Sharing Silence

I feel music is what arrives between silences; it is indeed the pauses that make our compositions what they are. So too with words and all that is said without it. Silence can sit light on one's shoulders, bear heavy in their hearts and often be missed for everything that distracts. Almost like a black dot on a white canvas, we get absorbed by the noise and forget the blank background.

However, on certain days and nights, silence bestows its infinite grace upon me and I have the luxury to mull about the vagaries of life. Or just observe the buzzing, hustling, hooting, screeching world around me, sitting safe in my own cocoon of noiseless-ness. It is a blessing on some days. On other days, it gives me a privilege to embark on a nostalgic trip. On many other days, it is a slow vehicle that carries me from one moment to the next, efficiently curing an anxiety about the future.

Suddenly, finding oneself in the middle of nowhere, literally or figuratively, in life, could turn out to be a blessing. One can be themselves, with only themselves for company and the silence is golden and nourishing.

Over the past month, when I had plenty of chance to travel to villages and to towns, to mofussils and to cities, I found my moments of silence. Sitting with a drained mobile phone but an absolutely charged mind, I found silence in the twinkling ripples of the night's lights on a pond's surface. Silence, arrived unannounced and compassionately offered company, on a long bus journey where I was the sole passenger. (It might have been a metaphor for my life, but I would like to believe that my life's landscape is less dustier than Indian roads.) On a chilly night, silence shrouded me in disbelief and enormity, as I glanced upwards and reacquainted myself with the stars of a rural sky. On yet another night, while traveling alone, my late night train pushed to an unearthly hour past midnight, I sat in an unknown railway station twiddling thumbs and letting my thoughts take over the barren tracks. Between the jerks of a bumpy bike ride, in the massive courtyard of an ancient temple, on a soft lawn watching a chirpy wagtail, after multiple cups of tea on a rainy morning… silence arrived. Loud enough to shut everything else, silence arrived.

During one of the longer periods of silence, I had the opportunity to think of all the people I may have shared my silence with. Most of them, old friends kind enough to bear with the wordlessness and graceful enough to grow with me during such periods. Others, newer friends, random acquaintances, who in an enormous stroke of luck and mercy did not find the need to disturb the silence that pervaded our conversations.

I sat by a temple pond, with hours to kill before the night bus, and my mind swiftly took over. It jumped from people to places to things to whatnot. But when the mind tired, the silence was bliss, it was wholesome and healing.

First, my old friends. After school, wandering the same streets that witnessed our childhood, treading the same beaten path and sharing stories from a teenage life that revolved around who's who and who's what; it would all wind down to gulping some cool rasna and letting our thoughts trail into silence. A comfortable silence that knew not the threat of competition or the apprehensions of distances burying our relationships-- only school friends withstand that test of silence.

With friends from college, who have completed many circles around Connaught Place with me, and then sunk into an understanding reverie at a nearby tea stall or coffee house. No, there was no need to catch up any more. No need to pick up on what movies, stars, sportspersons or musicians had caught our fancy. When the early morning and late night walks in the University campus would mean just keeping beat to the other's steps, it was silence that cemented many of my friendships.

And then with other friends, after a hearty meal and a box of old Kishore Kumar or Rafi songs slowly becoming a part of the white noise, silence would engulf us in an odd self-awareness. It was not awkward, it never was.

Then it occurred to me that silences between persons real time (not going AWOL on FB, Twitter or Whatsapp) required a reasonable amount of trust, respect towards the other's space and time, and a strength that stemmed from the comfort of knowing the other person well enough. It is not so easy with a stranger, new acquaintance, or a relatively new friend. With a stranger, the trust is missing. With the new acquaintance, the comfort is lacking. With a relatively new friend, the novelty of the friendship and the excitement to know everything about one another unfortunately removes the respect for their own time and space.

Sometimes one has to consciously strive for silence. At other times, silence presents itself adorned in self-important grandeur. Host it anyway. Silence is a guest one must strive to keep with themselves forever.
Here, silence came to me decked in the temple's festivities. I had a bright, old, massive temple yard to myself, for hours.

My moments of silence have always led me to some clarity. Sometimes significant enough to alter life, sometimes small enough to keep me happy and occupied at least for that moment. If achieving that level of happiness and quietitude is also meditation, I am richer for it. Creating that little time and space where everything else ceases to exist- with or without company- is a must. We open ourselves to details that had always existed but we had never noticed. We embark on new levels of travelling within. We became stronger, more meaningful and definitely more effective with our words, our music.

There is immense gratitude towards all those who have shared their silences with me for you found me worthy of it. There is immense gratitude for all those who bore my silences without any complaints, I always thought you were worthy of it. All around us, the Universe and Nature, keep nudging us towards that sweet spot time and again. These are too sacred hints to be ignored. In them, find your oldest friends and eternal company. Non-judgmental, ever-tolerant and sure-to-forgive, Time and Space do us all a favour. So why not revel in it? And it's okay, the truths revealed to you in your silence are always your own. Find your silence, your strength. Share it.

Some odd truths of my life, written at some point of actualisation and fortunately, within reach.

Of One Rural Beauty, the People's President

I dislike crying. It leaves me with a headache and immense regret at wallowing in self-pity-- two more things that I dislike. But to cry for another's pain, another's loss, another's struggle is something else. It lends empathy the ammunition of courage and strength not just to climb personal mountains, but to move them.

Joker made me cry, in the theatre, unabashedly, and I was but a thin shell of shame away from cracking up and bawling out loud. It is about the story of Mannar Mannan (literally meaning Ruler of Rulers) and his comrades (Ponoonjal and Isai) being small-town activists tackling pan-Indian problems head on. Through a variety of protest techniques (and immensely clever word play) they try to catch the eye of the government, its officials and civilians alike to take up a range of issues. But who's watching? An amused audience on Facebook and media-persons for their fillers mostly.

In a single moment, it was easy to trace all the stories that flood our papers and how a compromise fails us in protecting our citizenry again and again. A rare few have the audacity to take on the government like Isai, President and Ponoonjal. That audacity must translate more than clicking "likes".

Nonetheless it takes guts and immense courage to walk into the police station, get hauled into prisons and time and again meet with failures at courts, dust your backs and get back to protesting against corruption, sexual abuse, alcoholism, illegal mining and you-name-what. I know that because I've marched up to police stations and magistrates and collectorates in the past. I've never seen the insides of a jail, a courtroom or a detention room; never been at the receiving end of riot control or mild/intense police brutalities. Yet, it was intimidating to walk unarmed when one can predict the possibility of legalised violence against themselves. And I am sure most of us have not experienced this kind of physical brutality. But we are all victims of the brutalities and inefficiencies of the system in many other ways.

Our roads cave in, our buses catch fire on their own, our women are not safe on the roads, our students do not get affordable, quality education and our systems leak. Like the bucket of water a character in the movie carries with him to use a dirty, stinking public toilet. The water is needed to wash. But the bucket has multiple holes and is leaking already. How will the toilet ever be clean?

Some of us remain silent about the things that affect us, that sap the living spirit in us, that corner us and abuse us and others around us. Not everybody though. Some scream until they are hoarse, fight until their bones give up and then some more. It should pinch the first set of us when we think about the second set and the causes that they represent. It should pinch us when we violate traffic rules, that somebody else is dying because of the same somewhere else. It should pinch us when we waste fresh, clean water from our taps, that others get flouride and arsenic from their taps and others don't even have taps. It should pinch us that we let food rot when leakages in the PDS ensure that children die hungry and malnourised even in 2016. Black money, tax evasion, corruption in contracts, settling for poor quality in our health and education systems, pending reforms of the police, legislatures and judiciary... every single thing should pinch us.

Until we are personally affected, it never pinches us. Does it? With Time providing an inescapable illusion of healing, we forget even those personal losses and victimisation. How then can I fight for somebody else? Who grants us the power to change and effect change in the world around ourselves? Mannan becomes the catalyst himself. Taking after the narrations of an influencer in his life (who affectionately motivated him as the Rural Beauty), he annoints himself as the President. To execute orders, to implement reforms, to campaign and work for the people. He will now be known as Janathipathi or the President.

It is evocative because of the personal transformation in Mannan. In a particularly well-built-up scene, Mannan finds himself trapped, by different tiers of the Executive, in his own house, fighting to save parts of himself and his life, even as the *real* Head of the Union heralds a new beginning for the village folk. It is gut wrenching in its irony. Mannan's fight then is powerless and he is helpless in his desperation-- a struggle all too real. You want him to do something radical and break free because by then you realise that it is no longer about Mannan, his house, his fight...

That realisation and the simmering feeling to set things right, as they should be, have a name-- idealism. We have many kinds of idealists around us. In a world wrecked with chaos and pessimism, they are the ones who carry a glowering hope of better days. If you see the spark in yourself or in somebody around you, your only duty is to kindle that fire. The possibility of the fire annihilating problems ablaze with power to restore things rightfully in their place might be bleak. But support those voices, we must.

Those voices stem from a place deep, deep within that is either thankfully ignorant of or tragically immune to hurt, failure, loss or shame. As the President declares, it is a voice that accompanies the protest of the body, through the Music of the Body. When the sound of poverty and the beat of birthright are rumbling in your stomach and throbbing in your veins, just let the music play. Do not stifle it. In yet another moving imagery from Joker, I appeal to you to water the rose bud, even when you see that Rose is dying. Then you watch it bloom even on the darkest of days.

The admirable and heroic thing about President, his counsel Ponoonjal and his secretary/spokesperson is that they don't know when to stop. They are persevering, forbearing, gritty, witty and indomitable as a collective. However, they started as individuals and then became a collective. It gives you and me the hope to be a better person even marginally. And if the fire's been raging for a while, I urge you to do it NOW. Want to teach under-privileged kids? Want to become a fitter, more disciplined person? Want to work on a farm? Want to clean up your society? Want to haul up your Councillor/MLA/MP? Do it now. You will find the resources. You will find your collective. You will find redemption. Whatever it is, put in the most marginal effort to become a better person everyday. If it is a cause, give it at least 2 hours of your 168 hours in a week. Do it.

At so many points in the movie I laughed until I was embarrassed; embarrassed that we had settled comfortably insensitive to the atrocities, inefficiencies and the brutalities. I wished so hard that the wells of pathos wouldn't breach and expose me to the cruel mistreatment of the system. Voices like Ponoonjal's do that to us.
'A nation of sheep begets a government of wolves.'

On a final closing note, getting to the subject-matter of Joker. We need those eccentrics, misfits, rebels and activists to question the government, the Powers-That-Be. Irrespective of whether they seek answers within the system, outside of it or discard the system altogether, we need them for a democracy to survive. As one friend so long ago put it, "we need to stay awake and keep the government awake so that we may sleep peacefully." If V for Vendetta slapped you on your face, Visaarnai left you with goosebumps, Peepli Live made you laugh and Well Done Abba forced you to think-- Joker has all those elements and more. Watch it.

The President shouldn't die. Long live the President!

(PS- I have a throbbing headache now, but my heart is lighter and aglow with hope. The pain will pass. The vulnerability, however, will find a cure only in empowerment.)

Keeravani, Fallen from the Skies

The silence of the Himalayas heavily perched on our backs, we wistfully set out into the plains again.

The crystal clear skies above the mountain tops were already becoming a distant memory.

The priceless companionship of crickets were increasingly replaced with sounds of traffic and marketplaces.

Yet the silence of the mountains, the stillness of the air and a weight upon our hearts barricaded the ripples of the outside world.

Slowly and gently we were slipping into reverie, just like the sun threatening to dip beyond the dusty fields.

Some quick glasses of lassi and one papery dosa later, we marched up to the taxi stand that would take us to the transit town in Bengal.

Throwing a glance behind us, we spotted those conifers which bristled as though they knew what lay ahead of us.

Dusty roads, cracked highways, jammed town squares and listless Bollywood songs that would put us in and out of misery at the music player's will.

The green of the tea gardens crouched beneath a layer of ridiculous brown. Dust. A brown that threatened to stay until the skies showered.

Men and women picked their way amongst these shrubs for a living. They must know the green. Or the black, dried leaves.

Leaves that would waft the aroma of the mountains, in a cup. The mountains were still and untouched by the chaos of the lower mortals.

Mortals who could pen lyrics about women being the balm to the wounded hearts of men. Listless songs for a wandering humankind.

The sun dipped. And so did our hearts, through those pothole-ridden highways, despite the fake cheer of the driver.

Stop with the Bollywood songs. The aux chord is mine now. The air (within the car) shall reverberate with some thing of greater deference to our mood.

The evening stars refuse to come out. The air is still coated in dust. The mountains are no longer in our sight.

Something needs to change. A reluctantly cheerful Coke Studio song slips along. We hum nonchalantly. Our eyes still search for something exciting in the horizon.

Time slips by, with our destination nowhere in sight. The songs line our journey one indie, one classical, one hip-hop and hardly any Bollywood.

Now the silence rests in our eyes only. The wistful smile that breaks once or twice on recognising a song on the playlist, immediately drips of a dryness that is customary after a sumptuous feast.

We had feasted on the mountains. Our stomachs were nourished with the banter of the mountainfolk. Our eyes and hearts were brimming of mountain stories.

The Himalayas would weigh upon us. Like anything.

Suddenly, a twang of the violin.

The night was completely upon us. Google maps, coded in its own bars and colours showed us that the destination was hardly an hour away.

The tea gardens had given away to a gorgeous winding valley. No colours to be noted by the eye in the dead black of the night.

No stars still, but a huge glowing moon shone behind sparse clouds that drifted by.

The violin now flirtatiously courted the bass guitar. Keys gently chaperoning their clandestine meet.

The music was lilting. The windows were down now. No dust in the air.

The car gently swerved along the curves and we moaned at the sight of river that was suddenly rushing by our road now.

The moonlight glistened on the river like silver threads on a black sheet that rippled gently. Slowly the drums picked up and a keeravani as heavenly as the night caroused the air.

Silence was everywhere. Rock'n'Roll infused with Carnatic like the glorious moon playing hide and seek behind those wispy clouds.

We were smiling. The driver was amused at the change of weather. The trees alongside the river rustled in approval.

The voice of the violin, adorned by the notes of keeravani, tangoed magically to the shy percussion. James Bond would have been proud of the sly.

Our heads were firmly sticking out of the window now. Sniffing the air of the valley. Smiling with the contentment of peaking in the plains just as well.

Crickets were back keeping pace with the jazz and Carnatic and rock and roll.

This, my friends, is how I will recount what Skyfall Keeravani means to me.

The silence of the hills, the seduction of a river by the valley and the thoroughly beaming benevolence of the moon in the company of my friends, wind grazing our faces with a candour that only wanderers have experienced. Skyfall Keeravani is that sweet piece of music to me.

Where Time Stops

Perched on a flat cushion, legs dangling comfortably numb after sustained hours of reading in the same position, I winced slightly. Tore myself away from the part-comical part-thoughtful novel that I was reading and looked beyond the window that framed all the light this room received.

Late March afternoon. It was all that the imminent summer had gently warned us about. Mango trees pregnant with flowers that would soon become firm, green young fruits. The last of the spring flowers dotting the hedges, walls, fences and the narrows streets of the locality. Monkeys calmly sitting far apart from one another and concentrating on whatever they were messing with at the moment- a neighbour's washing line, a tetra pack of juice half-consumed, another monkey's dirty head. Some children in the street called out to one another and merrily scampered about unaware of the trees, the flowers, the silent monkeys and the occasionally glancing me.

I turned towards the partly shut book. Counted the number of pages I had devoured in this one sitting. 135. Not great, but not bad at all. I had had a huge reading block in the previous year. Picked three promising books, got through 40 odd pages and then got distracted with other things- music, travel, short-reads, magazine pieces, more music, more travel- and never managed to complete any of them. So even this one sitting was cumulatively greater than my attempt last year. I had already completed one 300-page book in February, it was mostly about music and a little bit about travel. Somehow the themes of my life, at the moment, fit in every scenario. But I digress…

It was the peace and quiet of an afternoon that had led me on to this train of thought. Even on abnormally silent days in the office, somebody is hammering outside, a car whizzes by every two minutes, the koel's soft call completely drowned by the rhythmic typing in the office and the invasive phone calls. Such silent days are far and few in between. Weekends suffocate under chores to be done, friends to be met and non-negotiable calls to the near and dear. When silence arrives, it is accompanied by exhaustion, not creativity.

I shut the book firmly now. Only 40 pages left, I am sure I will complete it tomorrow. It is easier to breathe knowing that the reading habit is not all lost. I look out again, make myself even more at ease and let the mind wander. I am at A's place. She is cooking in the kitchen. Intermittent sounds, ones that I can recognise from my own kitchen, promise more comfort. The day is not too hot. I was sitting shrouded in a thin shawl in the morning, and just listening to the unbelievable quiet of the small town. The main roads were chaotic and a hell-way of honking trucks and buses, cars and scooters. But beyond that, huge eucalyptus, mango, peepal, ashoka and other avenue trees cloaked the residential areas in absolute tranquility. 'It is still noisy and one can't sleep so easy', A protested.

In a small town, it is easy to get from one to place to the next within a limit of ten minutes. There seemed to be nobody hurrying, hustling. Or maybe that it was an extended weekend and everybody had willingly resigned to have their peaceful four days. Yet, on the previous evening, a rare sense of freedom and youthful energy burst within me and I sprinted. I sprinted down the wide, dimly lit, completely empty and tree-lined avenues. I hopped, paused, breathed and stopped. I grinned back at A, who too shot down the road right after me and at P who leisurely strolled behind. Young as only the young are.

I remembered the stroll down the town's roads two nights ago. Ethereal fragrances drifted in the air, benign bottle-brush trees showered their blessings and the bright moon nudged our young spirits. And this deep sense of finding solace and unexpected counsel in the buzz of the crickets and unsolicited company of a passing mongrel, too.

Such settings are only in a few pockets of the city, untouched by pollution and uninhabited by humans. I must find more time for the countryside, I thought to myself. Silence, undisturbed sleep, more peace and a leisurely mulling of all the important things in life over a cup of tea, by the sunshine-streaming window billed for a invigorating retreat.  The testimony of a place where one can hear the clock tick and the wind whistle. Where Time stops and indulges the thinking mind. A announces that lunch is ready, and I more than willingly substitute the book on my lap for a plate of hot puris, sabji and cold raita.

24 for 24!

There is that one fine day when a strand of gray hair silently registers its presence, deep and away from the gazing eye. Then, one becomes two and soon, you know how you look like your grandparent too. And then suddenly comes another day when George Costanza from Seinfeld makes more sense than any of the spiritual forces in one's life. It is alternatively replaced by a profound sense of self-actualisation that we are all the six-year old Calvin in 20/30/40/whatever year old body suits.


There is also that day when one looks at oneself in the mirror and dares to ask questions tougher than "what's for lunch today" and "if the shoes go well with the dress". Well, that was my day sometime last week. When I realised my 24 revolutions around the sun, considering my gene-pool and other externalities, is probably quarter of my life done and dusted.


Buzzfeed lists may not fit my bill for life-advice. I ingest the bitter and sweet-placebo pills myself and arrive upon the answers, like Rahul Dravid silently pegged at the crease and slaving away to salvage some meaning in the mess. What follows below is not my advice to other 20-somethings, it's an attempt to pen (for my future self) the lessons that have enriched me for what I am today. And yet, I humbly submit that there's plenty more to be knocked into the head of mine, fortified in the heart of mine and imbibed in the life of mine. Here goes my 24 for 24!


1. Laugh- There's nothing more liberating than laughing it off. Whether it is a poor joke, a life tragedy, an insult, a compliment, a look at your inner self- just laugh, openly and heartily. It has saved me time and again from being trapped in the vagaries of life.

Laugh and the world laughs with you. Weep and you weep alone.
These shy kids at Jhabua, Madhya Pradesh refused to interact with me, until I broke the ice by making funny faces. In return, they taught me to laugh at oneself by slipping into helmets twice the size of their own heads.

2. Let it go- I can't change everything in the Universe. Heck, I may not even be able to change anything in the Universe. What do I do about it? Just let it go. I imagine my insignificant ego floating like a fragile paper-boat in the sometimes stormy, sometimes peaceful sea.

3. Silence is golden- When the chaos of life ceases into the backdrop of an engulfing silence, where one can revel in an absolute state of nothingness, there is no greater bliss. Silence, slowly but surely, promises answers.

4. Listen/Receive- This naturally follows going with a flow and silencing the mind. The more I listen, the more I receive signs. Signs of things that can't be told, that can't be seen, that can't be experienced by the senses-- that can only be received in a heightened moment of awareness of the environment around me.

5. Engage- Nobody is too great or too mediocre or too insignificant to ever be dismissed. Reaching out to people irrespective of differences has been the most empowering act of building a valued world around me. Surprisingly sarcasm might seem witty but the real intellectual challenge is to practice kindness.

With little Jigme (Jimmy) understanding how spiders climb the wall, in the rural Haa Valley, Bhutan. His half-toothed grin and impeccable English, endless banter about his school, friends, likes and dislikes, is a memory I cherish forever. Engaging with children has become a naturally joyous act now.

6. Give!- Give all that you can, all the time. Give love, give music, give books, give time, give efforts, give! Give! Give! GIVE UNCONDITIONALLY. What I give away was never mine, will never be, so what's not to give?

'Mother Earth provides for our desires, the Lord, our Father, is the most compassionate'- words from Maithreem Bhajata.
I have this message stuck on my door, only to remind myself, that what I accumulate was never my own.
And hence, to give and give more than what I take. It is an attempt, and I do my best.

7. Walk- I love the world I live in and I respect the world I live in, not because of what my eyes and head have taught me. It is because I have seen tribal people walk for miles and miles to make a living. It is because somebody has walked for their freedom. It is because I walk, wholly one with the world around me. These realisations are borne only on foot, not ever on wheels, not ever on wings. Walk, whenever you can and for as far as you can.

When somebody says they can recognise every tree in the vicinity, every stone on their path, the sense of identification with the surroundings is unmissable. From there also stems an onus to be responsible and nurturing of the world around.
It comes mostly through walking.
(From my time at Agragamee, Odisha)

8. Read (and write)- How worlds seamlessly merge and come within the reach of my fingers just between the written word is a ceaseless wonder! Then imagining all the amazing possibilities of the knowledge so attained, and in my capacity to share it again in words is the most fulfilling process of learning. I write, but you could be painting, sculpting, singing or dancing. It matters greatly that you reveal in some form what you have learnt.

9. Stare- Do I even need to say how the flowers, the stars, the birds, the waves and the waving trees are just right there? All the time?! Why aren't we making it a conscious lifestyle habit? Wander, stare and keep at it. Let the splendour of Nature unabashedly reveal her best to you.

If only I could tell the stories of the wind painted on the sky,
the number of times the windows laughed at me on the sly,
And gleefully remarked, "you are trapped in. Why, oh why?"
How such images remain forever in the mind's eye.
(SECMOL, Leh-Ladakh)

10. Breathe- deeply, consciously, daily. Try it.

11. Company matters- Not the kind that is the funky Google or the all-too powerful Reliance. Who are the people around me? Are they diverse individuals who compel me to think in new ways, try out new things and reinstate something positive about life? I carefully manicure the company I keep. No place for toxic weeds.

Yes, it is my privilege to have such great friends who are witty and understanding enough to know what to put on my birthday cake. What more do I ask? They are my greatest treasures.

12. Find a mentor- Finding really good mentors, those who were able to flag off for me the mistakes that they did but I shouldn't repeat, has been the one magical trick in staying on-course with my professional goals.

13. Mentor somebody- Yes, now I consciously return the favour to anybody and everybody. We- the whole of humanity- are a fast-growing network of transformative individuals. The wave of change can be tough; one hand reaching out can make a life of difference.

14. Touch- There are fewer things more pleasurable than feeling the grass beneath one's feet, eating a morsel with the hand, grazing the backside of a fallen leaf or patting the head of a dog. So too with gardening/farming, a hearty handshake and a warm hug. Consciously, it establishes a connection with the world around us in subtle and powerful ways.

Where bonds are not of blood, a hug can cement them.
(With my co-fellows at the ICICI Fellows Program. Peers, friends and philosophers for a lifetime)

15. Share- Every dose of happiness, every small byte of knowledge, every miniscule act of kindness multiplies and creates ripples in ways that the human mind cannot fathom, in ways the human heart cannot behold. Sharing my opinions (carefully worded), my joys, my gifts, my time, my energy is the simplest way to tell somebody that I still care about them. It is redemption delivered in our lifetime.

16. Hope, hope some more- Cynicism drains. Idealism though exhausting, also nourishes our individual selves, to wake up day after day. Some days when it is difficult to be human, the promise of a better future is all that keeps one going. "Hope is the best of things."

17. Family matters- It is true that one can only choose their friends and not their family. However, it is equally true that one can influence the family to the same extent as the family influences them. Broken families, families struck by multiple tragedies or families that have simply given up are very real. And no one can be blamed. Building these relationships brick by brick, person to person, event to event, meal to meal and phone call to phone call has been the greatest experience of my adult existence. How miraculously we stood, and still stand by each other is the litmus test of human sacrifice and compassion. I am richer for every relative I have and I am immeasurably grateful for each one of their remarkable influence in shaping me as I stand today.

18. Seek- Pursue, ponder and persevere to find that sweet spot of inner peace, that rock-bed of meaning and the very purpose of waking up each day. Seek sincerely.

Seeking within is akin to a pilgrimage. It is exhausting, mentally, physically and emotionally. Yet when the voice of reason arrives, the effort would be the most rewarding. It is a journey that one must consciously undertake.

19. Chase- The complexities, the externalities, the anomalies-- are all just excuses. Chase what deeply matters to you. Chase (I repeat myself) like it is the last bus home. Chase like it is the unforgettable scent of your beloved. Chase like it is the only life-force that can redeem your very existence. I am doing it now. It is unbelievably tiring. It is also inexplicably exhilarating!

20. Empathise-I did not know the true meaning of this word until I farmed with the farmers; witnessed a class in the most basic primary school in a village; stood lost at the untimely demise of a kin; lost my way in deep jungles; sobbed uncontrollably on the shoulder of a poor tailor who gifted me a dress, which was all her week's income, as a mark of camaraderie; sat miles away when the city I called home drowned in a deluge. Now I know what it is to feel for another, like one feels for themselves. Empathy pushes you to act. IT IS NOT SYMPATHY. Nobody needs sympathy, EVER.

21. Be kind to yourself- Mistakes happen, deadlines are missed, precious time is lost and some irretrievable things harbour regret, but so what? So bloody what? We survive another day. Nothing has added more meaning to my days than indulging in a little nap some afternoon, a stroll between the workday, an ice-cream when all else was crumbling and a timely pat on the back telling that we have gotten this far and we can keep it going. Alright?

With Jeff, my friend's Lab Retriever. No greater joy in basking in the company of a ball of fur and in the winter sun. I sometimes accord myself such divine treatment. It revitalises everything about life.

22. Believe- If you don't stand for something, you fall for everything. I simply cannot afford that fall. I believe. I believe stronger and harder day after day.

23. Travel- My life has been nothing if it isn't a chronicled lesson learnt on the wheels on a tractor, a bus, a train, a plane. My life is nothing if it doesn't hold for me the glorious possibility of taking to the bike, a dive, an adventurous trek or a long hike. My life is only what has pushed me beyond the limited expanse of my immediate setting. Travel is that promise I make and keep to myself.

The colours, the cuisines, the clothes, the cultures! The magical act of travelling has broken down prejudices, founded friendships, piled a case of postcards and left me with enough matter to mull until apocalypse.
(Nomadic tribes of Jhabua, Madya Pradesh)

24. Risk- You ain't gettin' the biscuit, if you don't risk it.


What the coming years hold for me, I do not know. Yet, I am grateful for every waking moment of my present, the consciousness of the present and the mature excitement for the future. The possibilities are infinite and my ego is insignificant. So… Yes, I can! :)

Who is a good boy?

It may be too soon, just over a couple of hours since the blow struck. Nonetheless, it is important for me to write what I felt (feel; goddammit this is going to be hard) about Duke. Important to write now before the assignments at work, my own paltry jokes, ceaseless entertainment, and the cold wand of Time wipe away the raw emotion of losing a faithful companion.

Grieving mustn't be done in public. But this is not grieving, it is about pouring, an outpouring of a dog (I shudder to even refer to Duke that way) that changed the way we grew and more importantly, grew together as a family. It physically hurts that I could never see this coming, neither did I have the rational purpose to bid him adieu for good the last time I left home. Nobody did. My mother and brothers are still grieving. I, helplessly, sit thousands of kilometres away, half-drenched in pathos and half-amused by life. More amused by how a furry non-human could mean so much. Duke, he who would unfailingly and unconditionally turn up at the doorstep every time I arrived home, has departed for another journey.

No, Duke was not the kind whose photos flood the internet and bask in warm virtual attention. Heck, we hardly have ten photos of him in ten years. He was restless, energetic and never to be captured in a frame. Tonight he lies shrouded in memories alone.

No, Duke was not the kind who could do tricks or win a medal at the Canine Meets. We never even contemplated so. He was successful in making us sit, when we had asked him to. He was the winner of a thousand "I am too posh to give you a handshake, Human" medals. Because when he actually did sit and shook paws with us, it was to give us joy beyond dreams and hope beyond reason.

No, Duke was not sporty, but he was a sport. He could devour entire pizzas in the gap that we would place it on the table and turn around to pay the delivery guy. He could snatch a vazhakka bajji like jumping through a loop between our mouth and hand, cleverly going for the beefy middle portion. He was a sport, nay, a champ when it came to apologizing for his ravenous act at the end of it all. And who could say no?

No, Duke was not the golden haired one, with a fluffy tail. I had even abhorred the idea of a second one, after all Prince was around for four years and we didn't need this mongrel, with spots all over him! How I was wrong. Long after Prince had become a tame, old dog, it was Duke who kept us leaping and playing at our home. And did I tell you that he had the most beautiful eyes and drooping ears that could thaw any cold heart? Now, it physically hurts to know that these eyes to stare at, and the ears to playfully scratch behind, are far far from my hands' reach. He was a looker like none other.

Yes, Duke chased cats, squirrels, shadows, insects, chatty school kids who'd irritate his peace on long summer afternoons. Yes, Duke knew when something special was being cooked. He knew if someone was sad, happy, angry, or loving. Yes, Duke lingered around our feet asking to be petted, massaged, scratched, or fed. He couldn't sleep until he snuggly fitted himself against the arc of our warm bodies at night. Yet, unlike other dogs, we had to wake him up for walks or to finish off his milk. He was the youngest, needy  yet magnanimous kid in our family. We all aged with him, becoming more silent, less playful and severely attached to his calming presence.

An old saying tells one that they have never truly loved until they have loved and been loved back by an animal. Both Prince and Duke were our sacks of love. It's not unconditional. It comes with a time-stamp, it ends annoyingly with their journeys. For us humans who gauge and love with intelligence, they remarkably loosen the hearts and teach us to bank on our intuitions. How grateful and richer are we that such beings come into our lives!

Providence made us companions, and perhaps providence will make us meet again.

In your absence, Duke (and Prince), we are a smaller family. Largely broken at the moment, but definitely capable of bouncing back with a fortitude that only you have witnessed. With you in our memories, we will find a million reasons to stay united, loving and understanding of one another. In your silence, we are bound to look within ourselves and seek to keep those values that you have most superiorly rendered in your brief lifetime(s).

When you meet Appa, I hope he gives you the biscuit and takes you and Prince for a long walk.

You were a good boy! You were the best!

Forever, and ever,

All of us.