don't cure me of my malady,

said Sri Ramakrishna, somewhere in the Gospel.

We were all meeting for the first time. They asked us to draw something that represents us or a part of us. It could be living, it need not be human, but it had to be accompanied by a brief intro.

The date was 28th May, a day after a full moon night. A night I had spent on a train from Chennai to Bangalore. If you draw a straight line from Chennai to Blr on a map, and add a weight that pulls down the line somewhere in the middle, you may drop on the Mountain. (On the map, it reads Tiruvannamalai). All night, as I looked out of the train window at the mesmerising moon-lit earth, I kept yearning for my Mountain to descend from the heavens. But ofcourse he didnt. He kept out of my sight, but kept me awake, throbbing so loud in my entire being.

So naturally, I drew the mountain, with a full moon. When it was my turn, I held up the paper and announced,

This is a Mountain.
It is called Arunachala.
My soul is stuck in this Mountain.

For a few minutes we all talked about the full moon Arunachala magic, how it draws thousands, lakhs for the pradakshina. I admitted to them that had I seen it, I would have jumped off the train last night.

'May I say something?', she asked me.

'Sure'.

'I really hope that one day you find the Mountain in Bangalore.'

'But the Mountain is in Tiru. It will be hard to find it in Blr.' I deliberatly misunderstood.

'No, I mean, I hope you find the Mountain within you.'

'But it is within me only. Like I said, my soul is stuck in it.'

'And you only asked us to draw something that represents ourselves, it need not be human, but it could be more alive, ....' I wanted to add.

Everything has its place in the world as well as in our daily routine.
Devotion and reverence are all right, for example, so long as one recognizes them for what they are - affectivity - and to that extent a form of bondage. But when one sees some-thing for what it Is, it then loses its force and cannot effect any further bondage.

Ramesh Balsekar

But, did you enjoy yourselves?

asked the surprised old man, my downstairs neighbor, when I told him gleefully that I was just back from a trip to Tiruvannamalai.

'Not only did I enjoyed myself thoroughly, even the boy had a whale of a time. We went for an early morning inner pradakshina, which ended on a bullock cart. Then we climbed halfway up the Mountain during the solar eclipse and a fellow selling small stone mountains showed us the moon-like sun in the reflection of a pot filled with dark, ink water.' I replied.

'I see.' he said, not convinced at all. 'Isn't this the same place that Ramana Maharshi lived?'

'Yes, Uncle. Same to same. Ramana loved that Mountain so much that he didn't leave it for a day even. He founded the special fevicol that stuck him to Arunachala for his entire life. All the restlessness was over for him. In fact, this special fevicol is available in Ramana ashram. All you need to do is walk around the samadhi a few times, and Bingo!'

'I see.' he said, wondering if I am the same nice woman who gives him prasad every Wednesday. This man badly needs to read my novel, I thought. Maybe I will gift him a copy.

'How come you came here only for a couple of days?' another duffer asked me in Tiru.

'To look at the Mountain.' I replied.

'That is my mantra. Look at the mountain, look at the mountain, look at the Maaunton!' I chanted, lest she start eating my head.

Lord, save me from the monkeys who don't know adrak ka swaad. I mean, I wear a rudraksh mala to declare that I am His servant, that I know nothing better than to love him. What more can I do to avoid being asked, 'But, did you enjoy yourselves?'

For those of you who are silently accusing me of fanaticism, please hear this song. If it can happen to Rajesh Khanna, why not me?

Thank you, Ramesh

I was at Swami Nithyananda's ashram yesterday morning, around eight am, sitting under the Banyan tree in front of the dark and beautiful Dakshinamurthi, when I got an sms from an old friend, 'Are you awake?'

Suddenly, I was afraid. My friend is a Guru- Bandhu, someone I met in Ramesh Balsekar's Satsang. Ramesh had been unwell ever since Sharada passed away two months ago. I looked at Dakshinamurthi and felt my eyes go wet. I got up, hugged him (yes, you can hug this form) and drew the strength to make the call.

'Good Morning, Manju', she said cheerfully.

'Oh, Thank God. I was scared its some bad news.' I said.

'Bad news we have to prepared for, no? After all, he is not talking, he is very unwell, and his mind is alert, it must be so hard for him. For his sake, I hope he leaves the body soon.'

'I disagree. He is enlightened, he can take it. It's not just by talking that a master does his work. If you go and sit near him you will still feel the silence.'

'Yes, you are right. In fact, I am thinking of going to Mumbai to see him. One last time.'

'Do go. And give him my pranam.'

'I will.'

This was around eight in the morning. Around ten, I was sitting in the Anand Sabha of the Ashram, in front of Swamiji's photograph, waiting for a class in meditation therapy to begin. I looked at my silent mobile once again. There were two messages.

'Guruji passed away at nine this morning.'

'Ramesh Balsekar passed away at his residence at nine am. The funeral is at 4 pm.'

I covered my face and wept. I remembered Ramesh's feet, how I loved to look at them, to touch them.

I went near Swami's photograph and did a full prostration.

Thank you, Ramesh. For being the bright and beautiful light in a seekers life. Thankyou for welcoming me in your home day after day, year after year. Thank you for answering my questions, for treating me with so much respect, for cherishing my spiritual self. You gave us a space to sit, and that means so much for lost souls. You connected me with the sangha, the fellow seekers. All we had in common was you, and we became freinds.

Thank you for Ramana, for his photograph on your wall, which you pranamed every morning before the talk. Although you never spoke much of it, there was another photograph in your house. A fresh, sunlit mountain. Arunachala, Ramana's abode. Arunachala, Swami Nithyanandas spiritual incubator.

Thank you, Swami, for holding me in your lap when Ramesh passed away.

What a life! What a ride! Where Masters and Mountains, like mothers pass you on from one to another, watching over you as you play, until the time you can learn to fly.

mountain comma

As the bus nears Tiruvannamalai, I turn deaf to my co-passengers and start straining my eyes, to look at the mountain.

The conductor will not sit down. And the glass is so dirty. And my friends keep on talking. Even spiritual talk can get so taxing at times. They know I am crazy about this mountain. They should realize that this is a special moment and leave me alone. Now another stupid fellow is standing right between me and the mountain.

I get up and go sit next to the driver. A young fellow is sitting there, watching me with an amused expression.

But who cares, for I ...finally ... see the Mountain. His head is shining in the sunlight and He yells a big Hello at me. He flickers out of sight quickly and I join my hands in pranaam.

'That is not the Mountain.' my neighbor says.

'Ofcourse it is. It is Arunachala.' I retort.

'Arunachala is ten kilometers away. Its the next mountain.' he says, gesticulating with his hands.

'Arunachala is next,' he says again.

'Listen, you. I have a blog called Mountain comma. Even right now, the head picture on my blog is the exact same view, from Bangalore road. I have written a book because I yearned for this damn fellow. I know the mountain when I see it.' I retort.

'Maybe you have a blog, maybe you have a book, but this aint the mountain. Arunachala is next. You coming to Tiruvannamalai first time?'

'No.' I cant contain the fury. 'You first time.' I say.

'No, Maa, my native place. Tiruvannamali my native place.'

'Really? Ok, but this is Arunachala.'

'No, Maa, Arunachala next mountain.'

I look again, as the mountain swishes back into sight. The same curve, the same creek, the same color, the same heart beat going dhuk dhuk, the breath going deep into the belly, the same tears stinging my eyes, there is absolutely no mistake.

'This might be your native place, but Arunachala is my father. So shut up.' I tell him.

The mountain, my very own mountain, endless and without a frame, is now to the left of the road. Luckily, the seat behind is empty. I go sit there and let my heart fly out of the window, and look at the mountain and look at the mountain and look at the mountain.

One young fellow in the bus is laughing. One fat woman is crying. And the driver is honking his horn as the bus moves closer to Arunachala.

Edited to add: On the bus back to Bangalore, a day later, Grasshopper sheds more tears as the Mountain ditches her for the nth time. And then, as she opens a book gifted to her by the good old friend who told her she never walked on the path, she reads these words:

Ashru (Tears):
518. Tears are one of the principle offerings in the worship of God.

-----Cloudburst of thousand suns
(Being English rendering of Sri Sri Omkar Sahastra Vaani)

Gratitude

There are uploaded about five hundred videos of Swami Nithyananda on you tube, all for free. As has become my nightly habit, just before going to bed I treat myself to a video. A few days ago, it started becoming difficult to find a new video, and I started seeing second shows.

But tonight, suddenly this video sprouted out of nowhere and I was so very grateful. Guess what it is called? Gratitude.

Saying thank you to the Bus driver, the waiter, the shop keeper and of course the maid, I realized, are a part of western culture I was taught by mum. Here swamiji appreciates the the culture of gratitude expressed in the social structure in the west.

A master is used as an object to intensify the devotion in you, he says, later. And I remembered the nandi in Arunachala. How I loved him. I used to go to the Arunachaleshwar temple in Tiru, just to sit outside the innermost temple and look at the nandi. A nandi is always facing north, his body posture is slightly angular, he is always waiting for Shiva. I never realised then that there was something called the nandi puja, but I was doing it.

the story of the alien creature

After a traumatic couple of hours of changing the blogs clothes, I know the only cure is to write a bubble gum post.

Lets see if you get it.

I just came back from a trip to my favorite place, where this beautiful mountain stands still.

An old friend, film maker, trying to write a script with a writer's block, called me to kick his ass into writing, he said.

So off I went to Tiruvannamalai for the weekend, and asked him what the problem was.

'There is this creature sitting on me.' he said. Now this fellow, lets call him , V, is a strong man, rides a motorcycle, (from Mumbai to Tiru), makes ad films, etc.

'I see.' I said.

'Yes. I feel tired all the time. The other day I had gone for an energy work out (read fancy massage), and the lady told me she can feel this really negative presence around me.'

'I see.' I said.

'So I told her, if this creature is meant to stay with me, he is welcome. It's God's will, right? I mean, he cant stay unless God wants him to, so its Ok with me.'

'Hmm..'

'If you can do something about it, by all means go ahead. I wont say don't touch him, he is mine'.

I am totally stupefied. To buy time, I say, 'Why don't we discuss the script, V ? Tell me how much you have done.'

And we brainstorm the structure, scenes, dialogues, jokes, song situations. . . .V rejects all my suggestions.

'If not this and not that, then what?' I ask him.

'Yes, and why. And how.'

After a couple of hours I go down to the apartment I am sharing with a couple from Peru, lets call them A and B. A is the guy, B is the lady.

I tell AB about V's creature.

A : Well, I am not surprised. I personally have not encountered creatures one cant see, but I do know a human hybrid.

Me: A what?

A: A Human hybrid. A very nice lady. I have kept her in hiding. In the hills.

Me: Wait a minute. What exactly do you mean by a human hybrid.

A: Her mom was an earthling but Paa was an alien.

Me: Alien? From a space ship? They exist only in the movies.

B: He ain't lying. I have seen her.

Me: Oh. What does she look like?

A: She is tall, six feet, and she is slim that's it. She looks like an earthling, more or less.

Me : Then how do you know she is not a ... pure race?

A: She re-grew her spine. She was paralyzed, but she has healed herself. She is a medical miracle. Her temperature is four degrees lower than normal.

Me : I see. And why are you hiding her?

A: Well, she has a strange energy. You know, like when two people talk, some exchange of energy happens. Like when we are talking, you know, you and me,..

Me: Yes, yes. So people cant stand her.

A: Well, actually she is very cute.

B : Bullocks! Cute, my ass. She is a freak!

A : As you can see, B doesn't like her very much.

I have had enough. I leave them to themselves, and go off to sleep. The next day, I am supposed to meet V for breakfast.

As I get up from meditation, I get an sms. 'I am up since 4 am, writing. Lets meet for lunch.'

So I do my Ramana Ashram, Nithyananda ashram, oh mountain beautiful routine and get another sms. ' I am still writing. How about we meet around 4 pm?'

I spend the afternoon chilling out with the Peru couple. A is sprawled on the sofa, reading my book, B is reading 'Trust me', my sister's book. I am too happy to need a book.

A : Your acknowledgments made me cry. It is really sweet of you to give thanks to the plants.

Me : I once read a book, it said that plants actually control us. They feed us with their ideas, not just vitamins. . .

A : Of cource the plants control us. There is one plant in Peru, which they use in ceremonies, which helps us see the dead.

Me : I didnt quite mean that. . .

Suddenly V makes an entry.

V : Shakti Maa! What did you do to me? I got the begening! And the end! This is how it goes....da da da...

Me : Wow! Perfect! You have a hit!

V: What did you do to me?

Me: I just talked to you, acted as a sounding board.

A : You must have done some magic on V's creature.

B : Or maybe the creature found you more appetising ?

B winked at me, but the thought chased me all the way back to Bangalore. Which is why I have written the creature away.

Let it roam around in Blogosphere....

he danced around the mountain,

in utter, speechless joy, this dancing, no talking sadhu baba.


and he died, a couple of weeks ago, run over by a motorcycle on the pradakshina road. It seems he knew it was his time, from what he told people in the morning.

They have built a samadhi for him, since he knew about his approaching death. How I wish I had seen him dancing.

What I regret is my insensitivity towards sadhus, that I don't remember seeing him. Just because they beg is no excuse that we miss looking into their eyes.

height of helplessness

A visit to Tiruvannamalai always begets stories of the Gurus and their gopis.

The non-believers who are pulled in by the Mountain against their conscious choice, are continuously aghast at the goings on. It's fun to hear them talk.

Sample this from an English school teacher, who now runs a restaurant, Manna Cafe, in Tiru.

'If I put you in a corner, and make you sit down, and pray to you, waving lights in your face, you will start glowing in a week.'

'Yes, I suppose so. But what is your point?' I ask.

'This fellow, Nithyananda, must be secretly amused by all the women going ga-ga after him, falling at his feet.'

'Why?' I ask.

'Because he is a nice fellow. I saw him in town the other day. He has a nice smile.'

'Doesn't he?' I smile.

'Aw, shut up!'

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And this German fellow who has now become a guru of sorts, giving talks informally.

'Its nice to sit with you.' I say to him.

'Yes, I am always sitting with myself.' he replies. We all laugh.

'Did you hear of how Yogi Ram Surat Kumar left his body?' he says, after a while.

'Wasn't he in coma?'

'He was Unplugged!'

'Oh! By whom?'

'By his disciples!'

'No!'

'Yes. They waited till Maha Shivaratri! They put a spring under his arm and the spring went up and down as the devotees came to get his blessings. The poor fellow was in coma, giving blessings to his devotees by a spring! And on Maha Shivaratri they Unplugged him!'

'Disciples are heartless!', says the almost guru, revealing his deepest fears?

'Its the height of helplessness, isn't it?'

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'We are not going to Tiru again!' wails my hubby. (About a week before we end up in Tiru).

'It's always Tiru, Tiru, Tiru! You are demented! You cant see any other place in the whole world. God made lots of other nice places to go to. He didn't make only the Mountain. The kid needs more exposure, I need a change, I need a break from Tiru.'

'Ok, ok. Calm down. Here, have a glass of water.'

He drinks water.

'Mountain se mera sir pak chuka hai.' (My head is cooked by the Mountain).

'Ok. So where do you want to go?'

'You agree?' he is incredulous. 'Yipee!'

'Where do you want to go?' I ask.

'We can go to Gokarna beach. It's a cool place.'

'Sure. But Christmas is peak time. Make a booking first.'

'Ok. ' A few calls later, he gives me the deal. ' Swiming pool, fifteen hundred per person, per day, so it will be three point five k for three days. Perfect.'

'Fifteen hundred per person? We are three of us. So that is three point five into three k. And swiming pool? In December? Who swims? You want to learn swiming?'

'Ok, I will make more enquiries. I have to go out now. I will call you.'

In half an hour, he calls.

'We will go to Tiru only.' he says.

sound bytes from Tiruvannamali

I wish I had a camera when I went to Tiru for the weekend. Actually, I did have a camera when I went to Tiru.

Here are the pictures:

Walking barefoot with thousands of devotees around the mountain, the grace flowing continuously in the form of water from a big water tanker ahead, washing and cooling the road.

Swami Nithyananda doing a namaste to the Mountain. Tilt down to Swamiji's feet. No, he wasn't barefoot.

A tired devotee sitting on a cement on Pradakshina road bench with eyes closed.

Devotees lying on plain mud, fast asleep by the roadside, exhausted from the dancing and singing and walking miles barefoot.

A big open space just in front of the rear most end of the mountain (more about this later), people getting plastic chairs to plonk themselves, reserving their spaces hours ahead of the master's talk.

Reporter-devotee too tired to sit under the sun. She goes to the book stall and settles on a chair with a book.

An hour later, reporter-devotee finishes entire book, and when she thinks noone is watching, walks away from stall with chair and joins the masses.

Two hours later, Nithyananda swami makes entry. Crowds go wild. Old ladies fall off plastic chairs (on which they were standing).

Devotee looks at mountains rear end and wonders if the mountains beauty is stone deep. (There are too many trees from this angle, and devotee does not feel the familiar 'oh so beautiful my mountain'). So much for the greening movement.

Another two hours later, stage comes to life. Swamiji's school headmaster is garlanded, etc. Talk begins. The topic is, 'The Bliss that is Arunachala.' The language is Tamil. There is no translation.

Suddenly, two words pop out from the Tamil as meaningful. Spiritual Incubator. Followed by the bliss factory. Arunachala.

Now I can die in peace

U G Krishnamurthy said, the purpose of human life is to create another  like yourself.

'Ai, come outside.'

'Later, kiddo, I am busy.'

'I am making the Mountain, Ai. Come and see no. I am making Arunachala.'

I rush outside to see what he is up to.

And yes, he has gathered the wet mud in the yard to look like the mountain. We take some pics, though it is too dark and I don't have a flash. Pavan gets a torch, and an orange cloth for a background and we click some more.

'Ai, you will put this on your blog?' he asks.

'Yup, if it is nice enough. Did you say blog?' He is growing up too fast.

'Yes.'

'Oh. What is the name of my blog?'

'Mountain find me.'

'Hahuhi.'

'Mountain found me.'

'Thats it.'  

Ye, dosti

This Tiru trip Pavan made a friend.

Hansraj, age eleven. I have known and loved him when he was a baby. In fact, I was so crazy after him that I asked his father, Peter, if I could adopt Hans.

'Manufacture your own!' he said.

So when my present met my past, it took just three trips for the two to seal the friendship.


What matched? Their energy levels, their naughty quotients, their laughing capacities, and the mountain's grandfatherly ambiance.

They even named each other. Hans is Honey and Tukru is Pavan Bhalu bhaiya.

'You two look so sweet together. I might just eat you alive.' I threatened them.

'We will still be friends.' said Bhalu, loyalty incarnate.

'Ai, can we stay in Tiru only?' he asked,

'Do you like Tiru for the mountain or because of Hans?' I asked him.

'Han. Honey. And Mountain.'


During a lazy afternoon, I was chilling out in the room at Sheshadri Ashram, and the two of them were chasing each other around the place. (Sheshadri Ashram is a few feet away from Ramana Ashram. Sheshadri was a weird saint who threw stones at his devotees and they were cured, so thay made an ashram for him. Sheshadri used to call Ramana his younger brother.)

Suddenly Hans came inside the room with some rice wrapped in a big round leaf.

'Prasad.' He said, giving me some, and ran out of the room as he saw Pavan through the window.

'That was yummy. Can I have some more? Hans! Pavan! Come here. Get me some more prasad. No, I want one full leaf full. I am hungry.'

After ten minutes all three of us were sitting on the floor of the room, each eating delicious rice from three different leaves. It had a rare subtle flavor, without the execive spices so common in Tamil Nadu.

'This is so good. Where did you get this from?' I asked them.

'This is the prasad the ashram gives everyday to the sadhus who sit outside. Its very tasty, so I always take it.' replied Hans.

Btw, Hans lives on the other side of the road from the ashram, on the first floor of one of the best restaurants in Tiru, run by his parents.


Both of them tried hard to convince me to stay longer in Tiru. As it is, leaving the mountain is never an easy job for anyone, not even the bus driver.

So I relented a day and that gave them a power over me, or so they thought. Separating two new friends, I was exhausted by the time we finally got into the bus, and my revengeful nature surfaced.

As the bus pulled out, I teased the poor bhalu,

'You want to stop the bus and go back to Hans?'

And, for the first time in his little life of seven years, I saw silent tears appear in his eyes.

Arunachala photographs

The above art works are copyrighted by Shivani, a Mountain bitten lady who once was a German. Now she lives and breathes the mountain.

Give her a bangle,

she doesn't have enough!

This is my favorite kali temple on Pradakshina road.

the mountain bites

yet another innocent. A first timer I had planted there sent me two smses today.

first sms: The Arunachala is a very good soap. Cleans you well. (Iske jhaag ne jadu kar diya!) Do buy. Available in packets of Presence and Devotion, in stores near you.

(photograph stolen from here. )

second sms : (ten minutes after the first ) And after cleaning you up she wraps you in her arms and lets you put your head in her lap, stroking gently, till you immerse completely in her love.

Do you think my friend needs rabies shots?

stolen horizons

One of my close friends says that I have ADD. Short for attention deficit disorder. My mother tells me that I never liked it when someone talked to me for too long a time. That is quite true. Sometimes I wake up bored and agitated because the dream has lasted too long. Half my tea-time is spent trying to go back and remember the stupid story backwards.

Yes, there is an alarm inside me which goes 'lets get out of here', whenever the other is going on and on and not on and off. Silences are like oxygen for me. Music also gives me space to feel my breath.

When I first went to attend the ten day pranayam shibir of Ramdeo Baba, I was dismayed to hear him talk non-stop. 'Just learn to tune him out,' advised my sister. Since his frequency didn't change much, it worked.

And how do we learn to tune out visual noise, living in a city? One has to look ninety degrees UP to look at the moon. Some of us forget to do even that, our necks rebel.


Which is why I love this picture of the mountain. The silence begins with your feet, on the bare earth. And Arunachala is so full of promise, the way he sits, with a straight neck of a royal, touching the kingdom of white clouds. A silent, blissed out Guru, my mountain.

the lilies in the fields, they toil not...

I met old friends at Tiru who don't even look at the Mountain. They sit in tea shops, smoke bidis and grow their hair longer each year. Some of them are born overseas, a few don't even remember their 'native place'.

One such friend just came back to India with a fresh passport, a first time visa. He had overstayed his visa expiry date last time by three and a half years, until the Iskon fellowship hauled him out. Two years later, he is back in Tiru, with a new identity.
'First time to India?' the custom lady asked him, smiling.
'Yeah, first time.' he smiled back.

'What do you do all day in Tiru? What is your spiritual practice?'
'We cross the street, to sit in the tea shop across the road.'

What gives a bum, the supreme confidence to be a bum?

Two stories come to my mind:

1. As told by Shree Ramakrishna :

At the time of Jesus, there were two sisters called Mary and Martha. Jesus Christ went to their house with his devotees. At the sight of him, Mary was ecstatic with Happiness. It reminds me of a song by Gauranga:

My eyes sank in the sea of God's heavenly beauty

And did not come back to me again,

Down went my mind, as well, forgetting how to swim.

The other sister, all by herself, ran around arranging food for Jesus. Mary just sat at his feet, blissed out. (Maybe she washed his feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair, but this is another story.)

So Martha complained to the Master, 'Lord, please judge for yourself. How wrong my sister is. She is sitting in your room and I am doing all these things by myself.'
Jesus said, 'Your sister is indeed blessed. She has developed the only thing needful in human life: love of God.'

2. Once Ramana was sitting peacefully on the Mountain, minding his own business when an earnest seeker came to him and said,

'You are so ripe, you must take diksha from my Guru. I will come back in the evening and we will go together.'

Ramana was wondering how to escape the diksha, initiation, when another earnest seeker stopped at Ramana's hut for some water. He was climbing up to the peak.

'May I keep my holy books here? I will pick them up on my way back.'

And this was how the Mountain loved Ramana, for in that bundle of books, he opened a book to a page with these lines,

'Anyone residing within thirty kilometers of Arunachala need not do any sadhana whatsoever. No japa, no tapa, no guru, no seva, nothing needs to be done, because the Mountain Does Everything!'

and provided him with self defense against the initiation.

This is the promise, this is the creative license, and this is the secret of the lazy seeker.

It doesn't end here. There is another promise.

'Those who are meant to get enlightened will be drawn to the Mountain. They will not be able to resist the pull of the mountain.'

When I first heard / read this, my pride swelled up, until I looked around at the bums gathered on the tea shops. Someone is a jail bird, another has obviously run away from a nut house, this one is a proud dope addict, and of course, on almost each trip I get hit by a homeless sadhu.
'Are you single?' he asks me, too lazy to think of a better line.
'Happily married.' I smile back, no offense taken.

Years ago, during my first steps on the path, I was hammered by the concept, 'Keep Good Company.' But good company is a narrow lane, I get claustrophobic. I like to take U turns, I like to skip, jump or sit on the road. And the earnest seekers, may God warn me should they hover near. Let the white collared devotees run to the ashrams to make it in time for the one hour meditation.

I prefer to sit with my friends, the chilled out cronies of Shiva.

The uncarved heartless rock

As the bus pulls out of the town, it takes the pradakshina road to get to Bangalore road, thereby giving me a complete Arunachala darshan.

I realize that the Mountain loves me through my eyes. Only this morning I had walked up to Skandashram with Pavan. Skandashram is a cave like house where Ramana Maharishi lived till his mother left the body. It's a lovely nook in the hill, with a panaromic view of the temple town below.
But if I am in the mountain, I cant look at the mountain.

I wonder if there is mention of this specific brand of devotion anywhere in the spiritual texts. Ramakrishna, in the Gospel, talks about different kinds of bhakti.

Master (to the devotees) : God can be served in different ways. An ecstatic lover of God enjoys Him in different ways. Sometimes he says, 'O God, You are the lotus and I am the bee', and sometimes, 'You are the ocean of Satchitananda and I am the fish'. Sometimes he says, 'I am your dancing girl', and sings and dances before Him. He thinks of himself sometimes as God's friend, and sometimes as his handmaid. He looks on God as a child, as did Yasoda, and sometimes as husband or sweetheart, as did the gopis.

So its Ok for me to feel angry and abandoned and separated when the bus pulls me away from the beautiful uncarved rock who slowly disappears behind the trees.

If I cant meet You, I'll edit You.

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.

Six hours to the mountain

Day before yesterday, my feet tingled big time. And the thought which inspired the nerves to go hyper was, boy, oh boy, I am six hours away from the mountain. Bangalore being five hours from Tiruvannamalai. My house being an hour from Bangalore bus station. And that means I live in a space that is six hours from my beloved Arunachala.
Then why oh why am I so concerned with getting the house in order, why do I keep changing the arrangement of the drawing room, why on earth am I waiting for the broadband connection, why don't I get on that bus on which the conductor hangs on the door and yells, Thrvnnamalaai, Thrvnnamalaai, Thrvnamalaai?
Is it time, or is it repetition that erodes vowels out of a word, and urgency out of devotion?

Oh, Godda beautiful

This photograph of the Arunachala mountain reminds me of Sri Nanagaru, one of the many ice-cream toppings in Tiruvannamalai. Nanagaru is a disciple of Ramana Maharishi, and he has is own ashram at Tiru, which has a terrace that has the mountain as a huge backdrop.

Basically, there are two kinds of seekers at Tiru. Those that Guruhop, and those who stay put. Ever seen a grasshopper that doesn't jump?

Nana Garu's satsang started at eight and Johnathan and I were a few minutes late. Johnathan is an English friend I met at Ramesh's in Mumbai. As we hurried up the steps, we heard this song in a child's voice.

Oh, Godda beautiful,
Oh, Godda beautiful,
Oh, Godda beautiful,
Oh, Godda beautiful!

'That is Nana Guru singing!,' I whispered to John, before I saw him. He peeked out at the terrace door as we were removing our footwear.

'Yes, by jove, it is. How sweet. He sounds just like a child.' he whispered back to me.

We tiptoed our way in and sat with the devotees, on a big mat on the floor, with white sheets blowing softly in the mountain breeze.

Nanagaru was seated on a revolving chair, his back to the mountain, eyes closed, singing away in Tamil-Hinglish. (Godda for God, etc.)

Yoou are the blue of the ocean, Yoou are the high in the mountain!

Yoou are the flow in the river,
Yoou are the bliss of the Yogi!

Oh, Godda beautiful,
Oh, Godda beautiful,
Oh, Godda beautiful,
Oh, Godda beautiful!

After the song was over, he slowly opened his eyes. And looked at us. Very slowly, he moved his revolving chair in a semicircle, looking at everyone, holding each gaze, showering bliss in slow motion.

And then he turned the chair completely around, his back to us, now looking at the mountain. A simple gesture, but it melted all duality in that moment. There was no him, no me. The debt to the Guru was finished. He was one with us, beneath the magnificent Arunachala.

A ripple of laughter passed through us and he started singing again, raising his arms to the mountain.