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)
Showing posts with label Mountain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mountain. Show all posts
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
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.
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 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.
Monday, August 11, 2008
life is postponed
How does one deal with a head bogged down by continuous procrastination?
when the computer screen needs to be wiped, since a week, maybe more.
when a close relative is sick and lonely in your hometown and you can't even call him up because you don't pray for him?
when you get an sms saying you have to pay your mobile bill just two days after you finally payed up last months bill?
when you have more than a dozen emails to be sent to people you don't know?
when your friend in Tiru calls and tells you that the land prices around the Mountain have shot up to Rs. 15 lakhs per acre and blows your dreams of farming in Tiru ?
when you wonder whether heaven (read Tiru) is a place or a thought or a word?
all I can do whenever I am blue, is to look at the dark night within. Maybe, when the eyes get used to the darkness, a couple of stars start to shine. And then, maybe, a dark outline is silhouetted that reminds me of a mountain.
when the computer screen needs to be wiped, since a week, maybe more.
when a close relative is sick and lonely in your hometown and you can't even call him up because you don't pray for him?
when you get an sms saying you have to pay your mobile bill just two days after you finally payed up last months bill?
when you have more than a dozen emails to be sent to people you don't know?
when your friend in Tiru calls and tells you that the land prices around the Mountain have shot up to Rs. 15 lakhs per acre and blows your dreams of farming in Tiru ?
when you wonder whether heaven (read Tiru) is a place or a thought or a word?
all I can do whenever I am blue, is to look at the dark night within. Maybe, when the eyes get used to the darkness, a couple of stars start to shine. And then, maybe, a dark outline is silhouetted that reminds me of a mountain.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
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?
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?
Thursday, July 31, 2008
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:
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.
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.
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.)
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The mountain out the window
The mountain that lives most of the time in my heart-mind-dreams, is now outside the window. Then what am I doing indoors?
I shall go out and repeat my mantra.
'Look at the mountain, Look at the mountain, Look at the maaunton!'
I shall go out and repeat my mantra.
'Look at the mountain, Look at the mountain, Look at the maaunton!'
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
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!
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.)
'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.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Where half my body resides
I say body because I dig not the meaning of soul. Like a kite, the soul keeps flying about trees and clouds. The body tells me the truth, it breathes deeper when it is whole, when it is one, when it is home.
Tiruvannamalai is the name of the town. Arunachala is the name of the mountain. Since I am an unconventional and yuppie spiritual seeker, I call them Tiru and mountain respectively.
'Look at the mountain, look at the mountain, look at the maa-un-ton!'
This is my secret chant and this is my secret mantra.
Mantras can get tiring sometimes, so I will just look.
This one is called Pradakshina Peek.
The mountain has a sixteen kilometer circumference made of tar road, or outer path. Lovers of the mountain walk this road often, keeping the mountain to your right, near your heart. (The spiritual heart is supposed to be on the right, the place where you thump your chest and say, this is me.)
Like a kaleidoscope, the mountain keeps changing its beautiful face while you walk around it, and this one is an all time favourite.
Tiru is an extremely slow paced town. Apart from the mountain, another time-stopper is the ancient, biggest - in - Asia, temple dedicated to Arunachaleshwar and many many other Gods.
It has four big gates, or Gopurams, out of which, three are kept open, and I never lost my footwear there. And how could I? Were the celestial cows not guarding and watching as constantly as they chewed?
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