All posts tagged: beingyogi

LAST FLIGHT OF AN OWL

He kept looking towards the sky while floating in the water kept for cows. Big round button yellow eyes like ever watching you do the doing. His death seemed such that at one time I felt he chose it. But would a predator or anyone can choose his own death? May be. But When Maharaj arrived, he first closed his eyes. May be he needed someone to close his eyes before it could be plucked out. May be he earned this burial. To only put a stop to this cycle. May his body rests and the spirit awakens. Aum Shanti

A view from the Car

Today started with Tiya mam forming a laugh on the white board. I had been photographing it. I woke up today waiting, like I had been doing since November. Chatterjee arrives late but it never wobbles me as it is not him. It is divine intervention. Lately enjoying photographing my food, purely for statistical reasons. It just happens to give a real view of your daily choices for the body that is the ultimate temple. We were going to the pat. The first one of the five. Also after the mountain fill of methane and worldly dump that made me choke through out the morning walk over the black mountain. We ticked another mountain off. And it bloomed evergreen Bougainvilleas like. Pink and other colours. Balloons over Krishna. Matsyadesh/The fish country and Pandava warriors. Days are pleasant. Sun is shining from far like a star. Moon chilling in the night. Gana arrivèd with lots of sweets but I don’t like them anymore. once after they enter the magic system, they shut the whole nerve colony. …

The Rajpath and the Ruins

His yesterday’s guilt made him wake up dot at four in the brahm mahurat. Even though he left home at five. We reached on the Rajpath in the darkness of the dawn. Never was Delhi be heard and felt from the pride and the energy with which they marched past. With the bands of each regiment leading the way. The drums, the beats, the smell of the young sweat, the valor in the air. The discipline, the clacking of the iron bar beneath their marching boots to the tar ground woke us all up. The mist, vapours coming out of mouths while a woman officer commanding against the street lamps of Rajpath takes you close to colonial India’s cold faced armies. The varieties and improvisation that has gone through in making them could be seen. It was there day. It was our day. It was a day to feel Indian when only wind moved when the national anthem rang through our nerves together. Every being was still but the wind. A day that turned long. …

Arrival of Maharaj

Threads of cotton. Some new event had to happen. A long day in motion. Paris. Not patparganj but Indirapuram came. Maharaj wore mehroon clothes and did not open his eyes till the time food arrived. But by the time food came he had started singing bhajans. It was an auspicious day. Mothers were waiting. They will only feed themselves in the night. After looking at the stars. Rain came. And I left home for many coming days.

The Chain

Cambodia has started to settle inside. It is hot. It is winters. Busy. Open. Moving slowly moving. Women are seen carrying diverse forms in small ranges. Many have come out of their regions. Smiling. Warm. Seim Reap. Cambodians have a strong family sense. Rafael is a good man. He is divorced. I met a woman cycling and then we cycled together to the river. She is going through her divorce too. Ben with whom I played ping pong yesterday sat in gloom. It was a hugh dip in energy from last night. I walked up to him just like that to say hi. He was in the English Navy. He told me he had never gone to India but assured me that he thinks he spent three months under ground in Indian Ocean not far from India. Then one day he got hit by Psoriasis Vulgaris and boom ! Boom !Psoriasis is a skin disorder that causes skin cells to multiply up to 10 times faster than normal. I could not sit, I could not sleep,.I …