It's 10:39 pm, and nine minutes past my bedtime. I am kind of sleepy too, which is lucky. Then why am I not in bed?
For the video editing workshop that I am conducting these days, I was looking through some old tapes to find material for the students to edit a documentary. Generally, I fast forward. But then, I came across a Tiru 1, a Tiru 2, and a Tiru 3 (Tiru is short for Tiruvannamalai, which is the town where sits my beloved mountain). I lost track of time, space was just the small camera window.
I am transported to a time in last February, when Prayas and I had gone to Tiru. Roadside tea shops to chill, hippies and sadhus sitting together under the trees sharing the chillum, and the ox-cart pradakshina around the mountain.
If love is nothing but gravity, the feeling ought to be mutual, isn't it?
The moon seems to be circling the earth and causing waves, but will the earth let the moon go anywhere else? Just ask her. Nope, not even for a short visit to Venus. See? It's mutual, 50- 50. Or 100-100. In advaita, 100 is never divided.
Having proved my theorem, it is obvious that this is not a one-sided romance. There is no harm in being vulnerable, in fact, it might even prove beneficial to suffer, to pine, to breathe and to sigh.
Call me to you, or keep me longing, I am at your mercy, O, Arunachala.
I shall make you into a film and upload you soon, O, Arunachala.
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