Silent peace march from Mandi House to Jantar Mantar

Yesterday was an eventful day in many ways. It started with a meeting with a yoga and naturopathy doctor at the close-by government-run yoga and natural cure centre. On our way back home, news spread about the loss of the gang rape victim in Singapore. So the day ended with thoughts about the girl and how different people responded to her journey to death. Some even believe she had passed away much earlier and that a scared government was trying to evade from telling the truth in a timely way.

Anyway, what was equally meaningful for me was how my brother responded to the whole situation. My brother is a software engineer by training, who is thankfully less of a 'professional activist' than what JNU is infamous for producing (irregardless of political affiliation). So i tend to give merit to his opinion because i know that his head is less cloudy than mine. He is more directly connected with his inner voice as there is no obvious reason why he should 'sound in a particular way' to meet his own pre-set agendas. His job is to create software and he does a decent job out of it while choosing where to involve himself whereas i over-react many times (let me accept it), cry hoarse and take to heart  almost each and every event that happens in my immediate surrounding. If you think further, as if there is nothing better to do :), there is 'good' and 'bad' in both life choices, anyway.

So, he volunteered to drive me to the peace march yesterday, and expressed his willingness to participate in the march, his first, despite having a forever-in-protest-mode sister like me. 

Photos credit Rahul

Due to  lack of parking space, and my eager, bony a.. just dying to jump out of the moving vehicle in solidarity with the peacefully marching crowd on the other side of the road, we decided to drop me off right there. (Had been a while since i participated in any protest march so was itching to step on familiar ground. Was 'bed-bound' earlier in hospital or was physically removed to an Ashram in Meerut for subsequent therapy post typhoid). My brother was supposed to meet me at any point during the march after parking his car. So his much anticipated participation depended upon availability of parking space! How silly...?!

Two of my centre seniors welcomed me in the long queue on the left side of the road. So i walked with the crowd, without any banner or shouting any slogan, just in a quiet, silent way, the way it was meant to be perhaps. There was mild tension among people carrying cameras, who were trying to click photographs of every moment while themselves sidestepping it (!). They were desperately trying to capture every small movement to encash the 'best shot' later. Talk about competitive photography or media coverage at such events. Some one can very rightly point out that i have done a lot of this too so should drop the righteous face, well i am trying to :). After all, that is the reason why i can easily sense the anxiety behind the constant clicking of shutterbugs, the agendas behind various angles, what gets clicked and what gets cut out of the frame. Most of us know that a photograph first gets clicked in the head just like an article first gets conceptualised in the mind.

While we walked through the traffic exchanging brief updates about recent whereabouts interrupting our own silence, to our embarrassment, a differently-abled lady became a constant centre of attraction for most with cameras. It was as if that lady 'should have' been doing something else, considering her 'condition' BUT, she is so brave or has an extraordinary heart that she came out in protest on her battery-run wheelchair. We don't know what it is to get photographed like that but we did continue getting embarrassed for the lady till quite some time. For all we know she may have been enjoying the extra attention or would be so used to it by now! Her level of comfort in that environment suggested that she too was most likely a 'professional', a rehearsed activist in all probability, who most likely knew her way  around better than others.

In the mean time, my brother had reached Jantar Mantar and was thrown in the midst of a typical  activist environment, with people carrying banners on both sides, police battalions ready for some ugly play in anticipation. When our group was beginning to converge with the larger group present there, i called him to know his location. He just told me how he was wondering why he came there at all! What were some of the activists doing there, competing with each other in terms of who shouted the 'most appropriate' slogan, how many times, whether s/he was followed by an adequate number in rehearsed chorus and at what decibel level? Was that the reason why people do 'peaceful' activism, especially in memory of someone who had to face such a tragic end, my brother wondered. Of course i figured this out by interpreting the pauses and intonations he offered as he disappointingly spoke.

All four of us decided to be on the 'left' side of the group and sat down quietly on the road to offer silent condolences and to absorb the vibration of the place. Unfortunately and frequently, we were disturbed by what we saw or was it our own mind that created the way we viewed unfolding scenarios. Even in supposed moments of mourning, there was constant restlessness among many as they jostled for visibility in front of TV crew or journalists. Not naming names (there is no point in doing that), but one knows workings of familiar faces from organisations and one can't help but observe the often repeated drama. After playing this role in the field, there is competition about who circulates photographs first or writes an e-note about the event first. As expected, before i reached home, news had already started flooding my inbox. Of course i relate to all this because i have been there and done that too. 

My point is to say that yesterday, other than remembering to pray several times for the gang rape victim, i could see more clearly the spaces people choose to occupy publicly. One could pray silently and generate love and goodwill for the departed soul at home, or one could also partially or fully indulge in calculating how to take mileage out of 'the event'. Anyway, to each his own. 

Well, writing this blog post is not any better than what the 'professionals' were doing at Jantar Mantar. Signing off on that note.

Pyar ka parantha

In the last week of May 2012, I was diagnosed with typhoid fever. For one whole month, I was heavily relying on antibiotics, was even admitted to hospital twice, once to cure typhoid and once to deal with subsequently acquired acid peptic disease (later became a form of Gastro Esophageal Reflux Disease (GERD) leading to dramatic weight-loss). Simply put, by the end of July 2012, I had acute constipation, heartburn, a lot of acidity, insomnia, and gradually my food pipe had swollen. Due to all this, even lying down and resting had become challenging. Often, stomach acid would get refluxed into the food pipe (instead of naturally flowing downwards) as the digestive and excretory systems had become weak at the base.

It had been two months since I had been running from one allopathic doctor to another, adding on Ayurvedic medicine to the list of all that I was taking. Even tried homeopathy and naturopathy briefly. Overall, we ended up spending about Rs 50,000/= on my treatment (could be more) besides slowly piling on hopelessness inside. To deal with the latter part, I (fortunately) invested heavily in spiritual literature too, thanks to ready references given by Dr. Subhash Sethi, who is an avid reader and a wonderful person to say the least. A medical doctor by training and a Vipassana meditation (www.dhamma.org) teacher by calling, he continues to be one of the most shining guiding lights for me. (God bless you Sir!)

Dr. Sethi distributes ‘Jeevani Shakti Kaise Jagaye’ free of cost to people in need. He also gave me a copy of the Hindi book. Desperate for something to work out and considering my trust in Dr. Sethi and the common Vipassana connection, I took to reading it, however unenthusiastically.

‘Food is not the source of energy’ was one of the first weird statements I came across. Here I was panic-stricken and fearing for the worst along with my family, as all I was taking were a few glasses of fruit juice daily. That was when I had to be hospitalized for positive ketones in the urine. (Medically, ‘positive ketones’ denote starvation of the body that appears only after a long fast. It is a trade mark of ‘professional’ activists ;), who sit for dharnas at the drop of a hat.)

Fortunately for me, Dr. Sethi helped me in making a raw food diet chart (mostly fruit-based) for the coming months, but for some reason, taking regular enema alongside wasn't an important consideration back then. July, August and September went in building trust in the new diet regime prescribed in the book but with apprehensions and fears regarding its success-rate. Allopathic and Ayurvedic medicines continued simultaneously till a realisation of uselessness of what i was consuming prompted me to quit all of them one fine day. I had had enough of 'foreign and chemical things' being forcibly added to my body that seemed to reject these superficial interventions at various levels.

I finally came to Badari Narayan Sevagram i.e. the Meerut Ashram of International Association for Scientific Spiritualism (IASS) in October first week, few days before their famous biannual navratra fasting camp. (They had published the book I was trying to follow since two-three months.) I was convinced of changing base because the atmosphere at home had become quite tense and depressing (for understandable reasons) and chances of recovery there seemed bleak as everyone seemed short of treatment options.

The one thing that was causing most fear in our collective consciousness was that despite best efforts of so many people, including the best, most expensive and experienced medical professionals, I kept losing weight progressively. I had reduced to 44.9 kgs at a height of 5 feet, 2.5 inches while last year, I was plump and pink at about 60 kgs. At that time, being plump was still a mark of being healthy and fit as opposed to being thin, but full of energy and vigour.

So here at the Ashram, Dr. Gopal Shastri gave me the most unusual prescription and allowed me to stay and understand what they term as ‘eashwariya chikitsa’ (divine cure) through the principles of tap (ideal dietary system), seva (cultivating habit of sharing with others whatever one possesses materially) and sumiran (meditation). Once I was mentally prepared to give it a shot, the next challenge was to send my parents home peacefully because obviously, they didn't want to leave me alone at a new place. Dr. Shastri, btw, is another spiritual, straightforward person, who deserves a lot of goodwill and blessings from all the beings he has generously helped. He has a knack for calling a spade a spade, which was the most important input at least for my healing. For instance, when we met, he immediately recognized where I was stuck at the mental level and advised accordingly.  His message was that 98 percent of our body is actually made up of the mind, so I should quit worrying about the remaining two percent! His constant courage and honest feedback about my progress gave me courage, pushing me forward consistently. His fearlessness and trust in 'God' ('Universe' for me, call it anything!) is from where I could generate mine, from where my parents derived some peace of mind too. God bless you! 

Having sent parents home and after finally finding my own space at the Ashram, the first thing to do was to eat regularly (no tea, coffee and sugar) within the prescribed schedule in the mess. That was quite daunting at first as doctors had well induced the fear of eating the ‘wrong’ kind of food post typhoid and GERD. Anyhow, as per the Ashram schedule, I got down to practicing ‘tap’ (the first principle comprising gradual rational fasting) by hardly eating anything till noon other than soaked dry fruits, green-leaf juice and vegetable soup during late morning. The first solid meal was fruits and vegetable salad (seasonal, always along with sprouted moong) by 1 pm followed by a small snack and herbal tea (comprises saunf, mulethi, elaichi, tulsi, ginger, milk etc.; it’s pink in colour and the powder is produced locally) at about 4 pm. Dinner was served at 8:30 pm where one could eat as much roti, sabji, dal and chawal.

You won’t believe the kind of things I ate here during this time. For evening snacks, I have had everything from samosa, bread pakora, vegetable patteez, to suji halwa and dhokla to besan ka cheela, pakode, kheer, poha, and kala chana. Guddu and Mohan bhaiya made all the dishes so well. By ‘well’, I mean they added oil and masala copiously so that the taste of whatever they were cooking would never get compromised :). So, any medical doctor would pull his hair out if he were told about the kind of things I was beginning to taste and slowly consume liberally post the kind of illness I was coming from. For the mainstream doctors, I must be crazy to leave all medicine, and start eating everything I have been told to stay away from! Of course within the raw-during-day and cooked-food-in-the-evening/night kind of dietary system, there was space for everything 'eatable'.

I only had the usual discomfort in the throat and at any time I would eat something, it was followed by some time spent sitting erect in meditation, watching the discomfort as much as possible. Was sleeping only once at night and for the rest of the day, was busily following activities according to the Ashram schedule.

There were regular morning-evening sittings in the meditation hall where audio-video discourse about Bhagwad Gita and Sri Ramcharitmanas was played towards the end, after sessions of meditation, daily prayer-recitation and reading texts from spiritual literature. Coming from the Vipassana tradition, I was of course selectively participating in whichever activity that I liked despite active attendance. For instance, I was not doing nam jap, mantra chanting or was singing bhajans, (bhakti yog I presume) not that anything is wrong with them! The good thing was that no one made me do anything either since they knew of my spiritual leaning from before. Interestingly, I find no clash between what Krishna or Shiv or Gautama Buddha preached :). It's all a question of interpretation I guess.

Anyway, apart from spending time chopping vegetables in the community kitchen, doing some work for their English magazine (called ‘Tap-Sewa-Sumiran’; website: http://www.tap-seva-sumiran.com/), knitting a blue pair of socks almost by myself and planning (later executing) a general all-Ashram children meeting, I really don’t know how all this time got spent.

My low blood pressure is almost normal, I feel more energetic now despite body weight that has stabalised around 45 kgs. Imagine, as part of my treatment, Dr. Gopal insisted that I learn to exert the body and mop and clean my room, which I started doing, of course gradually. Even beginning to iron my clothes on my own was a big deal. From being someone who sat confused, fearful and crippled on the bed at home, waiting for mummy to do all the chores for me to slowly growing into someone who is nearly self-sufficient, even blogging, it has certainly been a long, worthy journey.

It is tough to put into words the kind of things one saw and experienced here. Not only my fear vis-à-vis ‘the right food’ got largely dealt with, I started eating the normal-for-others-but-prohibited-for-me-kind of food as well. Doctors had instructed me to have boiled water daily after typhoid but here, I drink the regular ‘taaza pani’, straight from the tap, without using even a basic Aquaguard! Sometimes I wonder how much fear one gets used to living with…

This ‘vacation’ is going to end shortly, probably after the three-day children camp that concludes on Christmas. My six-month sick-leave period also ends in late December. Then I will be going back to college-life, picking up threads of PhD field-work from where I had left it in May, albeit slowly. I have learnt that hurrying to do anything is a very bad idea and trying to control life by desperately clinging to it (namely, our action and then its ‘planned’ outcome) is the worst, most-uncalled-for human tendency. Trying to slow down and trying to gradually cultivate trust in the Universe’s wisdom is a great way to experiencing one’s actions, and the gift of life, fully.

So much in between has changed, some things forever, fortunately. For instance, my relationship with those I love and value has developed positively is to say the least.

In terms of tasty food, what I am going to remember very fondly is the post-Satsang prasad (moong dal barfi, peda, tilbugga, gurh-til gachak; never tasted some of these before), Malti Ma’s warm gurh-shakarkandi, Shyama didi’s ‘world-famous’ doodh kulfi-treat (as per Ashram protocol, everyone is called either didi or bhaiya), Radha didi’s ghar ka bana saunth gurh and twin bread mithais, one dipped in gulab jamun chashni and the other called 'shahi toast' with condensed milk and coconut topping (unexpectedly yummy!), Shashi didi’s suji cheela and moong daal (she has given me many kaddu and locky-based food recipes yay!), Meera didi's specially prepared saunf gurh, Leelawati didi's tasty tulsi-adrak evening kadha/herbal chai, Kiran didi’s bathua-aloo parantha, mithi puri, atta and til-gurh laddoo and besan-coconut-til-barfi (she also taught me how to knit woolen socks :) ), Gudia didi’s stuffed idli, pakodi, and muli-saag parantha (we also spent time together working on the magazine), Harbhajan aunty’s aloo-gobi ki sabji and matar-wadi, and the ever-willing-to-help Durgesh didi’s hare pyaaz ki sabzi, aloo and gobi parantha. It is your love, patience and goodwill all through these three months that have got me so far, and of course, the blessed food of the Ashram.

Lots of love and wishes for you all. Have a great New Year!

(Photos:  https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/113164685386219491475/albums/5803586938464049201).

Coping with death, somewhat

This was a dark Diwali for us as we lost our grand-mom this October. Agreed death is a part of life for anything that breathes, but still, we all hope to evade death ourselves and pray no one we know succumbs to the inevitable (how ironical). We know it will eventually come by but the subject of death escapes most of our daily materialistic conversations. We spend not even a minute to deliberate upon it unless someone leaves us for good and we’re forced to face 'the ultimate truth' indirectly.

This year, I have been to the crematorium (shamshaan bhoomi) thrice. Once to mourn death of a young feminist due to marry her childhood sweetheart, who guided me during a Dalit-women-based project at Jagori. She passed away in painful circumstances, locked up in a bathroom in a house abroad where she was staying alone at that time. She didn’t get any medical attention in crucial hours after slipping in the bathroom. Even her doctor parents couldn’t revive her because too much had been damaged before medical help finally arrived. I particularly remember her because she really 'tolerated' me a lot at a time when I was going through an identity crisis of sorts, i.e. immediately after MA. That had some kind of a role to play in who I became subsequently or am still becoming. Blessings in her direction!

Next to bid adieu was my nani, a 90-years-old lady, who went through transition in her son’s arms while chanting ‘ram ram’. Apparently that has relevance during moments of experiencing death and takes the dying person to more advanced forms of being in the next life, as some choose to believe. As long as the transition is peaceful, I feel people are free to believe what they like.

Remember nani as this forever smiling person, who laughed with me in innocence, some call it senility, during her last years, even though she could barely hear or remember anything from the decades of an active past life. Fortunately, she seemed to recognise me as someone known and thankfully as someone who appeared to be funny. All she could see were my facial expressions so I am sure I over-dramatised for her benefit. Had a nagging feeling that I 'had to' amuse her to make her happy, like her state of happiness was also my responsibility.

Can only hope that the innumerable impromptu laughter episodes with her, like the gibberish proposed by Osho, took away at least part of her extreme loneliness after 60 years of companionship with nanu ended recently. As for why I do it, I believe I am largely at peace with the truth of being alone anyway, so can conjure up peals of laughter of varied intensities on just about any occasion with people of any kind. Makes me look over-enthusiastic sometimes, but I am fine with that. "Farewell nanima... lots of warm loving hugs for you, always!”...

Then it was the turn of my single friend’s younger brother who was working in a corporate office down south. Everything seemed perfectly fine until he hung himself after which all hell broke loose for the family. My friend, who has already lost her father much earlier, is the only daughter, obviously is in a state of shock and doesn’t know from where to start making sense of a life that has gone totally berserk. After meeting her at the shamshaam bhoomi, I didn't have courage to go to uthala and terwi because I didn't want to put words where they don't work, so I chose the convenience of praying from a distance. However, feel like calling her today.

I don’t know exactly why I began writing about death if I had to write something after a gap of so many months. There is a lot more that happened during this time period. For instance, besides going to crematoriums and philosophising about life and death, including my own, I was also working on my PhD research area - well-being of trafficked and subsequently rescued children. Also there was a short visit to Gujarat to study pastoral lifestyles there as part of continuing contractual work. This was interspersed with news of two close friends opting for court marriage, thinking about what to gift them. Humm...

Anyway, apart from 'returning to boyhood' by chopping my locks yet again to the dismay of my family, the other update is that I ended up baking tea brownies for my aunt in her new microwave oven, the recipe of which I want to share here as requested. The preparation time is about 15 minutes while the baking time is just four minutes! You should try this one out if you don't like eggs. I found the recipe on an online cookery blog whose name I just can’t remember. Btw, I do like eggs :).

Eggless banana-flavoured brownies:

Blend together two tbsp. sugar, ripe mashed banana, 1/3rd cup butter and half tin milkmaid, along with two tbsp. crushed nuts (walnuts, cashews, almonds- your choice).

In another container, sift one cup flour, one pinch baking soda, two tbsp. cocoa powder.

Mix both well and transfer contents to a special microwave dish, and let it cook for four minutes, after which leave the cooked batter to cool for some more time before slicing it up and serving with hot tea. I say cooking is therapeutic in the middle of all this, and I am not saying this because I am a woman and I ‘ought to know’ how to cook. I believe it's good to know something about everything, including cooking, so that one doesn't have to completely depend on anyone.

My aunt, who is single and retired as a government school headmistress about ten years ago, was looking after my grandparents before they passed away, one by one. She seemed pleased with the recipe and has booked me for Thai vegetarian cooking in her new gadget for another time. Makes me nervous because I don't know abc of that, not yet. I dislike experimenting with nutritious veggies because I feel they'll go to waste if I burn them or don't cook them well. Anyway, anything to make my aunt feel better, including hopping on one leg if she wants me to :).

The time spent with her seems to be helping us both deal with gaps left in our hearts, with food (!). For me, I think it's more about getting distracted from memories of nani while living alone in that house. Or maybe, it's about learning to live with them.