Thursday, February 7, 2013

Buddha's little island









"In the end
these things matter the most:
How well did you love?
How fully did you live?
How deeply did you let go?"

~ Buddha

An early Sunday morning. The now-autumn, now-winter nip in the air. The sun, a big orange ball, slowly climbs the rungs of the pale, fog-clad sky. A quick halt at a roadside chai kiosk to stir the groggy sleepyhead in me. The eager shutterbug in me tries to capture the elusive curls of steam rising from the tumbler. Yes, that's how roadside tea is served in India, in tumblers of thick glass. I kind of like its rustic touch, which opens a little window to a very dear childhood nostalgia of the many five-hour drives to grandfather's place. So, toward a blue, blue lake we head. Framed by rocky canyon-like formations and terracotta-hued pebbles on its bank, the waters glitter under the rays of a rather cruel January sun. On a raucous motorboat, whose foam seats smell like a pungent combination of rubber and metal, we sail forth to a tiny historical Buddhist island. Neat, landscaped gardens greet us through a flight of stairs guarded by tall inscribed pillars. Some trees wear a surprising autumn crown. The bright yellow of the leaves and the sapphire blue lake in the background make a dazzling contrast. Lovely prayer flags, yet again. Fluttering radiantly in the green breeze, they sprinkle their calm and good wishes all over the place. A rusty Buddha, missing an arm, stands inside a brick barricade, humbling all by his towering presence. A heady combination of serenity and well-being enshrouds us as we leave the island at the departing call of the motorboat.

These past ten days I have lived and loved well. More than that, I have been fed well, most of the times to the brink of my nose. Letting go of such wholesome goodness was hard, very hard. The reason - my parents! Need I say more?!

8 comments:

  1. Hello Suman:
    What a beguiling image you create of the memories of your childhood emerging through the mist of the steam emerging from the hot drink.Beautiful!

    And, how lovely those visits must have been to the tiny Buddha island where peace and tranquillity was all pervading and all the senses could be heightened as a result. Yes, we can well see that your visit home to the welcome and comfort of your parents would have been every bit as wonderful. And, of course, however hard it must have been to leave, they are, inevitably, like love, always present if one only cherishes and reflects upon it.

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    1. Dear Jane and Lance, that love metaphor is just wonderful! And so very befitting too. I think I have confused you with my patchy writing - it is my parents who visited us, although it'd have been nicer the way you understood it. But either ways, I got to bask in the love and Mum's food, so who's complaining!

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  2. There's no nurturing like that from your parents - there's no rest like under your parents' roof - no better place for getting back that little part of yourself that says 'girl' when to the world you present Woman. I wanted some of that chai.

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    1. How beautifully you put it! Yes, that's the only place where one can be just oneself, leaving behind the constant demands of the careworn world.

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  3. Dear Suman. I love this quote and your pictures! I would like to visit this wonderful Island one day. It’s so peaceful!
    Loving parents are a gift, a present from life!! These moments are precious.

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    1. Dear Celine, I'm sure you'll love this place but I don't think you'll be able to take it. Perhaps a green, monsoon-soaked July/August day would be the best time to visit the island.

      Parents have left; it's exactly a week today, but I still miss them.

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  4. What beautiful pictures and words. It is hard to imagine you over there while we sit with snow outside and ice on the track. Very good to catch up with you.

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    1. I can understand the geographical dilemma, more so when I see and read about your (and all those on the other side of the globe) winter woes. But do believe me when I say this - I am a tad envious of that white blanket, for I do miss snow and the ethereal world it brings with it. Hope all's well in the hills.

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