Less Is More

                            "Life is indeed simple. But we insist on making it complicated"

I sat by the window trying to capture the panoramic night view of Delhi amidst the roars of the engine of the aircraft. I stayed glued to it trying to guess the direction and locate a few landmarks as the pilot smoothly navigated towards the Runway. It had been about ten months that I was away from so called civilisation in a remote land with no communication whatsoever by virtue of my profession. I was trying to be in the moment, absorbing it all. 

By the time I landed I was desperately trying to identify myself with the bustling crowd. The massive hallways and structures appeared out of place to me. The huge hoardings flashed neat ads that boasted of the latest technology. Buying my way out of my own vicious thoughts, I headed to the smoking room and borrowed a cigarette. That failed to slow my throbbing heart either as I stubbed the half-lit smoke and headed out to grab my luggage. For no reason whatsoever, the pang of loneliness grew incessantly within me amidst the very crowd that I would be fond of, sometimes earlier. 

As I boarded a cab to my cousin’s place, I stuffed my ears blurting music at the top volume to drown out the voices outside and my own. I turned the knob and faced the shower letting the water wash down what it could. This was luxury – warm water after ages of heating the snow to afford drinking water. I stood still leaning onto the wall, tangled thoughts running wild almost absent from the moment. After what felt like a very long time I emerged – washed on the outside, still uneasy deep down. This was supposed to be my vacation and I had it planned perfectly – go clubbing and shopping, visit friends and buy more books, make most of the holidays I had earned and be happy. 

It was late night when few old friends dropped by. We were meeting after a long time and it brought back the pleasant memories, we shared what felt like decades ago. We talked about our jobs, relationships and goals and how each of us missed our childhood and the curse of adulthood. By the time the excitement had died down and whiskey kicked in- tales of laments and unhappiness started flowing in. Some had interned abroad while others had got their salary doubled in a year but one thing was common- none was happy. The uneasiness in me that appeared to have subsided for the moment started raising its voices. I emptied my glass and hesitantly poured another drink – it felt like I would be needing it as I subtly removed myself from the gathering and headed upstairs to the rooftop. I was searching for solitude but tonight the city told me otherwise. It would not slow down, neither the people in it. It was as if the very sky was restless. I leaned onto the railings, facing the city lights. This was the moment I had longed for but something inside me was craving to be back in the barren land- the snow-covered mountain tops. I missed the chilly winds blowing across my face, the frozen waterfalls, the solitude and myself. The nights I would struggle in the cold all alone in my tent were fresh as dew in my memories, so were the days I would count down besides the freezing river with nothing but silence for company. The clear skies, the star-studded nights rising from the horizon did little to comfort me. As I look back now, just a day into my self-concocted life of luxury, I terribly miss the life of wanting. I did not have hot coffees in the morning and warm dinner at nights nor did I get the company of friends or Spotify playing my fav music. Heck, it was rare to get a warm shower even. But I had something the city could never offer me- I had the first rays of the sunlight blazing through the snow filled mist, I had mountains to climb and `rivers just born of the melting ice caps making their way down into the cities cutting through the eerie silence, I had nights with wind blowing that would herald long nights and moon shining like never before and what is more you could listen to them and share your secrets and laugh into the night. I was aware of my presence in their midst and I would absorb it all. I would listen to my breath and my heart throbbing, the wind whistling and the river roaring. It was pure joy to forget everything else and sit by the river, watching the snow melt and merge in the day’s sun, listen to the sound of water flow ceaselessly. Nothing mattered more than my presence in the moment and God! I could feel it. 

A year in the wilderness had taught me things that my years of education couldn’t. It had taught me to value things that matter – health, family and relationships. All along we run after luxury and riches ignoring the things that brings true happiness. If only, we would pursue happiness with the same intensity and hunger that we run after building fake images and publicity. Often, I wondered if I would really ever need the things that I spent my precious days running after, do they all really matter? What is the true essence of life? Do the norms of the society really mean anything? 

In my vain attempts, I realised that the answers lie in the journey to answering these questions and it was my fight and mine alone. It would demand the greatest of courage to venture into this beautiful journey. It would be a journey demanding sacrifice of worldly things and lay bare of what truly I am. It was going to be a journey of discovery of myself. 

A gush of wind brought me back to the concrete world. I raised my glass to the distant invisible mountains and whispered, HAPPINESS ALWAYS!!!!

THE MEADOW MEMORIES

 

Based on true events of my childhood

A warm winter day. Clouds floated the clear blue sky in all shapes; avoiding the wrath of the wind, they drift atop the faraway mountains, occasionally challenging to face the wind and eventually vanishing behind. The village nestled along the slope never failed to catch the earliest sunrays. Several bubbling brooks joined each other flowing downstream-  the lush green all along the stream could be seen from far distance. The vultures and crows settled on the rocky peaks and tall trees never failing to circle the valley during mid noon, at times making quick swoops to prey upon the slow and dreamy creatures.

It was about time already.

For sometimes now, the sheep bleated; at times in unison and mostly at complete randomness. I sat on the edge of the courtyard comfortably cushioned on my slippers pricking walnuts I had just cracked open missing my thumb by the hair. My eyes were stuck to the pond to chance upon a passing cloud whence I would scatter and dismiss it with a single throw merging it with the rippling waves- the first victory of the day.

“You little scoundrel! Are you waiting for your father?” a harsh voice came ringing from behind.

I dared not look back. It was my old man. Hurriedly I pocketed the nuts and ran off barefoot towards the pen. 

“You bloody sheep, eternally hungry!”, I swore under my breath. A few felt the heat of my catapult as I drove the flock towards the meadow. I stole a glance towards the courtyard. 

I would come back for my slippers later.

The winter holidays had just begun.

I drove the flock downhill trying to keep up with it. The meadow looked majestic with the morning sunrays shooting through the dewy leaves. The smell of fresh leaves, decaying barks and the dry hay floated with the wind along with the occasional chirping of birds. The sheep halted by the brook to quench their thirst before spreading out like thin clouds in the sky. I climbed the nearest tree and began scanning the horizon. Jay waved from the distance as he started taking rapid strides towards me. I climbed down and there stood Jay with a wide grin holding his button less shirt together. The smile was an invitation for mischief of the day.

I am in. Let’s get started!

That wasn’t said.

I attended a missionary high school far off from my village and stayed away visiting only during the vacations while he studied at the village primary school. Jay rarely went to the classes for he had better things to do – look after his toddler sister, tend to the flock and conduct household chores while his parents waged. We had struck quite a chord which evolved into a quiet friendship and partnership in crime. Their cottage stood on the edge of the village – a small thatched single room – always at the mercy of the heavy rains and fierce winds. There were enough patches on the roof to let sunlight flood the entire house. The single window faced the green lush meadow while the door opened to the deep gorge on the other side. During summers when the river flowed in full one could hear the forceful sound of water swirling and cutting through the rocks. I always liked it here – I felt at peace. 

 “I thought you owned a pair of slippers!” he broke the silence looking down at my bare feet.

“Ah! That...! I wanted to give you company. Besides it makes climbing trees easier.” I smiled. 

Jay pulled out his catapult and showcased his latest inventory – the perfectly round pellets. He was always better than me at such stuffs and we mostly used it to shoot down berries for we preferred the winged creatures alive than dead.

I have discovered the perfect hunting spot, Jay said breathlessly as we made our way towards the river as fast as we could. He led the way and I followed after him keeping up with his brisk steps. It was fishing day and it was important to look out for the breeding spots for we were not equipped to trap those sly creatures. There, sunlight barely reached; during mid-day fishes would come out crawling lazily to bath in the warm sun and then we would seize our moment capturing them with bare hands. Later, with the disappearing sun we would count and distribute the loot with the widest pirate grins only to find that the flock had strayed away in our absence and made their way to the farms. Another day of thrashing lay in wait as we drove the flock back home. Nevertheless, it was a daily routine being called a worthless good for nothing fellow and as the cane came down swishing through the air landing on my bottom with a slap knocking the dust off my pants all I could think was the adventure that awaited tomorrow. 

Days went by and we would keep knocking our heads into troubles one after another, one mischief after another. Sometimes it was the fruit stealing at the orchard, lighting fire on the hay stacks, bullfights and sometimes the branches snapped sending us down in tumbles with twisted ankles. More than the act itself it was the planning that amused and excited us. 

The most vivid memory I have of those innocent days or maybe not so innocent days is the kite project. We ventured on making kites; the ones that would actually fly and after many futile efforts, we actually managed to perfect one; the best any two 12 yr. olds would accomplish. The first one wouldn’t take off; the paper material was too heavy for the wind to carry. Strings were uneven on the second one and the third one had some issues with the tail. However, we were not the ones to give up; I set off on a quest to find the thinnest plastic sheet rumbling over the nook and corners of my house at odd hours while jay worked on thinning the bamboo sticks and crafting the harness. It took us days of patience and stealing until we had acquired everything we needed and all the while the sheep kept disappearing.

It was D- Day.

“The wind is perfect!” 

“It could not be better”, I nodded assuring him. I usually went with Jay in matters that I couldn’t quite follow. 

We stood in the middle of the grazing field judging the wind not quite understanding it. Jay unreeled a length of the line while I held the kite by the corners. On his signal, I loosened my hold and he broke into a run; the kite followed after him; I held my breath as the tail fluttered feverously. After some struggle, the wind lifted and the kite took off on its maiden flight. I was beside myself with joy leaping and clapping as the kite soared higher and higher until it became still and me with it. Jay kept tugging on the line every now and then and then released some tether; after a while he handed over the reel winder and focused himself on the control line. We looked at each other and smiled. 

At one time an eagle came too close and Jay had to display the ultimate maneuver to avoid an encounter. We swore to wreak havoc on the eagle’s nest and went back to the mission. 

Suddenly, Jay felt silent. A serious expression dawned on his face.

“We have failed” he said, disappointed- “the line has snapped!” 

The joy was short lived as the line came down twirling midair and the kite suddenly freed off the anchor began a dance on its own. There was nothing to be done now; it couldn’t be helped. Tired and disappointed we lied on the ground facing the sky, fixating our eyes on the kite twisting and turning; it was too precious to just let it go. The grass felt soft on our backs; the wind brushed across our faces; the vast emptiness seemed to give us solace; the kite rose higher and drifted further until it disappeared into the horizon. It was free and the sky seemed to gently accept her into the never-ending expanse. 

“Someday, I would like to fly a plane. And just like that kite, be free!” Jay said as quietly as he could. It was as if he read my mind.  

“And I want to be an aeronautical engineer”

“What’s that? “

“Well, they make those planes”

“I am sure you’ll make a fine one.”

The dreamy thoughts brought back our smiles and we no longer lamented on our loss. Just like the kite, we felt free; and with that newly acquired freedom we closed our eyes to the blues and entered our own world as the pale-yellow sun made its way home- o’er the hills.

As I climbed back home that evening, I had no idea I was seeing Jay for the last time. The vacation had ended and I went back to school. Jay was taken away by some distant relatives of his who would cloth, feed and provide him education. We never got to say goodbye. It was many years later I got news of him.

My mother related me the incident.

“You know these rich filthy people. They must have made a servant of him; the boy couldn’t take it; he hanged himself; Poor lad, he was a good one.”

My throat ran dry and my eyes filed. I clenched my fist, looked up at sky and cursed God. Voice never escaped my throat.

That evening I made my way down to the meadow. I took heavy steps and reached the same old spot. I lied down and stayed there until dusk fell. The moon rose on the horizon flooding the earth with soothing light accompanying the soft evening breeze. The moonlight drowned all but the brightest stars; I imagined Jay to be amongst them. He was now truly free. 

As I began retracing my steps back home I saw a shooting star; the brightest I had ever seen. It passed right over his house. In my imagination, it was a celestial kite that had broken free of the string. it was now free too. 

I took a long, deep breath. 

And then a whisper into the night.

“So long, dear friend! Until I have my freedom too!”

(In the fond memory of a dearest friend long lost but never forgotten.)

I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to the earth, I knew not where;

For, so swiftly it flew, the sight

Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,

It fell to the earth, I knew not where;

For who has the sight, so keen and strong,

That it can follow the flight of a song?

Long, long afterwards, in an oak

I found the arrow, still unbroken;

And the song, from beginning to end,

I found again in the heart of a friend.

H W Longfellow

THE WALKER LESSON

                                               Death is our wedding with eternity

                                                                 - Rumi

It was a holiday.  Clouds hung low after a heavy rain. Trees  stood still letting the earth soak the droplets.I was engrossed in a WW-II  movie drifting somewhere in the pacific agitated over getting caught. My roommate was scrolling through the day's feed and he suddenly quipped,

 " Poor Walker died today, you know?"

Not turning my vision by a bit I asked,  " Walker ?? ...which walker ?”.

" Of course Paul Walker, man”.

 I paused the movie. My unconscious was caught by the first phrase ..poor walker!!! 

Call it human ignorance or arrogance , I prefer foolishness though, we live almost oblivious to  certain facts , some of the most certain ones being - birth and death. We live a life of uncertainty with an air of certitude, not bothered by a bit until a dreaded certainty smashes us right in the head and pierces our hearts. Each day we wither away not knowing that we are closer to our graves than the cradles. I wonder sometimes if the human race is actually God's wisest creation or the foolhardy and the laughable. A creation which has almost everything figured out except himself. A creation enlightened enough to know what is to happen but equally insane to not consider it. 

Here's a fact. We are all going to die. No one here gets out alive.

Read that again.

Have you ever given it a thought that one day you will have close your eyes forever. Everything that you ever held dearly will vanish in a flicker and your mortal ego will be buried forever with the last sunset. You will cease to exist in this world. Even more discomforting is the way you will breathe your last.

A disturbing thought yet inevitable.

In a certain way I find death the most just of all for it  does not discriminate between the rich and the poor, the old and the young. It comes to us all alike and we shall never know when. Out there among the blossoming flowers and singing birds looms death- both for you and me. 

The final moment arrives, your heart wrenches out in regret of all the things you didn't do. You will be prepared to give everything to behold the sight of your loved ones, to hold their hands, to tell them how much they mean to you and how much you love them. Your eyes will implore - just one more sunrise.Every small thing will hold so much. The air will hang heavily, numerous thoughts will pierce your heart. A final goodbye - a  final heartbreak.

Death smiles at us all, but all a man can do is smile back.

 How well have you lived ? Have you enjoyed living every moment?
And mind you , your car or job or the mansion you own does not figure anywhere in this calculation (at least not in mine) . We are talking about the days you have lived carefree and  selflessly. We are talking about the moments when you hugged a complete stranger and enjoyed the rain. The days you’ve spent so content that if you breathe your last here and now, you’ll have no regrets. 

But Alas ! Poor us! Poor Walkers! We have got a job to worry about, relationships to keep, monthly instalments to pay and our own petty ego to feed. We go about our lives ignoring the morning sun, the shower of rain, the setting sun, the smell of books, the silver moonlight and the sweet mystery of life - there’s much we - the blessed souls shall never know.

Sure you tried your best living. You worked hard and did everything else that is asked of this worldy being. Invested big time all your life - education,real estate, bonds, stocks and commodities. But Somewhere in the middle of it all take care not to miss out on little big things- art, spirituality , vacation , health and family. Be grateful for today and each day and never take anything for granted. Life is a blessing. Life is short, do not waste time trying to be perfect. Embrace each imperfection, spread love and kindness and run towards life fulsomely and freely and accept death thankfully with a smile for giving meaning to our lives.  

 What holds after death is an unanswered question but to quote Crowe from Gladiator, "what we do in this life echoes till eternity". Let us live a life that will honour our memories.

.........and when it was time to leave

gracefully it knew life was a gift.

A BIBLIOPHILE'S JOURNEY

A BIBLIOPHILE’S JOURNEY

 

LITERATI BOOKSHOP & CAFE: GOA

                          If you read raise your glass, if you don’t raise your standard!!

Surely that was on the lighter side but in all earnestness. And its definitely  time I wet the parchment and reveal an addiction of mine that’s been giving me the high since a long long time. I have been on  voyages, crossed deserts, stood stoic atop mountains and wandered amongst the lonely clouds. I have eavesdrop on conversation of philosophers and great men and ridden through the country meadows on horseback. I have dived into the vast ocean of magic and witnessed moments of history. Most of all I have found myself.

Words!!!

If I remember correctly, I was in my 7th standard that my eyes fell on a strange titled book ; It read “MEIN KAMPF” meaning my struggle. My sincere efforts were no match for the language of the much acclaimed book yet I pronounced it as a  souvenir after reading some fifty odd pages and let it adorn my upcoming library. The journey had started, the standard was set. I started saving up  meagre sums I received which was so meagre that once or twice a year I could manage to lay hands on a childrens’  monthly. Just around the time I was hugely fascinated by Indian   mythology and epics and struggled hard to buy one but as it turned out you can only save the tangibles you possess. Time passed on and  I grew pretty stoked. Venturing  into the attic of my house, creating a mess around to dig up old books- sometimes I got lucky , other times I had to climb down with my face all smeared with smoke and ash for all I could find was chisels, hoes & plough- you couldn’t probably chance upon a magical hidden library at a farmer’s, however hard you’d try. Nevertheless, the adventure continued.

I was in my highschool and it was the dawn of a new century. The world was unfolding at a pace never imagined before. The world was growing smaller. News had started travelling faster- sadam was executed, Bush was re-elected,  youtube and facebook was launched and water was discovered on the moon. It was pretty exciting times to live in. I would read about it all while driving livestock around, under the shade of a tree, sitting besides the brook dipping my feet in the icy water and sometimes atop branches of trees, balancing my boyhood and the weight of words- something I would be forever bonded to. Thence came poets into my life – Frost, Keats,Yeats, Wordsworth, Kipling, Longfellow,Wilde and Neruda. They spoke of nature, of love and life. I would lie on the green pastures and read it all facing the blue sky till the sun called it a day and it was time to turn back. 

Classics followed thereafter; someone truly described classics as books which everyone talks about but nobody actually reads, more so for I  started off with “Wuthering Heights”. For pages the author says nothing at all and then drags it to few more and then  publishes another volume. It took Fitzgerald, Bronte,Salinger , Joseph Heller, a couple more  and countless sleepless nights to convince me. If you ask me today, classics are raw and crude books for you to bite off one piece at a a time and savour the bitter taste. It is much like a huge cup of strong black coffee; once you get the heck of it , you want it all the time for all ocassions. Afterwards, for a long time, it was all Tolstoy and Tolkein stacked upto and along with my pillows. It went by and  I developed a habit of carrying books around wherever I went. I continue to do so today.

Like the turn of events in a classical story, I moved from the countryside to a city. My love for books remained the same and the only difference was books were more easily accessible in the city. I could grab a book on the go- the bus station, the mall or the metro . I would remain glued to the the huge collection, the hardbound copies, the colourful paperbacks. Inside the stores I felt like a gladiator in an arena- being watched, I could feel my heart racing. Anyway I would never grow to love these fancy city book stores and till the day I look out for small shops around the corner with books stacked randomly. I love searching through the stacks – it’s no less adventurous than a treasure hunt. I would read at quiet places in the heart of the city, in the gardens and while travelling. Reading had become my pilgrimage. It had got to the point that I stopped liking the company of humans and I never trusted someone who doesn’t read. I can say the same today.

Books have been  many things to me. They are  my refuge and guide, my adventure and escape. To hear voices of person already dead thousand years ago, to creep into the skin of characters, to see the world through someone else’s eyes – it is a voyage through time. To open a new paperback and smell through the pages, to stare into the wall in the middle of a read to fathom a line well written, creating distinct voices of characters in your head- I could go and on. You begin to travel in time and you are opened to the vastness of the never ending horizon. You walk out of the crowded narrow lanes and your mind is free to an understanding of things on scale not conceivable before. The awakening takes form and you’re never the same again.

Signing off with list of my fav authors / reads: 

1.    Ruskin Bond : for the love of nature

2.    Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: for creation of you know whom

3.    J R R Tolkein : No fiction ever felt more real.

4.    Paulo Coelho & Mitch Albom : the spiritual journeys 

5.    Michelle Obama & M K Gandhi : for defining “Autobiography”

6.    Amish Tripathi & Amitav Ghosh : Diaspora & History, love & lost ; reads that will stick with you.

7.    Jane Austen & Charles Dickens : Classics

8.    Harper Lee & Emily Bronte : one book authors

                                                                                             

*** (not in order and definitely not all, share me your reads too)

Letter to 10 yrs self on my 25th

LAUGHTER IS TIMELESS, IMAGINATION HAS NO AGE AND DREAMS ARE FOREVER.

Dear Champ

You are living your best days. There’s more to life than what you make of it right now but ,believe me , you wouldn’t miss out on much even if life turns unfortunate. Your days are so full of life yet so simple. You frown at misfortunes and glee at little success  that comes your way but as you grow up you’ll possess all that you want and still walk around with a heavy heart. Happiness will soon be a thing of the past and friends will slowly part from you. Years will start to count more and days lesser, relations will get strained and very far from your loved ones you will set foot on a path, all alone, chasing unfulfilled dreams and distant happiness. You’ll  muster just enough courage each day for it to pass and as you eventually lost sight of the shore, you’ll long to go back from where you started and live those carefree days once again. You’ll wander places you’ve always wondered and witness wonders you’ve never imagined yet the comfort of your home and warmth of the hearth will always haunt you. People will judge you for the suit that clads you and not the gentleman within. Eventually you’ll have less people you can  trust. And most of all you don’t get to dream anymore.

Bit by bit you start losing parts of yourself - you become a stranger.

I know you have better plans.You'll definitely make it big when you grow up. You are ambitious and a dreamer - I envy you.Your greatest strength is your conviction- nothing seems impossible to you. Right?

You dream of great things and possess the courage to see it through. Nothing deters you. Nothing scares you. Oh! and  the world should see how unflinchingly you get up every time you fall. I see fire in you,  hope in your eyes , gentleness in your heart and purity in your soul.You have nothing to lose, everything to gain and you take the world head on. You are my HERO and how I wish I could be at least be half of what you are.

You must think of me as a poor soul, entrapped and living in vain after what I've narrated. Grown ups may appear pitiful to you and rightly so. The uncertainty that hangs puts you in a dilemma of what you're doing with your life. But I assure your its altogether an unthinkable feat and opportunity to explore the world. To accept the challenges undaunted , to face your fears up straight and to finally conquer it all. 

After everything I just said about growing up, I stand corrected. You'll want to hear about the midnight plans we hatched and set off on a trip with no destination in mind and means barely enough, hitching rides as we wandered. The days I wouldn't budge an inch sitting under a tree flipping an old dusty book I picked from the flea market. For sometime I couldn't afford the turf but I would trade anything to go back to the times when we would kick football at a small clearing in the outskirts of the city until we could see no more. Of all those good old days, the struggling days were the best- after pulling off an all nighter I would walk upto the gym first thing, cook afterwards and manage to finish off the half read book. All because, I had big dreams and was stupid enough to believe in them. I can go on and on. And the thing about friends - I have a very few of them around but they are the best ones to have.

 One day it'll be your turn to leave the familiar and walk into the unknown. You'll experience it all for yourself. You'll encounter challenges each step of your journey and temptation will surround you. But mind you, always follow that voice that whispers from within, do no man wrong, help those in need, learn to smile in times of misfortune and the day prosperity visits you, be grateful and be grounded even more. Remember the sacrifices you made but know this, you can never be too grateful for what your parents went through. Never forget your roots. Pursue not what fill the coffers but that which lightens your heart. And most of all have the courage to take a stand and never let someone else's perception of you determine your own worth. 

I hope you learn to be happy in your own terms and be proud of the person you are becoming - even if it isn't exactly where you want to be.

I hope, at the end of the day you find what you're looking for out there and life continues to inspire you.

At last, I sincerely hope you continue to dream.

Happiness Always

When does the world comes to an end?
What happens after we die?
How do you explain something that never ends?
What’s the purpose of life?


These questions have haunted us, or at least me, at odd hours - while awake at night, when we lose a dear one,or at lone hours. Some of us  evade such questions and some who try to answer them have not been very successful. I have personally thought deep and searched wide only to conclude that we all have our own sets of beliefs and understanding and interpret each one befiiting our own capability. I can however claim that I have found the answer to the last one

 “what’s the purpose of our life?”
And the simplest answer is “to be happy”

To many it might not be quite the answer but trust me it makes  a whole lot easier to try and understand the other perplexities. This understanding might not lead you right to the destination but it makes the journey worthwhile and given the fickle nature of our own existence and the numerous unknown cirscumstances shaping our life each instant,  we couldn’t ask for more. After all all our complicated  worldly aspirations are aimed to make us happy or provide us comfort, which I presume is just the same,  polished with our selfishness and ego. Another thought I have found helpful and unbelievably comforting while being a bit orthodox at the same time is that, we are programmed beings- in the sense that what we are destined for will eventually be and all our efforts to alter or understand will go in vain. This, I believe supports my claim all the more.

 Religion and science seem to be the fundamental pillars upon which we have pinned our hopes on, something we turn to at times of despair and are being rescued to an extent temporarily. But as we rise above it, our search for the one true reason and salvation continues. From a distance,  science or religion are tools of our own invention and with time many such will crop up comforting a few along the way. Religion to me is our self invented illusionary redemption and our refuge from fear of the unknown and the unanswered. It is simply based on the theory, “if you cant convince them, confuse them” and our basic human tendency of fear and desire fuels it all the more. Religion has so far been an excellent tool to quieten the common and lazy folks who don’t want to tickle their brain. With such a statement I am not denying the existence of a cosmic power of some form that moulded the universe, it is just a caution, “lets not be fooled, and that we have been given some grey matter, lets put it to use “. Science, now, seems to be more convincing than its illogical stepsister. Anyhow winning a gold does not infer that you are the fastest and the strongest. Religion has served us well in its time and science continues the legacy bringing us closer or at least enabling us to ask better questions yet both have stood testimony and been  judged “a good servant but a bad master”.

Now that we have successfully eliminated or for the least sidelined two strong contenders and assuming that we have found the answer lets dwell upon it. If happiness is our ticket to this paradox then why not simply be happy? I attribute the answer to a fact that simple does not mean it is easy. It doesn' mean impossible at the same time  Not all of our daily endeavours succeeds and we submit to the whims of fate restricting ourselves to our little fears and discomfort while utterly forgetting our own nature. If we dare to dream big and achieve worthwhile, it is only natural and logical to accept failures with equal grace. It is okay to be afraid, to fail, to give in, to hate sometimes, to lust, to not know everything, to bend a little, to be human. Like i mentioned we are programmed to be human not perfect. Along the way, in our quest of attaining perfection we have denied ourselves our birthright of being human. To be human is to love even more fiercely for each ounce of hatred, to rise even higher with each failure and to be kind and compassionate and accept that we are not different or equal, just unique and incomparable. To be human is to accept our own nature and be truly home.

Lets learn to appreciate and listen, to spread smile and lighten hearts, to forgive and forget, to wave a stranger and hug a friend, to be happy and human before the earth covers us along with our regrets.

Let’s learn to pursue happiness.

Happiness always

Born to be a farmer

An ode to those that work in acres, not in hours.

I read this somewhere.

FARMING : It is a job, full of long hours, in all temperatures and lots of hardwork. But it is so much more than that. It is scars, callouses, broken bones, stitches and bruises. It is sunshine and storm, dirt under your nails, and straw in your boots. It is early mornings, late nights, and long days. It is the joy of good harvest, the beauty of a sunset, the peace in the barns. It is a calf in the kitchen, a dog in your truck, and freedom in your soul. It is faith, determination and accomplishment. It is fears, tears, laughter and love. It is a way of life, a sense of pride, a family affair. It is home. And there is no place I would rather be.

It must have been an old, discarded book. But so aptly written.

I recall very few conversations with my father. Most of it in the farms in between work, while the oxen took their time in the sun chewing bales of hay. One such fine day, he told me farming is the noblest of all professions. He went on to give me reasons why. Farmers feed everyone, even the birds and animals and live in harmony with nature, he said. We obey the laws of nature and are closest to God. We live by the sweat of the brows and with each harvest grow more compassionate and thankful. Hard work is our religion and dignity, our greatest pride . Farmers belong to a clan who would plow deep and straight and not cut corners, seed and feed and finish the days hard work with a five mile walk to the temple. It must have been rather too deep a thought for me back then - an ambitious young lad with dreams of making my parents proud one day. However I scribbled this conversation in a corner of my mind to look back someday and prove my father wrong. I wanted him to know  that we live in a different generation now and that I have dreams of exploring the world which was not very likely if I took after him. I mean sunshine and nature is all good but I want to be successful and happy. Little did I know that not every success leads to happiness.

Sometimes, yet, those talks and advice served me as disappointment which made my claim all the more stronger. I’ll deliver my parents from this hard life of farming, I vowed.

Years hence as I  look down those valleys of memories from the self assumed lofty heights of achievement, I am convinced that nothing could have been sweeter. For how long I can vouch for the same is something I would not like to  answer now and leave it to the test of time- one I have found inescapable and convincing overtime. While still during my high school teen I had decided that I would farm and teach once I am done following the worldly  way of chasing jobs and attaining glory and I find that pretty amusing and credit myself for staying truthful and sensible enough. I am not sure but would like to know very much how satisfied those achievers are today.
I have to admit I am starting to sound more like my old man.

And because we don’t snap beans with grandma anymore and our old man don’t take us hunting anymore than teach us fishing, we have lost part of ourselves.  Hell , we don’t know if it exists anymore. Sitting on the porch, listening to the birds , feeling the wind blow through your soul and letting it all in , enjoying little things in life - I know we have all reserved such luxuries for our vacation and with it we have decided to lock away  a part of ourselves which makes us human. 

Spirituality has vanished , we have willingly decided to forget to be kind because honestly we no longer seem to have time for it. Believe it or not, with each passing day we cease to be less human. We have been to the moon and back yet walking across the streets to our neighbours has become rare and  features under our list of social etiquettes. Our sophistication has taught us to differentiate people on whatever categories we have invented. The superficial modes of communication have trampled real conversations and we don’t write letters anymore.We seem to have traded what little humanity was left to participate in the endless mad rat race. Our tentacles have spread far and wide; who cares how deep the roots go. Days shed colours so fast and so well; we fare so well to forget if we shall ever survive a real storm. Somewhere along the way its our lifestyle that has changed our course and it very much seems to be for the worst. I only hope we don’t go so far as insanity goes.

I remember planting trees every year on my birthday, carrying loads of manure  on my back and watch it grow each day -  I pray that the coming generation still affords that luxury. I consider myself very fortunate to have lived my childhood before technology took over and that I still enjoy walking in the woods whistling away appreciating the randomness. I am awfully thankful to the times I worked in the farm knee-deep in water and those hot summer on the ranch, which unbelievably limited thoughts of  material possessions and the most luxurious lifestyle I look forward to is owning an attic library room  whose window overlooks green valleys and I wish a river passes by and if it is not much to ask for I would love some fireflies for the night.

Lets end with a country song that provoked me to share my thoughts


           I went sky divin’
           I went Rocky Mountain climbin’
           I went 2.7 seconds
           On a bull name Fumanchu
           And I loved deeper
           And I spoke sweeter
           And I gave forgiveness
           I ve been denying
           And he said someday
           I hope you get the chance
           To live like you were dyin'