In Buddhism there is a kind of wisdom called the wisdom of nondiscrimination. Non discrimination is one element of true love. I am right-handed so I do most things with my right hand: brushing my teeth, inviting the bell to sound, writing calligraphy. I have written all my poems with my right hand. But my right hand is never proud of itself. It never says, “Left hand, you are good for nothing. I have to do everything by myself”. And my left hand does not have an inferiority complex, it never suffers, it’s wonderful. My right and left hands are always at peace with each other. They collaborate in a perfect way. This is the wisdom of no-self that is alive in us.
One day I was hammering a nail in the wall to hang a picture. I was not very skillful and instead of hitting the nail, I hit my finger. Immediately my right hand put down the hammer and took care of my left hand. My right hand never said, “Left hand, you know, I’m taking good care of you. You should remember that”. And my left hand did not say, “Right hand you have made me suffer. I want justice, give me that hammer”. My left hand never thinks like that. So the wisdom of nondiscrimination is there in us. And if we make use of it, there will be peace in our family, in our community.
- From The Art of Power by Thich Nhat Hann
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Following my thoughts
Following my thoughts
The last time I was in Chennai airport (2nd April), while standing in the queue to ‘check in’, I noticed a lady - of middle age - a few places away in front of me. She looked like an Indian settled in Fiji or West Indies. Though I say this as if I can tell, I really don’t know. What I mean is that she looked more a migrant than a full blown Indian.
She was dressed very casually in a flared long skirt and a shirt like top. I can tell it was an eight part skirt, as all the joints with frayed edges were visible. It looked like she was wearing the skirt inside out.
My first impulse was to tell the lady. Luckily she was a few paces away. I started thinking.
Why should I tell her? What would be achieved by telling the lady she is wearing her skirt inside out? What is wrong if she is wearing it that way? If the lady is not aware of it would my telling her embarrass her? Not being able to do anything about it right away would it create some kind of agitation in her mind?
What if she knows and she has been hoping nobody would notice it? Am I the only one who has noticed it? What if the skirt is purposely made that way as a fashion statement? Would she have some specific reason for wearing it inside out?
Lost in all these thoughts I didn’t even notice the lady after that.
Two days later I remembered something that happened about 4 months ago.
I was in Singapore with my sister Kala. We went out, travelling by bus and train, did some errands, had our lunch in a very good joint and a cup of coffee at a special coffee place. When we came home my sister commented that my kurta was inside out. I took it so casually and just changed it to the right way around. So many other people could have noticed it, but it didn’t bother me at all.
Thinking back at the entire episode, I am amazed at my train of thoughts and that I am aware of it all.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Gopuram Kumkumum
Gopuram brand Kumkumum and Manjal are very popular. It is available in 2 gm and 5 gm sachets and small tin boxes. During festivals and functions it is very convenient to give along with thamboolam. I have heard that this company (Y.V. Seshachalam & Co) also sells other products related to temple and pooja. I greatly admire their product reach and the way they have identified and focused on a unique product segment.
The sachets are made of aluminum foil, colourfully, aesthetically designed. I have never opened one to see what is inside. If I receive it from somebody, at the next opportunity I would just give it to somebody else. I have even wondered and doubted what it would contain.
Two days ago, my neighbour gave me thamboolam for ugadi, along with the tinned version of the Manjal and Kumkumum.
For no known reason, this morning I felt like having a closer look at it. I decided to open it to see what is inside. It was such a tiny thin tin box. I was surprised that the lid was not taped with the box. The lid opened easily yet it was not loose either and didn’t come off on its own accord. The lid fitted so effortlessly, so well on to the box. I was amazed at the way the box and the lid are designed so perfectly well.
It was so satisfying to see the boxes packed firmly, full to the brim, with the product. The Manjal and Kumkumum powder didn’t spill outside. The manufacturer’s quality standard was visible even with this one parameter.
Both Manjal and Kumkumum smelled so good; the colour was so authentic. I felt ashamed that I even doubted the authenticity of these products.
Whether to trust or to doubt anything I create the supporting evidences/ arguments in my mind, using the same amount of energy. I felt when I don’t have any proof, when I don’t know for sure, to trust is a positive attitude.
I learnt a spiritual lesson. Thank you Gopuram Kumkumum and Manjal.
The day after my return
The day after I came back from Shillong, I stayed back in Chennai to do some errands and meet some people. While I was travelling by car I rang up my cousin to find out whether we could meet for lunch or coffee and cake.
He told me he is busy that day, but he would be very happy if I could come to his Corporate Office and we could have a cup of coffee together. I had no idea where his Corporate Office was. I had no time to visit him at that time, as I had already fixed other appointments. Yet I asked him where it is and he told me the name of the suburb and the location with a prominent landmark.
Just then it dawned on me that I am in the same suburb and I asked the driver if he knew that landmark. He just pointed out to me on the left. That was uncanny. I asked him to pull up; got down and went to have coffee with my cousin. That again was meant to be.
He told me he is busy that day, but he would be very happy if I could come to his Corporate Office and we could have a cup of coffee together. I had no idea where his Corporate Office was. I had no time to visit him at that time, as I had already fixed other appointments. Yet I asked him where it is and he told me the name of the suburb and the location with a prominent landmark.
Just then it dawned on me that I am in the same suburb and I asked the driver if he knew that landmark. He just pointed out to me on the left. That was uncanny. I asked him to pull up; got down and went to have coffee with my cousin. That again was meant to be.
I went to Shillong
I went on a holiday to Shillong
Why I went all the way to Shillong cannot be explained logically. It wasn’t in my bucket list. I feel it was decided for me, but by whom and when I don’t know. I only decided the dates and my travel plans to Shillong. I was not the decision maker in who all accompanied me in this trip.
Everything – the coordination, the planning, and the schedule – fitted together so well as in a puzzle, without any great effort on my part. And our holiday together went off like clockwork - no hitch, no issues, no conflicts. We were fully occupied, totally involved with the everyday happenings and enjoyed what the place had to offer that we did not miss reading the newspaper or watching TV.
We had an excellent host couple who took care of planning our everyday activities in such details, that we didn’t have to tax our brains at all. None of us had any special requirement, demands or separate agenda. Whatever the day brought was fully acceptable to all of us. This by itself was extraordinary, considering the differences in our individual personalities.
Everyday something unique happened, but what happened on my return journey from Kolkata to Chennai is the most extraordinary experience.
When I boarded the plane I was planning to just relax, close my eyes and go to sleep. I said Hello to the lady who came to sit next to me, without any special interest in her. (I don’t like sitting next to somebody for 2 – 3 hours without even a word or a nod of recognition. Later I got to know that the lady too doesn’t like that uncomfortable feeling.)
I started glancing through the newspaper and reading the news about Anna Hazare’s fast. After the plane took off my companion started the conversation with “Where do you live? What do you do?” etc.
When I told her I write and I have written in Mangayar Malar, she recognized me as the person who was crowned in the magazine’s silver jubilee celebration. That was amazing. It was 5 years ago and there was only a small black and white photograph of me in the magazine.
What happened further was more amazing. In our exchange of information about each other she told me her name is Radha; she lives in Kolkata; she grew up in Mumbai (where I grew up); studied in SIES School (the school I went to) and her father had a tailor shop in Wadala (where I lived)and his name was Pandian. Hearing that name I got goose pimples. Pandian became our family tailor soon after we moved to our house in Wadala in 1957. I have had my blouses stitched by him for nearly 20 years - through my stay in US and Australia. He gave me a paper pattern for my blouse so that occasionally I can try making my own blouses while I lived abroad.
He was from Thirunelveli. He set up a tailoring unit in a small shop in Wadala with two assistants. He was simple, gentle, extremely polite and cultured. His language was so polished and kind that we never could get upset with him for not delivering the finished garments on time. During my periodic visits to India, he has told me that his eldest son has become a doctor and he has bought a flat in one of the suburbs. That was no mean achievement for a tailor. It is his hard work, frugal living and determination that could have helped him to give his children a good education. I lost touch with him after my return to India and while living in Bangalore. He has sold his shop.
Is getting to meet Pandian’s daughter predestined? I had an Economy Class ticket. My brother got it upgraded to Business Class just that morning. Radha said her ticket too was upgraded only that morning. In that flight we were the only two people in the Business Class. There is no logical explanation to our meeting that morning. I have no idea of the probability of such an occurrence. I wonder what is the reason for bringing us both together now.
Radha told me that after her father passed away they found a notebook in which he had written poems. I told her if she could find it I would help her to get it published.
We talked all the time, got each other’s contact details, hugged while saying ‘bye’ at the baggage claim and promised to keep in touch.
Why I went all the way to Shillong cannot be explained logically. It wasn’t in my bucket list. I feel it was decided for me, but by whom and when I don’t know. I only decided the dates and my travel plans to Shillong. I was not the decision maker in who all accompanied me in this trip.
Everything – the coordination, the planning, and the schedule – fitted together so well as in a puzzle, without any great effort on my part. And our holiday together went off like clockwork - no hitch, no issues, no conflicts. We were fully occupied, totally involved with the everyday happenings and enjoyed what the place had to offer that we did not miss reading the newspaper or watching TV.
We had an excellent host couple who took care of planning our everyday activities in such details, that we didn’t have to tax our brains at all. None of us had any special requirement, demands or separate agenda. Whatever the day brought was fully acceptable to all of us. This by itself was extraordinary, considering the differences in our individual personalities.
Everyday something unique happened, but what happened on my return journey from Kolkata to Chennai is the most extraordinary experience.
When I boarded the plane I was planning to just relax, close my eyes and go to sleep. I said Hello to the lady who came to sit next to me, without any special interest in her. (I don’t like sitting next to somebody for 2 – 3 hours without even a word or a nod of recognition. Later I got to know that the lady too doesn’t like that uncomfortable feeling.)
I started glancing through the newspaper and reading the news about Anna Hazare’s fast. After the plane took off my companion started the conversation with “Where do you live? What do you do?” etc.
When I told her I write and I have written in Mangayar Malar, she recognized me as the person who was crowned in the magazine’s silver jubilee celebration. That was amazing. It was 5 years ago and there was only a small black and white photograph of me in the magazine.
What happened further was more amazing. In our exchange of information about each other she told me her name is Radha; she lives in Kolkata; she grew up in Mumbai (where I grew up); studied in SIES School (the school I went to) and her father had a tailor shop in Wadala (where I lived)and his name was Pandian. Hearing that name I got goose pimples. Pandian became our family tailor soon after we moved to our house in Wadala in 1957. I have had my blouses stitched by him for nearly 20 years - through my stay in US and Australia. He gave me a paper pattern for my blouse so that occasionally I can try making my own blouses while I lived abroad.
He was from Thirunelveli. He set up a tailoring unit in a small shop in Wadala with two assistants. He was simple, gentle, extremely polite and cultured. His language was so polished and kind that we never could get upset with him for not delivering the finished garments on time. During my periodic visits to India, he has told me that his eldest son has become a doctor and he has bought a flat in one of the suburbs. That was no mean achievement for a tailor. It is his hard work, frugal living and determination that could have helped him to give his children a good education. I lost touch with him after my return to India and while living in Bangalore. He has sold his shop.
Is getting to meet Pandian’s daughter predestined? I had an Economy Class ticket. My brother got it upgraded to Business Class just that morning. Radha said her ticket too was upgraded only that morning. In that flight we were the only two people in the Business Class. There is no logical explanation to our meeting that morning. I have no idea of the probability of such an occurrence. I wonder what is the reason for bringing us both together now.
Radha told me that after her father passed away they found a notebook in which he had written poems. I told her if she could find it I would help her to get it published.
We talked all the time, got each other’s contact details, hugged while saying ‘bye’ at the baggage claim and promised to keep in touch.
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