may be sisters.

More so, because we both were undergoing same phase of life. In particular, we spent a toothless time together. I was losing my seven years' old milk teeth and she was getting rid of her seven decade old ones. Hence, we understood each others' 'pain'.
We both spent our 'childhood' together.

Amma.. That's what I used to call her. "Bacchi" (female baby) is what I was for her.


We shared a same room. Before going to bed, I'd wrap her saree (traditional Indian dress) and dance and she would clap, sing and cheer me up. We would try mom's all nail-paints after everyone had slept.

In the evenings, we would buy ice cream from the hawkers. She liked orange flavor but upon my insistence, she would eat cola flavor. Mom and Dad treated us alike.
The best part being she would give me all the free cartoon-stickers for my books and never asked them back.

We used to play together. She would always agree with all my suggestions. I always wondered why she never complained of me winning the race every time.

When I would come back from school, I'd find her sitting in the window waiting for me. After eating prasad that she brought from temple, we would jump together for hot rotis that mom was making. She would ask me pluck the biggest lemon from the garden and squeeze it. Mom would get goose-bumps to watch us make the curry insanely sour.

She often referred to the letter that Dad wrote to her when I was born. She could not imagine me beyond the way he had explained my tiny little fingers and feet that resembled his.

I used to study late till night. She would lie down next to me and keep dozing off. She was my alarm to get up early in the morning. She let me sleep longer deliberately. 

We bought a bike- a machine that Amma never understood. How could a vehicle run on two wheels without balance? She never sat behind Dad. But she did, when I started to drive. She trusted me more than him :)



12 years ago, when I went to see her off, something inside said that it was the last time I was seeing her. I turned back. I saw my cute little childhood friend walking in a white sari- the last glimpse. I never saw her after that.

But then, do soul-mates ever get separated?

P.S. Mom always referred to an Indian proverb "असल से ज़्यादा सूद प्यारा होता है " (Interest amount being dearer than the principal amount)