Rememberings - the unphotographable

 

where does consciousness come from. where does it go. or is it like the number line, a continuum, a beginningless and endless mindstream that is forever in cause, effect and growth. 

in the 1-year pujo, the purohit was translating and interpreting the chanting, right till the end. The part which was poignant and brought tears. Because it felt like a real final goodbye. After offering food and water for the journey, seeking blessings and praying for peace, a candle was lit and held in silence. Supposedly to cast light along the path, to guide the soul on its onward journey. That was also the moment to say goodbye, keeping the memories but letting the rest go. 

...

The lilies bloomed after a whole year. Heeya had got this plant pot from Horticulture the morning after the night of cremation, the dawn at the river. With the soil, she had mixed his ashes, remains. 

The pot was in her balcony for a few months. Didn't flower, didnt grow. We moved it upstairs to the terrace. Watered and fertilised occasionally. Some white periwinkle seeds found their way to the pot and started blooming. One last stem of the lily had somehow survived. 

And now Spring, and this. 

Lilies and the girls were his forever favourite.

...

Purnam adah Purnam idam [That, is infinite. This too, is infinite]

Purnat Purnam udachyate [From infinite emerges the infinite]

Purnasya Purnamadaya [the infinite, if taken away from the infinite]

Purnameva vashishyate [what remains is still the infinite]

...

Rememberings. The rest is personal.

It is the first of February today. Today we were to turn 27, had D been around. 

Oh well he is not.

27 years ago on this day I lied to the Thermodynamics prof and excused myself out of the university classroom with awkward urgency to attend to a medical emergency at home and spent the whole day with D. Walked, talked, ate, drank beer, laughed at his jokes, noted that i liked his smile and how the eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed at his own joke, paused to be awed by a starlight screensaver on his fancy compaq computer and let him kiss me. Almost everything was a first. 

First February we celebrated. Nobody knew we did. Also because the wedding anniversary we didnt. We didnt because our wedding brought back stressful and unpleasant memories and made us fight. The wedding was about a lot of other people (save few) who were unhappy about how the execution was flawed - the marriage in general and the wedding in particular. That day was not about us. First February once used to be about us. 

27 feels long, nebulous, surreal, meaningful. Enough to know if this had honesty and integrity beyond hormones or poetry. A number that comes with a lot of amassed baggage and retrospection. When we started off, we were frightfully young and naively full of dreams. When we decided to do a life together, we were not thinking of creating a fancy home. Just wanted to find one. The picture of a home in the two minds must have been different. So we never really found one. In a house or in each other. When we drifted, we were still there. In alienation, in honesty. When he was losing inside, nearing the end, we kept trying, in our own ways. When we were parted by death, we learnt we cared more than we thought we did. 

So here we are. Officially 27 today. Not quite the planned tenure though. Didnt get to travel the distance we had planned to travel together, not even halfway. Couldnt find that home, eventually, many houses and people later. Donot even have the warmest of love stories to tell our children. 

A story of a strange love nonetheless. 

The rest remains personal. 

Rememberings. Four-One-One

Because 9-1-1 was taken, D decided to use 4-1-1.

One among his many business ideas. An emergency helpline service with a prepaid subscription model, tie-up with a few hospitals and a private fleet of ambulance distributed across various vantage points of the city. 

Four-One-One.

...

Today was a heavy, slow, quiet day. His first birthday when he is nowhere. On his last one we had gone to a Japanese place at Park Street, sat on a sofa by the terrace and re-ordered some exotic crab sushi. There was a family with a weeks old bundled baby at the adjacent table. We had smiled and socialised mildly, asking if it was a girl. She was. Watching other baby or toddler girls always made me, and I imagine him as well, truly happy. It reminded us of the best things that happened to us, the best moments of our lives and our best versions. 

We had taken no photographs. That was the last time just the four of us went out for dinner together. 

... 

The first time I went to the supermarket after he left, in March, I had an unexpected  breakdown when I noticed like never before, an octogenarian man, and realised in a jolt that I will never see him grow old. He was frozen in time. Remembered he had asked me decades back. To frame a good-looking picture of his youth for people to see when he died, not that of an old dying man with grey hair and no teeth. I would ask why it mattered when he wouldnt exist. He would say, oh I dont like growing old. 

His face was beautiful, calm and serene at the end, when I touched last, while he was still warm. Forever young, like he always wanted. 

...

He was missed and remembered in silence by the girls today. One reading dad poetry past midnight in her university, the other playing a little unnoticed tune on the keyboards at the end of her practice lesson. The third spent a day out at D's childhood school friend's home with some family warmth and love. 

...

His last birthday, we had taken no photos. He didnt want any taken. He wasn't his favourite self. Here are a few from before. Of him, and his favouritest people.

Pishemoshai : 1st March, 2025

A favourite someone with whom I had warm childhood memories. 

His home used to be my post annual exam getaway almost every year till high school. Pishimoni's cooking and Didi's disciplining I remember, but the fonder memory of those days were conversations with him. 

He had a deadpan humour, and often asked a pre-teen me pretty serious questions about life and other goings on, with a straight face. I felt important and special and loved talking with him. 

Their bedroom window opened to an unhindered view of sky and grass across a playground. It remains the same till date. He loved that window. When I met him last, he was seated on his bed beside that window, which he always liked keeping wide open, of late secretly, without heeding the daughter's reprimand. It is a south facing large window that brings in mixed breeze when seasons change, and he had bad lungs with COPD. Regardless, he always liked his window open. I too would like that I think. Even as I shook my head when didi mentioned his childish irresponsibility, I kind of understood. I have a feeling I will do the same when I am very old. 

He would be genuinely unhappy if I would visit him with mishti or cake or fruits. Bags of spicy potato chips were mandatory, and never failed to bring a smile to his face. So I would never forget the must-bring. 

1990s. School summer holidays, I would be at Pishimoni's place for weeks on end.  Calcutta then used to have these dim and lazy loadshedding evenings. Lights and fans out for an hour, sometimes longer. We would gather in the semi darkness of Pishemoshai's room. The windows would be open - everyone said, and it was a fact that the room did not need a fan even in peak tropical summer, the cross ventilation was ample and cool breeze would keep sweeping across the field into the room. Four of us, them and I, would gather in that play of light and shadows, and he would often ask me to sing a song. 

I would sing Rabindrasangeets mostly. On some occasions, a Hindi song I liked and picked up but couldn't sing at home because it was forbidden. Sometimes an English song whose lyrics I had learnt by heart to impress a friend in school. I would sing with all my heart and in my best voice with all melodic nuances, to an absorbed audience, and emotions would trickle and flow. The moment would be full. When the song ended, pishemoshai would say every time 'Are ... Tuli r golay besh shur achhe toh. Meyeta gaan shikhle kaje dito', or something to that effect. 

'She has music in her'. 

I would be shy and happy. I would smile and want to sing another one for him.

The outro was a fade out. A silent few hours to ending before dawn broke. Pishimoni in her wheelchair was silent except for tears flowing, without words, when they took him away. So was Baba; silent, tearful. He lost a friend. Heard Pisho had wanted to talk to Baba the previous day, before going into ventilation, for Baba to urgently intervene as an adult (among  docs and daughter acting like kids) on his line of treatment, arrange for him to be released from the pipes and tubes, and taken home. 

The last time I met him, this January, we took a selfie. He had his dark glasses on as he wanted to look cool in the photo, so I too put mine on. He made a serious face. One with which he said when pishi asked after my daughters, 'Tuli r abar dui meye, or nijer ee toh tero bochhor boysh. Ki je shob bolo tomra.'

'what strange things you say.'

Realised, yet again, that you never know when you're meeting someone for the last time. 

...

love and a loss

It was a draining day. Long. Longer than those two days when I was birthing my girls.

Longer not just by hours, but by pain. And not just by physical pain.

Even after taking a bath with soaps and fragrances, the scent of her feminine blood and fluid would not go away from my body, my mind, my memory.

After disposing four baby pups one by one, after half a day of labour half a day of C-section surgery, bringing Nala home safe though still shaking, is the only good thing that happened through the day. 

And that was enough.

...

one baby was born early morning and noone in that house knew when. It died unattended. I heard it was Nala's colour. brown. I wish I could've seen her. I imagine it was a girl.

one baby was born through natural labour, in front of me at 9 am. It was black and golden, and it was tiny and and mom and daughter met and she fed her. She lived only for 12 hours. 

two babies were surgically taken out. one came out dead. The last one came out alive but died after an hour. The doctors tried hard. Heat pads, warm rubs, oxygen, whatnots. 

Nala had no baby to keep and love.

But she was not in pain anymore.

...

Nala didnt need to go through this. Wants and wishes of humans imposed on animals, other humans. This is so not how it's done. 

She was not taken adequate care of when she was expecting. She was in extreme pain, in body and in mind, went through discomfort and humiliation with breeders touching poking prodding her for hours to take the babies out. She looked helpless, she looked at me, I was helpless, I could give her no relief. 

During the C section surgery,  doctor traced internal infections and removed her uterus. I am happy she never has to go through this pain again. 

...

It was difficult sleeping the night. Early next dawn when i went over to see her, I found a bandaged lost blank Nala sitting up looking at the door, alone in the room, with white lights on. Wakeful, eyes full of questions, looking out for someone.

She could be missing the baby she saw, met, nursed. Or, she could be looking for someone to explain all that happened to her. 

I didn't cry the night before, but it was hard not to then. I did and we sat together, bodies touching, in silence. I cried, for her pain, her loss. 

...

Baba is sketching a picture of Nala. Ma must be praying for her feeling better.

I taught my disturbed disarrayed daughters that night - if you love, please love with responsibility. 

my Vipassana days

Vipassana /vi.puh.shya.nuh/ is seeing things as they really are. Not how you seek, desire or imagine them to be. 

I read on this decades back in a Sunday Statesman Miscellany. It had a cover page picture of sunset behind a pagoda. This October, I went for a ten day venture to learn the technique. Of seeing things as they are. 

Till this point in life, my meditations were unambitiously limited to running, writing and 10 minute breathing with daughters at bedtime. In other words, I was safely uninitiated, and unaware of what I was getting myself into. 

Day 0

is when one signs up for the rules. Staying put for the full course, Observing noble silence. Abiding by the 5 Silas or moral precepts - no killing, no stealing, no sex, no lying, no alcohol. Also no reading, no writing. Turns out reading and writing are meditative and communicative activities  hence forbidden as they may disrupt the process. 

So Buddha told us 4 home truths.

1. There is misery

2. Misery is due to - craving or aversion

3. if these stop, suffering stops

4. There is a way to stop these (Good thing)

The way, or the path, the teacher said, has 3 parts.

(1) Silas (the 5 precepts listed above), (2) Samadhi (controlling the monkey mind) and (3) Panna (/pan.ya/clearing the mind with wisdom)

OK. I was curious, interested, taking it in. Mildly afraid of unknowns. Hoping I will stay sane after 10 hours a day of looking inside my head. 

Day 1

There was this garden. And in it, a solitary Shiuli tree. One among the few friends I made over ten days. It was silent and giving, like trees are but it was graceful how she flowered and then let go. With nobody knowing, or watching, or even taking what she gave. 

She must be flowering for someone every night, I thought. 

Walked past her every morning, picked flowers from the ground brought the fragrance to my room sometimes. One morning I went early, stood and watched her shed blooms. Flower by flower, one at a time, sometimes several drizzling down, like raindrops. 

A gong at 4 am, and an unstoppable bell thereafter, woke me up after I snoozed the alarm clock. In the quiet dimly lit meditation hall at dawn, the teacher told us to focus only on the air entering and leaving the nostrils. The idea was to use breath as a tool to experience the present. Worth noting, and I had never thought of this before, is that there is no need to crave or be anxious for this breath thingy. It will come, it will go, but it will always come back again. Nice. 

Was I getting a sense of the dance? Oh well not yet. The mind. OMG the mind. It raced and wandered and chattered and did quick round trips of my life's timeline past future included till I drifted far, far away before thinking nostrils again. 

Re-center, re-focus, repeat. 

Day 2

Wild elephant, Mad monkey. I felt you with every "breath". Was this the first time ever I was trying to train and tame the mind to stay the course? All the Vedantic realizations about how I am not my body or mind did dawn years back but experiencing it this helplessly all day long, was new. 

Today as the homework was to observe the full nasal area, the mind tuned in to Taranas from my daughter's daily riyaz - tana der tanum tana dim tana dere na, and a few forgotten MTV songs from my teenage days. Now they alternately played on loop like a nonstop radio station, while I was trying to get into the rhythm of my natural inhale-exhale and failing miserably. Fascinating, and brought home such an infallible experiential truth hopefully not to be forgotten for life - my mind is most certainly not me. 

As silence prevailed, I was almost thankful for the comfort of not having to smile or talk to people while passing by and not get judged for it. I noted in my mind, "People when silent are the best versions of themselves".

Day 3

was all about observing and focusing on sensations around the nostrils. "Kisi samvedna ki khnoj n kare, kaamna n kare, kalpna n kare. Bas jo hai, usi ko mehsoos kare. Jaane." The teacher's voice was slow, deliberate and it flowed in and filled the quiet hall at dawn. "Do not seek, desire or imagine a feeling. Feel what is. Know what is."

Deep. The words, and the experience in context of those words. 

I still drifted. 

To a seventh grade classroom with all voices but one fading at dusk. To a bed in an unknown emergency room with bright lights and doctors speaking in Dutch. To a starlight screensaver shimmering in loop in a quiet dark room. To a childhood Diwali when I am lighting long lines of candles with a melting shammes. 

But I came back each time to know what is here and now. After 3 days and 30 hours of the same drill, I could  now re-focus easily. That there is and always was, a thing of my own, the rhythm of my breath, to focus and anchor my mind, felt strange and safe. 

Day 4

is when one is ready to graduate from Samadhi to Panna. From mindfulness to wisdom. From Anapana to Vipassana. 

For personal reasons, this was the toughest day for me. Not because one was required to do Adhitthana (determination to sit perfectly still and refrain from even slightest movement) for hours on end. It was difficult to journey and acknowledge my own body and touch (for want of a better word) the flowing enveloping consciousness with my mind. It was a first.

Day 5

It is a strange and silent peoplescape early morning and evenings in the garden. Pity one cant take a picture. Thank God one cant take a picture. Persons walk past each other, some unhurried leisurely some with muted urgency clocking miles in the mind some sitting on the grass. no words, no gestures, no eye contact. Still, they connected.

There is a girl who wore these fun t-shirts and I loved reading the lines. One day was a Nike with "Run past the future" while she was lazing on the grassy little hillock at one side of the garden. Another day, it said "Eww, David" and I almost laughed, without sound. Hey wasn't aversion forbidden, I wanted to ask. But then I smiled at her. She had no clue why but smiled back at me. 

Impermanence

Detachment

Transience

Anicca /a.nich.ya/

Everything that one knew and heard of and read and understood so well, was being brought to life through the Vipassana drill. Journey the body for sensations and when you observe one, know its impermanent nature and at that very moment, practice feeling non-reaction, balance and equanimity. Not craving not aversion. Create no new Sankhara, reaction that is, and the old precipitate will dissolve over time.

Day 6

Buddha was a selfish man. Don't be like Buddha.

Solitary meditation cells, or Shunyagar, is a thing. A soundless 3 X 5 X 7 feet chamber with mild AC vent and a faint light for each meditator to sit and practice during individual sessions. Between 5 to 6 hours a day. This is where the meditators were allowed access from day 6 when they had learnt the technique and now needed nonstop practice. 

This was the day I thought I would quit. I was not ashamed or elated. Felt neither craving nor aversion. Life saw me quit so many things, what was one more thing added to the list of incompletenesses. I was totally non-reactive, balanced and equanimous and I figured out the technique and the build-your-defence thinking behind it and just wanted to not do this anymore. Leave not to see someone or be somewhere (anyway kids were on vacation) but just not wake up anymore at 4 am or have the last meal at 5 pm and then lay in bed from 9 to midnight without sleep then focusing on the breath so the mind could get rest. 

I figured the last bit was hurting and I was missing my younger's warmth in bed. So there was craving after all. I stayed back. 

Day 7

The daily 1.5 hour long evening discourse from the teacher was like a community movie show at a time when nobody had a TV at home. 

My aversion, craving, fear, whatever was the ailment, The teacher said it made no sense because there really is no I. Knowing that intellectually is not enough, experience that and live that and you are free from suffering. He summarised Dhamma's benefits crisply.

1. Here and now benefits pre-death. Practise and get immediate results. Is also ala carte. Choose one or more - Sila, Samadhi, Panna - Morality, Mindfulness, Wisdom. And be happy.

2. Assured benefit post-death. Freedom from rebirth for good. Be happy again. 

I was thinking more like no rush. I should go slow before the cycle abruptly ends. Need one more life for sure. I have stuff to do. Nirvana thereafter is fine. 

Day 8

My younger was on my mind today as I crushed big dry ochre leaves under bare feet during my evening walk in the garden.. She is a restless soul. A lot like my mind. Chattering, anxious, hyper, easily excited, confused, but a good soul. Realized in past 8 days it is super tough but the mind can be trained. It does listen. Not at the beginning but at some point, Even after 40 years. My younger will too. My elder will too. 

One can start anytime.

With a calm and quiet mind. 

Alert and Attentive mind.

Balanced and equanimous mind. 

Oh. Also today, I and another girl, a fellow meditator Anouk, watched a squirrel together. 

Day 9

I walked and sat down on wet grass this dawn and discovered and touched dewdrops at close quarters. Took one on my fingertip and it slipped and dropped from the leaf blade like a baby rabbit. Put one drop on my nose tip and one each on a cheek. Nature can be "breathtakingly" beautiful, bountiful. 

What happens when someone brings you a gift and you don't want it ? Well you can choose not to accept. So he has to take it back home. 

So if someone brings for you gifts of abuse or pain, choose not to accept it. How about choose not to remember as well and not carry the hurt with you because you really dont want those gifts after all. Choose freedom instead. By forgiving and forgetting.

Day 10

The Silent Peoplescape 

- the beautiful thin girl with sad distant eyes, perhaps the most sincere meditator in the group

- the bubbly nerdy smiley girl with glasses, perhaps the youngest of the lot

- my favourite t-shirt girl, short haired, with black rimmed glasses and intelligent deep eyes behind them

- the long haired serious looking lady who walks the garden like its a treadmill, she must have daily target miles and boy is she diligent

- the old meditator girl super helpful to everyone helping even the helpers 

- the pretty long haired daddy's daughter type girl wearing the Oxford univ t-shirt that looked genuine

- the happy German girl who stops in the garden even more than me to look at birds and trees

- the noiseful yawner and burper aunty in front of me who helped me work on my compassion and patience side of things

- the tallest girl in town I used to look "up" to so I could catch her flashlight smile

- my friend, a colleague from another time and country but a beautiful stranger for 10 days

- and so many other interesting faces and people I didn't write about but will remember. 

While I came to know their names and stories later, and they are all wonderful people, these thoughts are from a time of silence. To me, silence made each one of them a person they may or may not be. Beautiful with possibilities. 

Anicca. Impermanent. 

   [view from my window for the 10 days. the garden]

Gifts and Giving

Gifts can be tricky. Like friends. 

You crave for some, that you never get, and you accept some with a smile, that you do not really want or need. 

Almost never, one receives a gift which is so thoughtful, and so apt for the time of life and the state of soul, that it goes beyond the gift itself and becomes a special kind of giving. I got a couple such gifts yesterday and was dangerously close to tears. 

Friends, and the whole business of friendship, can be tricky. 

Seasonal, volatile, fragile, tentative, disillusioning. Liberating. Also, at this stage of life, it is satisfying to think about things with deliberate and restful uncertainty. So. I only mumbled an awkward but warm Thank You in return.