My very own Cherry Blossom

             

  

        

         No, No, I am not talking about the famous Cherry Blossom or sakura of Japan. I am talking about Cherry Blossom in India.  Then I must be dreaming.

     No, I am not.

         The Japanese Cherry Blossom is connected to the Buddhist themes of mortality, mindfulness and living in the present. The cherry blossom reminds us, to pay attention. 

          Travelling to work daily through the same route, seeing the same scenes, knowing on which turn, which cart will cross me. The hurdles in my path are the forever going on repairing, construction work of roads, over bridges. I enjoy this daily routine of travelling to work, to and fro through the same road. Though many people may find this monotonous, but not me. The road through which I travel has still got some green patches of trees left.

          Gulmohar is so rightly called as the Flame of the forest. But here it will have to survive in a forest of concrete. The vibrant tree adapts itself so well even in poor conditions, to endure and delight people with its bountiful beauty. Come summers, the roadside and colony areas become green with the delicate, fern like leaves of the Gulmohar. Filigree patterned, completely covered canopy of light and dark green shades of leaves, dancing with excitement and playing with the sunlight, happy that summer is here.

          The next week I find these pretty delicate looking Gulmohars which are in fact the strongest to brave the scorching heat, the wrath of the summer sun, have sprouted numerous buds, just as if waiting for a cue, for the sun to get even mercilessly hot.

Oh! I tell you, how they love the summer sun.

          In just a couple of days, what do I find? The green canopy of leaves is overshadowed by the bright red, few whitish petals and the happy, gleeful Gulmohar is in full bloom ! Magical, mesmerizing. And it’s the same with every Gulmohar tree. I get to see so many shades of red and orange. There can certainly be no painter in the world like the Creator.

          During my early morning ride to work, when the roads have not yet been tread upon or seen the continuous onslaught of vehicles, I may be the first few to drive on this path. The lanes are transformed. I get the feeling that I am a Princess, going in her carriage and the boulevard is strewn with the enchanting glorious Gulmohars. Their distinct, tangy scent filling the morning air. The flowers falling down with a slight breeze, as if waiting to shower me with their love and captivating beauty.

         I look forward to my ride to work every day to become a Princess and enjoy my very own sakura. Come summers, the Gulmohars wait anxiously to bloom. Come summers I wait anxiously to enjoy my very own Cherry Blossom. Reminding me to be mindful, to live in the present moment, to pay attention. To be grateful for this beautiful, fleeting life and be amazed at the beauty of Nature.

          One of these days, I am going to go to a park which has a huge Gulmohar tree and lie down under it and let the flowers keep falling on me. Will enjoy its enchanting beauty and let Kishore Kumar croon for me in the song from the movie Devata.

                   Gulmohar gar tumhara naam hota…..

                   Mausam-e-gul ko hasaana bhi, hamara kaam hota.

          Should I change my name to Gulmohar?

Happy summers !

Happy my very own Gulmohar (Cherry) Blossom !

                                                                                           

KHADE MOONG KI KHICHDI

                              

                                                                                    

         

A steaming hot thali of khichdi; not the normal, regular one which is generally given to people recuperating.

          This was a special khichdi, khade moong ki khichdi.

          For a girl of 12 years old, to experience the aroma of desi ghee on the khade moong ki khichdi, it felt so divine, blissful.

          If I close my eyes and go back down the memory lane, this tantalizing incident is etched so deep in my heart, my memory; it feels as if I can smell the mix of desi ghee and the khade moog ki khichdi even now. I can see the steam rising from the thali, as if inviting me to touch it, take it in my fingers, eat it, savour it and lick my fingers and exclaim: yummy, this is the best khade moong ki khichdi in the world.

          No side dishes with it on the thali, no pickles, no curd, no papads.

Just khichdi, the special khade moong ki khichdi.

This incident happened when I had by chance gone to my neighbour’s home. I don’t remember for what I had gone, I don’t remember what had happened. I remember nothing, except the khade moong ki khichdi.

          As I was sitting and talking to the neighbour aunty, I saw their daughter in her early twenties sitting, ready to eat her dinner. The thali with, what you all know about was brought.

          The buttery aroma and the look of the khichdi drew my attention to it. I was just looking at it and kept staring at the thali.

          I don’t remember what the aunt had talked or anything at all. All I thought about was that thali and the mouth watering aroma of that khade moong ki khichdi and desi ghee.

          How do I specifically know that it was khade moong ki khichdi? Because I had heard the aunty tell her daughter that she had made her favourite khade moong ki khichdi that day. I came home and told my mom about this new dish which looked very yummy and smelled divine. I did not tell her about my secret longing to eat it and did not even question her as to why that aunty did not offer me a plate of the khichdi.

          I decided, the next day the khade moong ki khichdi will be on my plate. I tried my hand at making it and it was a disaster. Even after adding a spoonful of desi ghee on my plate of khichdi, it didn’t smell or resemble any bit like the previous night’s khichdi.

          I ate it making faces, half heartedly. Don’t know how my family ate it.

Next day again it was khichdi for dinner. Try, I did, but it didn’t turn out to be that khade moong ki khichdi.

          After a week of khichdi for dinner every night, my mom grumbled that she was very much fit and healthy and didn’t want to eat any more of my experimental khichdi.

          Broken hearted, I didn’t cook khichdi after that. I didn’t know then that I could have gone and asked my neighbour aunty for the recipe or learnt to cook the khichdi from her. Things are pretty much easy and convenient these days with YouTube, Blogs, cooking classes and channels, friends sharing recipes and so on.

          In the later years, I did try my hand again at making the khade moong ki khichdi but it evaded coming to me. It looked like some far-fetched dream, this elusive dish which was rather becoming like some Birbal’s khichdi to me.

Whether I will learn to make the khade moong ki khichdi or not, one thing I have learnt in my life after that incident is for sure.

          Never.  Ever  – sit in front of a 12 year old child and in fact never sit in front of any child, an adult, or an elder, known or unknown person and eat anything without offering them or asking if they would like to have a share in your food.  Had my neighbour aunty or her daughter ( I remembered her name – Pinky) had asked me or had offered me that khade moong ki khichdi that day, some few years back, today my restless soul would have been at peace and satiated. I wouldn’t be stealthily trying my hand to make that khade moong ki khichdi and gobble it all by myself, as my family had had enough of it and have declared that they never want to hear about it, leave alone eat it. They don’t want to be the guinea pigs for my khichdi anymore.

          The day I get to eat that same khade moong ki khichdi with a dollop of desi ghee, which I can definitely recognize by its special aroma and its look,

I tell you,

I will attain Moksha.

* Khada moong – green gram whole

Will I Miss you My Moon?

         Unaware about the celestial magic happening in the sky, the amazing lunar eclipse going on, with just a little bit of the moon left to be engulfed by the earth’s shadow, a man hurriedly riding his bicycle to return home, people scrambling on the bus home bound, while a simple soul like me has parked her car on the road side on the highway to catch a glimpse of this breath taking phenomenon of the sun, earth and moon aligning for the wonder of nature to happen. 

          For me, the moment has stopped and everything can wait, or I’ll have to wait for another hundred years to watch this magic happening again. There, the earth has cast its shadow completely on the moon, and I drive crazily back home to reach in time for the moon to come behind its veil and cast its magic on the earth.

          Without wasting even a second, as soon as I reach home, I nestle in my cozy armchair with my cup of ginger tea, all set to drink in the magical potion of the moon, my moon. In all its resplendent beauty, I see the red moon, completely in awe. With every passing second, mellowing its shade of red and merging into its bright yellow phase, showering the earth with its magical moonlight.

          Does it make me swoon, sway and get dizzy to go in a frenzy to dance to my heart’s content? My heart does that exactly though my body is just a spectator witnessing the reality and never wanting this to end. The moon has broken free from the tentacles of earthy shadows and the entire sky is his now, coming even closer to the earth, to shower its love for everyone to get energized.

          Just like the strings of the universe are pulled by the hands of the almighty, the strings of my heart are pulled by you. Whatever colour your are, red, blue, yellow, white; whatever size you are, full, gibbous, crescent, a sliver or gone in hiding from me; even if you are once in a blue moon for other, for me you will always be my ever and forever, and I will always love you my moon.

Sunset

Does anyone feel depressed on seeing a sunset?

Not me! I have been thinking about sunsets for some time. Give me a place to watch the sun set every day and I’ll be the happiest. Unfortunately, it’s not possible each evening. So whenever I get a chance to watch a sun set, I make the most of it.

What does the sight of the setting sun do to me? It makes me feel free, elevates me, and makes me think about the beauty of nature and the myriad hues on the sky as the sun goes down the horizon.

If it’s a clear sky, I enjoy watching the sun in its mellow state where it doesn’t make me squint my eyes; I can see it getting bigger as it reaches the horizon. This is when I fall in love with the sun. I can hardly take my eyes off as I know it would go down in no time, I am left with just the afterglow that is reflected on the sky and the clouds. This is a most beautiful part.

It leaves me in twilight. The change of colours and clouds is unimaginably stunning. This moment is not coming back again and the next sunset is not going to be the same. I don’t think any painter has ever been able to get it right on canvas. Even when I try to capture that in my camera, I am not satisfied.

The question of feeling depressed when seeing the sun set popped up in my mind when one of my friends told me that it depressed him so much that he felt as if his life was going to end with the sun set. And from that time, I have watched sunsets and tried to see and analyze what is so depressing about it.

It’s been giving me immense pleasure every time I watch the setting sun. Every sunset is different, beautiful and so fulfilling. I find myself at peace with the world. The sun, which is soft in the morning, burning during day, mellows down at the time it has to say bye. It provides us with so much to think about, without expecting anything in return.

For me, the sunset symbolizes the end of a wonderful day and the hope of having a wonderful night to refresh myself and prepare for another wonderful day to look forward to.

Yesterday the sunset occurred amidst dark, rain-bearing clouds. I’m looking forward to another such elevating, spiritual experience.

Clouds

Why do I connect with clouds?

I have been thinking about this a lot. In the past few days, I spent many evenings on the terrace of our home in Raipur, lying down and gazing at the clouds above. This is something I love doing. Raghav and I always have fun, looking at cloud shapes and making some sense of them. We do this often, even when travelling by train or car.

Often when I am on the mat and looking at clouds, Raghav breaks my thoughts. I distribute my thinking time between him and the clouds. Finally when Raghav has had his time and he leaves me alone to be with the clouds for some time, my thoughts are trained solely on the clouds. It is hard to keep William Wordsworth’s poem Daffodils from drifting into the mind:

I wander’d lonely as a cloud

That floats on hig o’er vales and hills….

Being a nature lover, it is one of my favourites and I connect with the daffodils too, as if I am the cloud and I have the bliss and pleasure of watching the whole array of daffodils beneath.

Yet, the changing cloud shapes makes me think about change and impermanence. Just as clouds change shapes, our mind too has numerous thoughts that keep changing and we often end up having new thoughts ever so often. So is my mind like the cloud? Can I train my mind to stay in my control? Will the thoughts be like the Cirrus clouds moving high above – slowly, but still changing every second?

Another thought crosses my mind: the shape of the cloud is never the same; it’s always and ever changing. This thought so much connects with the Theory of Impermanence, which I truly believe in. Having gone through other theories, I found my calling in the Theory of Impermanence, which tells us about the fact told by the Buddha that nothing is fixed, nothing is unchangeable, nothing is permanent, but everything is changeable. This is the fundamental truth that life is always moving, flowing and changing.

And now I need to focus my thoughts on Raghav as he is calling me. I shall leave the clouds to wander. My life is always moving, flowing, changing especially with Raghav around. Just like the clouds above the terrace of my home.

Soul Cleaning

Is it really so difficult to know ourselves? Each time I sit down to articulate my thoughts, I start with a question. Guess it’s so because I’m a seeker and a learner. The quest for answers for everything makes me start asking questions. The things we do, the relations we have, the way we behave in life, all leads to one thing - getting to know about ourselves – for the better.

From the time I came across the phrase Know Thyself, I have been pondering about it and getting closer to the conclusion that knowing myself leads me to the biggest question of my life – who am I?

A mother of an active five-and-a-half-year-old lad, my life revolves around my son Raghav. I enjoy doing household chores and particularly enjoy washing clothes and hanging them out on the clothesline on our terrace. And as I dry the clothes, I ask myself if we can do the same with our souls. We wash our soiled clothes to be used again. Can we do the same with our souls? I keep thinking about this every time I am hanging clothes to dry.

Different people, different souls, clean clothes but the souls get soiled, dirty with so many negative things around. Can we clean these just like our clothes and have new, fresh souls to use again?

I take the clothes off the clothesline, crisp and smelling good after a spell in the sun. They feel so fresh every time and I also see my soul getting cleansed of whatever negative emotions I have had. I feel fresh and free.

My soul-cleansing is done!

At least for the day.