Of monks and monasteries

"Every day, think as you wake up, today I am fortunate to be alive, I have a precious human life, I am not going to waste it. I am going to use all my energies to develop myself, to expand my heart and out to others; to achieve enlightenment for the benefit of all beings. I am going to have kind thought towards others, I am not going to get angry or think badly about others. I am going to benefit others as much as I can."

~ Dalai Lama XIV

I found these wonderful words framed on the walls of a monastery in the outskirts of  Leh. Climbing the what always seemed an unattainable height from the entrance, gasping for breath after every ten steps at a good 13,000 ft, the rewards on having finally made it to the top of the monasteries never went amiss. So etched with beauty was every nook and corner, and such awed were we by the gamut of hidden treasures that the daunting perch ceased to matter within moments. If it wasn't for the echoing serenity and the balmy silence of the monasteries alone, the dramatic panorama of the sandy mountains that one got from their top added layers to the unforgettable experience.

Fixed to the mountains like a crusty lump of gem on the rocks, the Diskit monastery stands at a formidable distance from the main road. And when you have made it to the top, a 106 ft towering statue of Maitreya Buddha awaits to wash away your breathlessness. Watchful stupas stand out from the frame of the Shyok river valley, facing the mighty Himalayas of Pakistan. Huge, colourful prayer wheels dotting the neighbourhoods. The Shanti Stupa, in its pristine glory, rising from the earth like a giant white bird fanning out its wings across the azure sky. Its circuitous walls chockablock with myriad Buddhas and the important phases of his life. Its turns giving way to breathtaking glimpses of the jagged mountains. Another round of panting through the stone stairs of the Thikse monastery, on our way to meet another Buddha. The ever-radiant face calming one's frayed nerves. The courtyard walls adorned with kaleidoscopic murals from many a Buddhist lore. Monks on their way back to their quarters. The eternal words of Dalai Lama XIV.  

Garden stories

"To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow."

~ Audrey Hepburn

The balcony garden is shaping up well, albeit a little haphazard. Courtesy our regular visits to the nearest plant nursery, we've already choked half of the balcony with colourful tropical crotons. It was time we brought some hardy flowers to accompany the hibiscus and the rose, both of which, in the most conniving fashion, have morphed into show plants for sometime now. And so came along the red crown of thorns, and a riotous mix of orange and pink bougainvilleas. Now we have winged visitors inspecting the new additions all day - sometimes a lost butterfly flutters from pot to pot checking the traces of nectar, but the more regular ones are the thirsty pigeons who love to draw a sip or two from the muddy waters accumulated in the pot trays. Though I leave a bowl of clean water for them, earthiness is clearly their preference.
Then came the rains one day, a typical mid-summer downpour, much to everyone's relief. The patchy, dust-clad crotons celebrated the most perhaps, the fat drops washing the city's muck off their kaleidoscopic leaves. Who doesn't like to show a spot of true colour, eh?! The balcony soon became a palimpsest of colours - yellow, maroon, green, white.

Indoors, it's my new bamboo that draws all the eyes these days. Come evening, when the lamps are lit, the Buddha candle holder sitting next to it casts an enchanting shadow on the wall behind. As if Buddha himself has come to life! Serenaded by his composed figure looming large in the illuminated corner of the living room, life feels blessed. Surely, not a lot in the world that these small joys can't cure.

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?!

Buddha beckons

As I try to gather the loose strings of this post in my mind, a faint, haunting smell of mustard wafts its way through the windows. Being the queen of associative nostalgia, I am at once reminded of my most favorite comfort food - roasted potatoes mashed in a drizzle of mustard oil, with a bunch of chopped onions and green chilies thrown in for that aromatic kick. And that settles it, the tonight's dinner dilemma.

Before I confuse you further with the mismatching of the post title and its beginning, I must very quickly come back. Straying, as you must be quite aware of by now, comes so very naturally to me.
So Buddha, the great Gautama. Neither am I spiritual, nor am I a regular reader of his teachings, The Dhammapada, like my father and his childhood friend. It's just that face, that radiant, reverberating pool of wisdom and serenity. Those quiet, half-closed eyes and the kind lips curled into a forever understanding smile. They are my collective refuge, from the woes of inconsiderate, loud neighbors, the downsides of staying in a ground floor apartment and the soot making its way into our lives from the nearby, always running highway. Sure, one cannot immediately find a new place and afford to go through the settling-in drama all over again, one can only hope to adapt. To the noise, the blackening doom and the growing restlessness. The face muffles it all, for a while at least.

"Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without."
~ Buddha

Eat, Pray, Love

"This is a good sign, having a broken heart. It means we have tried for something."

~ Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

This was one confusing read for me, apart from the occasional nuggets of wisdom like in the above quoted lines. I swung between hatred and love and then sometimes it was just unadulterated disenchantment. Now before I plunge deeper into my regrets, I must confess of being somewhat of a literary snob. Almost a decade of studying and a year of teaching literature has done this to me. But I did stray many times and found pleasure being on the other side, my most favorite being Bridget Jones, for I could actually identify with so many of her blunders.
Coming back to Elizabeth Gilbert's journey, I finally fell prey to it despite the years of resistance, ever since its stellar release. The reason - having watched the movie Eat, Pray, Love for the second time recently, and being once again moved by Julia Robert's brilliant performance (when has she ever been dull?!). My other reason for picking it up - I hoped it would have a cure for my personal disillusionment with life at the present moment, and that I would get to mend certain aspects of my writhing and wringing world. But this was one of those rarest of times, when the film adaptation stirs you more than the book itself. May be it was the superficial tone or the effect of too many bad, needy jokes, but a large part of it felt like reading out of the diary of a troubled teenager often obsessing over something as trivial as her first pimple.

Having said that, no one can take away the writer's courage and faith for embarking upon this remarkable journey, both physically and spiritually. Kudos to her for learning the daunting Sanskrit scriptures and mastering the art of meditation, which, I am sure, many of us Hindus haven't dared to and probably never will. But I just failed to make a connection with her predicament, or to get inspired from her experiences. I even went back to Goodreads to check out a few more reviews and was relieved to find that nothing was wrong with me. Well, not here, at least.

And when I was too distracted by the overwhelming self-love in the book, I chose instead to stare at this Buddha bookmark and draw from the pool of serenity cascading from that eternally radiant face.

Bright and blue

"And still, after all this time, the Sun has never said to the Earth,
'You owe me.'
Look what happens with love like that.
It lights up the sky."

~ Rumi

A medley of blue skies and peeping cotton clouds. A welcoming bounciness in the air. The dizzy dance of patterns as the sun creeps in through the windows. Light and shade. Tiger lilies basking in the sun. A happy coincidence of colours. The yak bone Buddha girdled by a dear Tibetan necklace. Some fond memories of two newlyweds. Despite times and places, the piney scent of Darjeeling lingers on. Spring sure must be somewhere near. Very near.

So the first week of February actually brought a spell of sun. Hurrah!