Reading, books, and blah blah ...

***a half baked thought!

The wise are not learned,
the learned are not wise.

Lao Tzu, Father of Taoism

There is an independent book store across from my office building. I often stroll through it to browse at what's new? I am sure that I am not the first one to just stand there for a few seconds and look at the racks and racks of books - pages and pages of strings of words - which sit there staring at you promising to add something new to your knowledge bank. Literature, biographies, history, poetry,new age, religions, astrology, theoretic, criticism and analysis, philosophy, how-to cook and clean or raise a child, etc. The list is endless.

Everyone has a story to tell - everyone can tell a story. Quite a few make that effort to pen it down - whatever they believe is unique due to their circumference of exposure life has provided them but not all get an opportunity to take a shape of a text and end up on those prestigious shelves. Majority don't make it. Those who do, really have something worth hearing/reading/thinking about.

I love to read because it transports me into the world full of possibilities (and sometimes it is a wonderful escape - like the movies). When reading fiction, I go on a ride with some amazing characters - I still remember reading The Fountainhead and feeling the sense of helpless desperation of Howard Roark. These days I have picked up the English version of the Bhagwad Gita and feel like a recharged person.

However, I am also a bit torn between the other side of the coin - best expressed in the words of Nida Fazli,

dhoop mein niklo, ghataaon mein naha kar dekho
(go out and soak in the sunlight, bathe in the clouds - no exact trans for ghata)
zindagi kya hai kitaabon ko hatakar dekho
(to know what is life, move beyond the books)

or like Bagat Kabir said:

Pothi Padh Padh Kar Jag Mua, Pandit Bhayo Na Koye
(Reading books everyone died, none became any wise)
Dhai Aakhar Prem Ke, Jo Padhe so Pandit Hoye
(One who reads the word of Love, only becomes wise)

What exactly are we looking to gain from the all the knowledge?
Ever have a conversation with a child - how do children manage to think outside the box and ask questions which can stupefy the best of the minds?

Does the written word suppress the practical knowledge we are all born with? Have we gotten to comfortable with one book or another telling us how to - with a manual here, an Idiot's guide there! Looking for answers in a Life101 type of books.

Osho narrated a story which I am going to attempt to retell here: A woman bought a complicated jar from the market. When she got home, she pulled out the manual which had come with the jar; the manual gave a step-by-step procedure of how to open the jar. While she was busy reading the manual, her servent walked and asked, "what are you reading?". The woman said, "instructions to open the jar". The servent examined it for a few seconds and opened it for her... Osho said that the fear of doing things out of the "ordinary" had not touched this woman - for her there are more possiblities out there; more than one way of doing things!

Reading is great! But reading for knowledge to win some game show is useless. Mere facts are only helpful for so long ... whats more important is - was the reading able to send you into a contemplative mode? Was the text able to become and extension of you rather and a mere jewel on the shelf? And more importantly, was the text worth becoming that extension of you?

I am glad I am reading, the Bhagwad Gita!

all or nothing at all

I think this gazal is from Jagjit Singh's Sajda - Zindagi tune lahu le ke diya. I was addicted to this set for a long time; my favorite being the Gham ka khazaana. From this gazal, these two lines remained with me ... I guess to a twenty +/- year old, the thought of wanting "all or nothing at all" must have seemed brave. I never paid attention to the whole couplet:

dil bhi kisi zid pe arra hai kisi bachche ki tarah

(the obstinate heart is behaving like a child)

yaa to sab kuch isey chahiya ya kuch bhi nahin

(either it wants it all or nothing at all)

I only absorbed the second line and chose to forget that that wanting "all" is sign of immaturity, like a child!

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During my teaching days, I got a week long assignment in a forth grade classroom. During the week, for the art assignment, the class was working on a project which was due on Friday. When the kids finished and turned in their work, they had a choice between a glitter crayon or a sparkly pencil. On Friday, during the art class, when the kids saw the buckets of goodies pulled out and set on teacher's desk, the serious discussions began as to what would be the right choice when they finish their assignments. Their excitement was contagious - I almost wanted to think what I want to pick!

Turn by turn the kids started to trickle in. Some were clear about what they wanted, some waited and examined their choices meticulously and even asked for my opinion, and there was little Joe!

Joe had kept me on my toes throughout the week. I cannot forget his beautiful blue eyes. On the first day, during lunch when I lined them to walk to the cafeteria, he said to me, would you sit with me to eat with a twinkle in his eye. He had not dearth of friends, but here was a flirt in making. Always saying the right things; being at the right place on the playground and constantly guiding me around the classroom about where everything was. He was not an exceptional student but he completed all his work. That Friday morning, I knew I am going to miss Joe. I was looking forward to him coming up to pick his goody and also wanted to see his art assignment. He was among the first few people who finished early - he came up and turned in his work. I complimented him and he walked up to the baskets - a few minutes later, he came up to me to ask me what needs to be done to get one of each. "Miss, I want both". I said, "I am sorry, but you may only have one Joe. All your classmates only got one. Don't you think it would be unfair to them?" "Yes Miss - but I want one of each." There were no explinations why, no reasoning, and when I refused, he walked away without picking either. Everyone's attention was fixated on Joe. His classmates tried to explain to him and sell him the idea of either-or but he continued to sulk. As the class came to close, he was still stubborn about not picking either. I asked him to come and talk with me outside the classroom. I said to him since the goodies did not belong to me, I can't make the decision but if he picks one now and perhaps talk to his teacher about getting another on Monday, he won't be left with nothing. He refused!

Joe went home empty handed that day.

My week was over and I was out of there and on to another assignment.

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It has been a few years and I hope Joe has learned to make a choice.

I am glad, I have learned that there is not such thing as having it "all".

Quote: August 15, 2009

Practicality in the matters of heart

is such a wasteful preoccupation!

-jm

Quote: 8-10-2009

We write to taste life twice,
in the moment and in retrospection.

-Anais Nin

. . . a moment with Amrita Pritam

1999

कुछ वक़्त कुछ ऐसे लोगों के साथ बैठना हुआ जिन्होंने अमृता प्रीतम को बहुत करीब से जन था। एक शाम मैंने अपनी poem पढ़ी - "The River" तो एक पंजाबी का बहुत respected poet जिसका नाम अब याद नहीं, poem ख़तम होने पर अमृता की याद में डूब गया। मुझे वोह बहुत ही अच्छा लगता था। वहां महफिल में सभी बात करते थे मुझसे; meeting वाले दिन बहुत phone भी आते थे याद दिलाने के लिए के में ज़रूर आऊं। मगर यह बूढा शायर मेरी presence को acknowledge भी नहीं करता था।

उस दिन शाम को बहुत देर तक सभी अमृता को याद करते रहे। यह बात अमृता के गुज़रने से पहले की है। बक्शीश aunty जो दिल्ली से recently लौटी थी, अमृता से मिल कर आई थी। उन्होने बताया की वोह बड़ी बीमार है। फिर gossiping का दौर शुरू हो गया की अमृता की cigarette और शराब ने उसका यह हाल किया है।

में मन ही मन में सोचती रही की नानी जो थोडे दिन हुए गुज़री थी, उसने तो कभी cigarette और शराब को हाथ भी नहीं लगाया और उमर में अमृता से कम ही थी, वोह क्यों मर गई।

जिन्होंने अमृता को समझा नहीं, उन्हें सिर्फ़ उसकी cigarette ही दिखाई देती है। मेरे खयालों में वोह सोलह साल की है जो छुप-छुप कर साहिर के फेंके हुए stubs उठा लिया करती थी। एक deep, unconditional attachment थी - रूहानी - वारिस शाह की हीर जैसे। शायद तभी जब उसका दिल टूटा तो उसने वारिश शाह को ही हूक मारी। ... आज आखां वारिस शाह नु, कित्ते कब्बरान विचों बोल, ते आज किताब-ऐ-इश्क दा कोई अगला वरखा फोल।

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2005

दिल्ली में एक शाम दीप auntie के साथ बिताने के बाद जब वोह मुझे अपनी car में घर drop करने आयीं तो कहने लगीं की अमृता ने भी बुलाया हैं, कह रही थी की पता नहीं कितना वक़्त है, इक वार मिल जा। मेरा दिल हुआ पर में नहीं गई। शायद दो या तीन महीनों के बाद अमृता प्रीतम नहीं रही।

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2006

इस साल फिर दिल्ली जाना हुआ - कई दुकानों में ढूंढी पर नहीं मिली। दीप auntie को बोला तो उन्होने अपनी copy निकाल कर दे दी। अमृता ने ख़ुद ही दी थी उनको। . . . कहते हैं की खुस्वंत सिंह ने अमृता को मज़ाक में कहा था की अमृता तेरी ज़िन्दगी की कहानी क्या है, एक रसीदी टिकेट (revenue stamp) के पीछे ही फिट हो जायेगी।

ना जाने क्या expectation थी की अमृता क्या share करेगी। एक शीदी-सादी जीवनी है। एक ऐसी औरत का सफर जिसने अपने दिल की आवाज़ को एक strict male-dominated दुनिया में जिंदा रखने की हिम्मत की। उसने अपने figurative और literal सपने बिना किसे शर्म और झिझक के, कागज़ पर लिख डाले। नहीं - उसका लिखा fiction ज़रूर candid है, मगर उसकी autobiography में एक बड़ी ही apparent सी झिझक है जो शायद कुछ लोगों को दिख जाए -- या फिर शायद मैंने ही कुछ ज़यादा देख लिया।

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आज

अमृता तुमने बड़ी ही deep poetry लिखी; एक औरत के point-of-view से।
अमृता - कुछ खुदा पर भी लिखा है तो सुनाओ! खुदा को भी आइना दिखाओ!


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. . . phir yeh zindagi

us mod se shuru karein
phir yeh zindagi
har sheh jahan haseen thi
hum tum the ajnabi

lekar chale the hum jinhein
jannat ke khawaab the
phoolon ke khawaab the woh
mohabbat ke khawab the
lekin kahaan hain in mein woh
pehle si dilkashi

rehte the hum haseen
khayaalon ki bheed mein
uljhey hue hain aaj
sawaalon ki bheed mein
aane lagi hai yaad woh
fursat ki har ghadi


shayad yeh waqt
humse koi chaal chal gaya
rishta wafa ka
aur hi rango mein dhal gaya
ashqon ki chashani se thi
behtar woh dhoop hi

Intentions - A Story by Osho

A king used to go every night into the city for a round ot see how things were going--of course, in disguise. He was very much puzzled about one man, a young, very beautiful man, who was always standing under a tree by the side of the street, the same tree every night.

Finally, the curiosity took over, and the kind stopped his horse and asked the man, "Why don't you go to sleep?"

And the man said, "People go to sleep because they have nothing to guard, and I have such treasures that I cannot sleep, I have to guard them."

The kind said, "Strange, i don't see any treasures here."

The man said, "Those treasures are inside me, you cannot see them."

It became a routine thing for the king to stop every day, because the man was beautiful, and whatever he said made the king think over it for hours. The king became so much attached to and interested in the man that he started feeling that he was really a saint, because awareness and love and peace and silence and meditation and enlightenment, these are his treasures that he is guarding; he cannot sleep, he cannot afford to sleep. Only beggers can afford . . .

The story had started just by curiosity, but slowly, slowly the king started respecting and honoring the man, almost as a spritual guide. Once day he said to him, "I know you will not come with me to the palace, but I think of you, day in, day out. You come to my mind so many times, I would love it if you can become a guest in my palace."

The king was thinking that he will not agree --he had the old idea that saints renounce the world--but the young man said, "If you are missing me so much, why did you not say it before? So bring another horse, and I will come with you."

They king became suspicious, "What kind of saint is he, so easily ready?" But now it was too late, he had invited him. He game him his best room in the palace, which was preserved only for rare guests, other emperors. And he was thinking the man would refuse, that he would say, "I am a saint, I cannot live in this luxary." But he did not say anything like this. He said, "Very good."

The king could not sleep the whole night, and he thought, "It seems this fellow has deceived me; he is not a saint or anything." Two, three times he went to look from the window--the saint was asleep. And he had never been asleep, he was always standing under the tree. Now he was not guarding. The king thought, "I have been conned. This is a real con man."

The second day he ate with the king--all delicious foods, no auterity--and he enjoyed the food. The king offered him new clothes, worthy of an emperor, and loved those clothes. And the king thought, "Now, how to get rid of this fellow?" Just in sever days he was tired, thinking, "This is a complete charlatan, he has cheated me."

On the seventh day he said to this strange fellow, "I want to ask a question."

And the stranger said, "I know your question. You wanted to ask it seven days before, but just out of courtesy, manners, you kept it repressed--I was watching. But I will not answer you here. You can ask the question, and then we will go for a long morning ride on the horses, and I will choose the right place to answer it."

The king said, "Okay. My question is, now what is the difference between me and you? You are living like an emperor, but you used to be a saint. Now you are no longer a saint."

The man said, "Get the horses ready!" They went out, and the king many times reminded him, "How far are we going? You can answer."

Finally they reached the river that was the boundary line of his empire. The king said, "Now we have come to my boundary. The other side is somebody else's kingdom. This is a good place to answer."

He said, "Yes, I am going. You can take both the horses, or if you like, you can come with me."

The king said, "Where are you going?"

He said, "My treasure is with me. Wherever I go, my treasure will be with me. Are you coming with me or not?"

The king said, "How can I come with you? My kingdom, my palace, my whole life's work is behind me."

The stranger laughed and he said, "Now, do you see the difference? I can stand naked under a tree, or I can live in a palace like an emperor because my treasure is within me. Whether the tree is there or the palace is there makes no difference. So you can go back; I am going to the other kingdom. Now your kingdom is not worth remaining in."

The king felt repentance. He touched the feet of the stranger and said, "Forgive me. I was thinking wrong thoughts about you. You really are a great saint. Just don't go and leave me like this; otherwise this would will hurt me my whole life."

The stranger said, "There is not difficulty for me; I can come back with you. But I want you to be alert. The moment we reach the palace, the question will again arise in your mind. So it is better--let me go."

"I can give you some time to think. I can come back. To me it makes no difference. But to you it is better that I should leave the kingdom; it is better. In this way at least you will think of me as a saint. Back in teh palace you will again starting doubting: 'This is a con man.' But if you insist, I am ready. I can leave again after seven days when teh question becomes too heavey on you."

Story by Osho