still not the stuff we are made of
January. 31. 2012
Revisiting an old post from September 15th 2009…two years older transcendence still evades, but the sorcery is ever more delightful.
thought for the day
January. 18. 2012
Liberty isn’t given- a person can’t give another freedom. Every one was born free, that’s a gift of existence. You can only take away from it. Don’t.
freedom from fear
September. 11. 2011
“All material in nature,
the mountains and the streams and the air and we,
are made of Light which has been spent,
and this crumpled mass called material casts a shadow,
and the shadow belongs to Light.”
– Louis Kahn
I came to the United States as a student on August 30th, 2001. 12 days after my arrival, the WTC was bombed.
Still jet-lagged, skipping Ms. Olin’s 9am class, I was asleep when Alli barged into my dorm room and exclaimed, “Ishi! They bombed the WTC!” But in my fitful fever, my mind couldn’t parse through the information well enough to command consciousness and I zoomed back into sleep. It was only later when I answered the phone to my new best friend’s quivering voice that I realized what had just happened.
Even as I stood trembling, incapacitated by shock waves of horror flowing through my being, living the crash in my head, I couldn’t entirely fathom it all. And somewhere in my trembling, I realized I knew this feeling all too well. It was the first attack on American soil, but the Indian soil in me had quivered before in the face of the same terror, many a time.
Before that morning, I did not know what WTC stood for and had never been to New York. Shy in my newness I wondered if I could honestly be a part of the grief? In which capacity does a legal alien console her 12 day old friends?
Although it wasn’t all 9/11 that did it, since that fateful day, I have grown up. The event gave me a premature preview into the American psyche and this society’s mechanisms of dealing with grief and disaster, very different from the fatalist nonchalance I was used to in India…With typically American efficiency, meetings were called, we were given phones to call home to re-assure our parents and cautioned against going out into town alone. Caught off-guard and cornered into switching points of view, my sense of self questioned itself and for the first time I contemplated my being as the Other.
I have lived and loved, won and lost and surrendered pieces of my heart to souls deep within American folds while nurturing them into mine; I have watched the dispersion of fear and the struggle to overcome it in an intoxicated, unpredictable dance which moves us all through the darkness, through the light. Resilience is a beautiful thing, grace under pressure, that is what defines a great civilization, or a human being.
“I have no fear at all at all, I have no fears at all.”
falling up
July. 7. 2011
and staring into the whirlwind atmosphere at 27,000 feet
she almost fell upwards, head on the ground (fast dissipating) and feet in the clouds
there was nowhere to go but up, and she had no fear of falling
and there is much to be said about that.
in defense of the tortoise
June. 18. 2011
One of my many nicknames over long loving years was “khargosh” which translates to “rabbit” from Hindi…courtesy my madre. Earned because I have always moved fast, though I’m sure my baby “bunny teeth” had something to do with it too…
Even so, I know the pleasures of slowing down…see, you can stop time. Because it is, all so relative.
Here’s the original text before the cutting board in case you wondered:
In Defense of the Tortoise
There is more to life than increasing its speed.”
— Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi
On a recent Wednesday afternoon, I caught myself trying to skip ahead of an elderly gentleman as we both approached the door to a lunch stop. I wasn’t consciously trying to beat him to the door, but my instinct was to hurry in and hurry out. Catching myself, I wondered whether the 30 seconds I would save were really worth challenging a 70-year-old, and I slowed down. And that decision allowed me to allow him to hold the door open for me. It was a small pause, so worth taking.
I know I’m an accomplice in the perpetual chase of deadlines and superlatives. I’m just not sure how or when I, or we as a civilization, agreed to be ruled by the chase where the ubiquitous motto seems to be “more + bigger + newer + faster = better.”
I once saw an advertisement for “fast yoga” on the door of a fitness center. Call me old school Indian, but that reads like an oxymoron. That aside, it seemed to fit with the kind of life we have created here.
That dynamic may be at work as you read this newspaper. Scanning constitutes reading to most; we want news stories told in the first two sentences, TV sports formatted to our limited attention spans, movies to get to the point already and clicks to respond instantaneously. We have become so impatient that even flying (you know, soaring above the miles you would otherwise need to walk or drive) seems tedious and prolonged. Where will this mindset collapse? Are we programming an entire society to develop ADD?
In a series of interesting studies conducted by Harvard, MIT and National Geographic on longevity and happiness, science confirms what Patanjali knew 2000 years ago, i.e. the physical and mental benefits of meditation and slowing down. Of particular interest to me are molecular biologist turned Buddhist monk Matthieu Ricard’s research and explanations of the subject; some have called him the happiest man in the world. He isn’t on the fast track to anything.
Stress, it turns out, directly affects your lifespan, shaving those years off the tail end. And, one doesn’t need a study to confirm how stress destroys happiness- just think about how happy you were the last time your heart was palpitating madly, palms sweating, mind racing in panic mode.
Though it’s nice to see the global slow movement catching on (slowly, at least), it worries me that we live in a time and place where that needs to be codified. Slowing down every day, enough to harness self-awareness and control, is a base ingredient of happiness. And that happens to be the motive behind the entire drama in the first place, right?
I once heard Amit Goswami, an astute physicist, sum it up best. “Do, be, do, be, do!” he said, eyes gleaming. “You can’t do do do, or be be be.” You just have to balance your inner tortoise and hare.
song for the earth
April. 22. 2011
Happy Earth Day! Rain it is you, my soil that I crave even here around the bends of this faceted world where edges seem sharper than some I have known, I listen to rain seep through your furrows my ears to your parched skin and my breathing with it in unison I cannot, but love you for your breath was my beginnings
you’re a good man charlie darwin!
April. 9. 2011
It’s nice to stir the pot once in a while.
I am happy to bite the bullet on behalf of those battling similar claustrophobia in these parts. Thanks for reading, for your supportive words, and for keeping your hearts and minds open! I’ve never enjoyed checking my inbox more…
before becoming
March. 7. 2011
from the same morning enroute Delhi to Agra…in search of an ancestry as good as dead.
before becoming
remember, love? the
taste
of a young winter morning
before becoming [remembering]
sifting through strangeness
of gold weighted air
through
cotton webs of memory-
crisscrossing through power lines
my
long walks to the convent, I
carved
forgotten trails through foothills
little feet swayed by giant imaginings
mist on my tongue
it, seeps through my
hungry pores and, now
cleanses
not broken
February. 23. 2011
I swallowed my awe and curled my toes in the cold sand, gazing at the flats and the darkness beyond, reflected at dawn…
had the story begun thus, would you ever have guessed what this photo really is? A crystalline landsape on a Monday morning windshield…sometimes, the trick is to relish the beauty buried in the mundane. I could write a whole story rooted in that one imaginary encounter here.
A most unusual, yet fitting way to understand happiness surfaced today:
“When we give in the world what we want the most,
we heal the broken part inside each of us.”
-Eve Ensler (of the Vagina Monologues)
something beautiful always exists, you see: broken, or not broken.
inspiron # 1
February. 5. 2011
Ode to Nikola Tesla. Numero Uno.Prints available in Yellow or Red for the nerd boy in my life.
I think one of the biggest flaws of the world we live in today, is our set of constructed values as a race on the verge of unprecedented technological breakthroughs…
There seems to be a fascination with ‘genius,’ even if disconnected entirely with the emotional, human and spiritual intelligence. And we celebrate feats of the human mind often with complete disregard to their implications upon the human spirit. I have always argued the two are inseparable, and have subsequently found it disappointingly hard to truly, honestly, heroize and draw inspiration from the most celebrated of minds.
Sometimes it seems necessary to compartmentalize respect in order to have heroes, because most of them would predictably turn out to have some Shakespearean tragic flaw, which would inevitably be justified as being a facet of their very humanity. And I am not one to compartmentalize.
Still, through the eons since the dawn of time, there have been spirits who have overcome the disconnects and reveled in their own spiritual humanities- gifting their world, and its inheritors, their creative prowess, surely disturbed, yet still unperturbed by the resistance of their more stifled human counterparts.
When I encounter a “genius,” I ask, ” does s/he have a backbone?” And the answer changes everything.
Their stories trickle down to me strained through the webs of time, but I am still here to celebrate their beauty. My list is not long, but it is solid, and recently has a new addition : Nikola Tesla.
Hopefully, you will go off and investigate his story, and when you do, you will find in it instances of more than just a superpowered brain- glimpses into his strong, resplendent heart. He once lit 200 lightbulbs from a power source 26 miles away in 1899 with a machine he built from spare parts in the middle of a desert. That’s still a record in 2011 because the blueprints of the mechanics were embedded in his head. And then he spoke of peace, saving pigeons, vegetarianism and equality for women.
He died broke and unrecognized, as is to be expected. But two thousand people showed up for his funeral. That’s the human factor I guess-
The Tesla quote on the poster I have made says: ”We begin to think cosmically” because that, really makes all the difference.
the mother tongue
December. 15. 2010
resurrecting an ancient language in starlight…
sensuously earthen
primordially timeless
which language does one employ to describe another?
re-learning Sanskrit from texts of the Gita-
I think all the wisdom of the universe is embedded in its very constructs.
you have to know it to know it
of the unreal there is no being, of the real no non-being|
the seers of truth have perceived the essence of both in their encounters with the true||2-13||
Don’t shoot the messenger
December. 7. 2010
READ:
“In its landmark ruling in the Pentagon Papers case, the US Supreme Court said “only a free and unrestrained press can effectively expose deception in government”. The swirling storm around WikiLeaks today reinforces the need to defend the right of all media to reveal the truth.”
notes from the universe
November. 29. 2010
Musings on identity/belonging: Sunday column numero uno from the Dallas Morning News- “Notes from the Universe” by yours truly.
The Dallas Morning News along with the NYTimes is one of two hard papers whose readership has actually increased in these electronic times. It is an honor to be writing for this Pulitzer Prize winning publication.
Look out for more in the series this coming year!
For those who don’t want to sign in to the DMN website, here is the text:
Last night a friend asked me, “Where is your homeland?”
I said nothing, for what could I say?
My homeland is not Egypt or Syria or Iraq.
My homeland’s a place that has never had a name.
– Jalal-ud-Din Rumi, “Homelands”
I was born in India and used to figure that made me Indian. My parents say I’ve become “too American.” Americans I know say I speak British. None of this matters to me. I’m just a child of the universe, and I’m dealing with it.
Like a friend once said: Home is where people love you and where the people you love are. My home is boundless.
Flying back from London last December, I sat next to an incredibly charming Englishman who easily disarmed me of all my reservations. Our conversation gradually checked off the basics – science, evolution, politics, social welfare – and crossed into more intimate territory: identity and personal life experiences. And right before we landed, after an eight-hour dialogue, he asked me softly, “Why are Indian people so happy?”
Usually, when asked to speak for a billion people, I find myself on the defensive, struggling internally to be fair, objective and do justice to us all, given the nature of the question at hand, sometimes opting for humor and other times giving in to my consternation. “All Indians don’t smell! Do I smell like curry to you?” I remember retorting to a friend. There’s more to the country than the Taj Mahal and spicy curry and cows on the streets, I argue.
But how does one sum up a subcontinent and thousands of years of living? The confluence of identities and geographies, cultures and countless subcultures? Especially someone who left it in search of different horizons?
Which brings me to an experience preceding that flight from London by about a week: I was on a local bus in Delhi making my way to an architecture school on the other side of the city, late as hell, sitting on my half of the tattered seat looking out at the city going by. The bus was crammed full of people, bodies spilling out the doorways, everyone a story with a purpose for the day. As the bus stopped momentarily to lighten its load and my fellow passenger rose to leave, I took the opportunity to readjust my posture. In doing so, I caught the woman in the adjacent row staring at me, so I smiled and said hi. She smiled back, and asked me without pausing for a heartbeat, “Hi. Which country are you from?”
“Here,” I said, aghast. “No, which country are you from?” she repeated emphasizing for my benefit, assuming I missed the point. “Here!” I repeated, “India.” In case she missed the point.
Now genuinely offended, I took my time to digest what had just happened and avoided her eyes for the rest of my 40-minute ride. Then, just before leaving, I nudged her on my way out and said, “But what does that matter?”
And that’s why I turned to Phil on that flight back from London and, refusing the pressure to speak for a billion people, chose instead to speak for the entire species: “Probably the same reasons why people anywhere are happy – a deep sense of security and trust in the world and themselves!”
I wonder if it is easier to go west than east.
I floated westward with seamless abandon and never understood why everyone kept asking me if I experienced culture shock. People everywhere are the same, I said then, and I still maintain that to this day.
It’s just the details that are aberrant.
trapped
November. 26. 2010
chicago
November. 16. 2010
…written when I was fresh off the boat about nine years ago and landed in Chicago and still used punctuation and capitalization. I can’t pin a picture to this one, yet.
Chicago
Looking out at the sprawl of twenty million left behind at dusk,
bent over the metal rail of the lofty lighthouse in a shadowed skyline
I watched the landscape smoulder in the blueness of the night.
Waters glowed in a full moon like the shivers of a firefly.
The city shone with defiance,
rebelling against the night.
Challenging the authority of the dark
Man made fire-
he
created light.
And, refusing to retire
into the shadows of the dark
I opened my arms and joined in the rebellion.
the dweller II
September. 28. 2010
India to some seems like an uncontrollable attack on the senses. Somedays, I understand. But others, I wonder if in those stories, time was taken to enjoy the space and time it affords- far removed from regimented confines…
India is a sensuous river, and it floods every once in a while, but it is teeming with life and irrigates a billion people with a life that is really connected to the rhythms of the earth and sky. Time, it goes on, but once in a while, you realize that here- there are no schedules, there will be no 5-step process described for prsuing your mundane goals- here, you can take the flow of time just a little lightly and therefore find room to fly a little.
The photo above is one of a series I call the Dweller- here he is, rising to till his land at dawn, as I stood on the edge of the mustard fields in search of stillness on a December morning…
mytimemachineisyourtimemachine
September. 16. 2010
look up.
breathedrift with me through the time sky
my time machine is your time machine
my eyes like yours
parse through eons
gathering tales from infinity in whispers
can you hear?
did you know when we were?
does it matter?
but-
who can grasp the expanse of the universe?
but-
who can refuse to try?
…long exposure, looking up from the Koibab Forest up at the Grand Canyon rim before the descent.
A not-so-stellar-stellar shot, but not bad for a first, right?
Thank you Cole Rise: antimethod, for a shot of confidence. At least it made me try…
evening falls
June. 16. 2010
What is joy if not perfect synchronicity with the universe and the energies in it?
Here I was, looking up in nola (one of my faaaavourite cities) on a jazz fest evening this May, with some of my faaaavourite people, doing one of my favourite things- art walking…
I found it today and it looks like this painting of mine morphed into dusk…as if I willed this imagined moment’s coming by feeling it in poetry, in paint; and then the most magical thing happened- the mood realized into the moment’s experience- it really came!
O Resonance!
How lucky for me that this universe exists at all, and further- exists as it does! Even luckier that all its magic coalesced into my being, and has me drowning in a sea of love-
The bigger picture- it may be hazy for now, but it is getting clearer
seasons
June. 12. 2010
summer
into
fall
into
winter then
spring
through hints
of
lives lived in
rain and snow and mist
in between
there’s this wall in Oak Cliff…so delightful I could make a series outta this one.
Someone wants a season calendar, right?
in the restful arms of silence
June. 11. 2010
Everyone should get away to peace, even if briefly
When I can’t, I remember and relish the times when I did…
I was thinking of the Bahai faith. If I ever go religious, this’ll be my idea of religion.
If you need a read, click the thumbnail for an old article pressed in CONTEXTURE. Just like I wrote it, back in ’06
