Slowly I have started smelling like fire. There is nothing more to feel one with the divine than this. Ash is all over my head, my clothes, my legs are bereft of a sole. Pouring Ice water every morning on head now seems a ritual. And fire a family. Is it because of these squirrels that i have started listening to. Or that bird in the morning quietness who comes sits by my bed in the darkness of the dawn. Something will change. It is asking something and saying something i cannot hear. Hear hear. Close your eyes.
In the night a train came. In it was an engine sleeping under Maharaj. I went from bed to bed but to only get up after every enquiry. In the morning even before the sun rose Aravalis were seen passing. Winters seemed gone the moment I poured ground water on my head for. A mountain starts here from behind the ashram. Me and Maharaj went to the temple there and sang songs for two hours after we had food. I saw mangla while coming down and went near her to comb her stomach. During that time I learnt few new things about shukra and shiva, Shani and Vikramaditya. There is one Banayan, one neem, a library and enough blankets under the open sky. Rathore’s Kuladevi is Mata Nageahwari. Lights are out but logar is beating a drum. I love Mangla.
There is magic here. And no other word can come close to expressing the invisible, that India carries. The final push to the food. The hungry mother slept on my knees. I looked for water but left only the yellow fruit. The cold moving empty train. The quaint noise. Her warmth, laughter. Still innocence. Giving is receiving. Mother Ganga.
The most beautiful things in life work and are found in silence. So should be working of our stomach be. It is the home where Shakti resides. Feed her respectfully.
The world has long gone past finding comfort for humans. Comfort seems secondary. They might only say it has only started. Facebook and Google will leave no stone unturned to get even the last human trying to hide in his cave to the world. The momentum of the world trade and news constantly travelling is like making too much noise standing. IIam certain the race is not to find god but to become formless while living. One can argue, we are our own god and only us can stop ourselves from doing or not doing. In doing they might have exceeded their own expectations but every achievement is not the end of the story. The story keeps becoming. It is neverending. It merely adds another layer of truth, another variation of the result. How ever much our minds become digital, we are still a long way to forget our mothers.
Dawn 7 New Delhi The day was Tantra. But first of all what did you feel when you read this word? Were you uncomfortable? Does the sound of it makes you uneasy? You should tell me. Because if you only know what does Tantra mean? I have grown knowing Tantra in two forms that came from two masters. The first one was an elderly, who poured his grace for weeks that I could spend in his space. He talked in Sanskrit and Hindi. And he introduced me to the simpler, easier to understand form of Tantra. Probably because he must have grown infinitely from within simplifying aspects of life. He said one morning as we sat facing each other after the concluding worshiping fire. He said tan is body and tra is rhythm. It is only a practise of rhythm of the body. And thus he simplified mantra and yantra. The other two forms of sciences that were prevalent in pre Vedic times. Mantra being rhythm of the mind and Yantra being rhythm of the tool or the machine, …