“Mere dil mein bahot pyaar hai…”

There’s a lot of love in my heart…

(movie Anwar)

In the movie Anwar, a Moslem youth finds a guru (spiritual teacher) in an aspiring actor who gives him instructions in love, the Sufi way to find God… 

Generosity, faith, self-knowledge, submission, love these are the tenets of Sufism, the same as Romantic Love.

The Sufis say you need to fall in love to find God. If you can fall in true love, and experience the adoration and dedication that comes with it, you will know what it is to be in the presence of God. 

And the Hindi film Industry virtually thrives on this idea. Somehow it forms the psyche of an average Indian youth when it comes to romantic love.

And finds expression in this beautiful song. The song is in Punjabi, and I think it is written by Bulle Shah though I am not sure. Sufism thrived in Punjab, as a blend of Moslem influences on a Hindu land. Many Sufi saints here wrote in Punjabi.

(Song from movie Awarapan, 2007)

Maula maula maula aa aa aa………..
My Beloved

menda ishq bhi tu, menda yaar bhi tu
You are my romantic love, my beloved
menda din bhi tu, imaan bhi tu
You are my day, my conscience is you
menda jism bhi tu, mendi rooh bhi tu
My body is you, my spirit is you

mendi dildi vi tu, jind jaan bhi tu
In my heart are you, my life breath is you
ho mere maula maula, maula ho mere maula maula
O My Beloved

meri manjil mein tu, meri raahon mein tu
You are at my destination, in my journey
mere sapno mein tu, mere apano mein tu
In my dreams are you, you are in my dear ones
 meri subahon mein tu, meri shaamo mein tu
 You are in my mornings, in my evenings are you
 meri yaadon mein tu, mere vaadon mein tu
 In my memories are you, you are in my promises
 ho mere maula maula, maula ho mere maula maula
 O My Beloved

 mere kangan mein tu, mere jhumake mein tu
 In my bangle are you, in my ear-ornament are you
 mere sukhe mein tu, mere saawan mein tu
 You are in my drought, you are in my spring,
 mere pallon mein tu, mere chilman mein tu
 You are in my Pallon, you are in my Veil
 mere khaabon mein tu, meri aankhon mein tu
 You are in my dreams, you are in my eyes
 ho mere maula maula, maula ho mere maula maula
 O My Beloved

 menda zikr bhi tu, mendi fikr bhi tu
 You are my mention (my identity),you are my concern
 menda dard bhi tu, darmaan bhi tu
 You are my pain, you are my camel (to tide across the desert, the redeemer)
 menda kibla bhi tu, menba kaaba bhi tu
 You are my kibla, you are my kaaba (places of pilgrimage)
 mendi masjid bhi tu, menda mandir bhi tu
 You are my Temple, you are my Mosque
 ho mere maula maula, maula ho mere maula maula* - 3
 My Beloved

 *In Arabic the word Maula has a wide range of meaning. It denotes ‘master’, ‘slave’, ‘emancipated slave’, ‘helper’, ‘friend’ and ‘loved one’.   In the holy Prophet’s pronouncement it has been used in the sense of a friend and a loved one, as is evident from the prayer that follows it. (http://www.islamawareness.net/Deviant/Shia/ghadir.html)

This piece is for my dad, and all the dads of the world like him…

Many a times, when I laze on weekends or before work, or when I put my headsets down at work for a quick-bite during the breaks; a flimsy thought, a face flashes through my mind… and my heart feels mellow as I remember my father, my father who lived till the ripe age of early seventies.  

He is gone now. And for years, I did not want to think about him, afraid of guilt. Guilt of not being there during the last moments of his life. For with his memories come the last words on his lips- Suresh, Suresh… He kept repeating my name the night before he died. And I did not go to him. Because I was too tired. Too tired of looking after him.

I was 21. And I had looked after him for over 2 years then. He had become mentally unstable, and I had to take him to a shrink. The shrink, my mom, and I were able to bring him out of the abyss of madness for once. And I was so happy then. 

And then I failed the last semester at college. My future looked bleak. The bright kid at school, I saw my friends getting high paying jobs and starting off on promising careers while I had to struggle through another semester, and take care of my father who was suffering from dementia. I backed out. I let my elder brother take care of father. I had to work and study. I concentrated on my part-time job and studies. And no longer went to my dad when he called me. I was afraid of the responsibility.

-x-x-x-  

That was 8 years ago. I went to work the very next day after my father died. I had no time to mourn on his death. 3 months after my father died, I left home. Life called me, and I was too afraid to look back at the voice that followed me since that night, calling my name… Suresh… Suresh.

-x-x-x-  

Today, I write about him here. I loved my father. And every time I think about him, my heart fills up with pain.

He was a common man, who had run away from his native town in Southern Indian state of Kerala and had come to Mumbai in the late 1950s. Those were the times when a new independent India looked at its first prime minister in its hope to stand up on its own. Nehru’s vision of an Industrialized India, sprang up colonies of one-room kitchen buildings for migrant workers in Mumbai, who flocked to the city from other parts of the country that had little to eat other than new communist thoughts and the breeze of a free young country. 

My father got a job as a worker in one of the factories of Tata, manufacturing soaps. He worked there for more than 35 years of his life, living through Union-strikes which he never supported, the seventies Southies-go-back-to-the-south campaign in Mumbai, the Emergency in the times of Indira Gandhi, the inflation, the 1984 Hindu-Moslem riots, the 1993 Mumbai blasts, the riots thereafter…

Through all these, he raised a family of five… working hard to give his three children good education, health, and a life of dignity. 

He had a nagging wife; he never went to his native town for almost 30 years till he died…

-x-x-x- 

He loved me. I came quite late… the youngest of my siblings I am 10 years younger to my elder sister. 12 years younger to my brother.

I remember him accompanying me on the streets in the mornings on my way to school. I remember holding his finger while he took his little kid to the market in the evenings. I remember the only time he hit me, with a comb when I refused to go to school in my second standard. 

He himself had gone to school only till standard fourth. And he was proud when he stood right between the managers of the Tata Group for a group photo on one of his achievements at the Company. The photo held a certain value for him, a pride and a dream, a dream that one day one of his kids would be Somebody, one of the elite and respected.

Perhaps like every other Indian parent of those times, he wanted to see in our eyes the self-respect which people of his generation had to compromise in front of government bureaucrats and the rich and influential. He wanted us to have what he worked hard for, a life of respect and dignity. 

-x-x-x-

And I want to tell my father today, “Achan, wherever you are, if you can hear, listen. I have a lot of respect for myself. And am proud I got a father like you. Thanks. Thank you very much. I love you.”

(Thanks Uma)

An acquaintance suggested that I go to weekend gay parties. Look for dates by joining some gay group.

Another acquaintance has kept me informed of two relationships in his life, in these last two months. It’s easy to tide over a break-up when there is such easy availability of qualifying gay bachelors around.  

And so the gay community in the city moves on. And in these last two days there would have been so much of happenings in the city. Eyes must have met, hearts must have fallen in and out of love, people must have made their first love, kissed the other for the first time, and committed to each other for life.

So in all this happening environment why do I sit back, within the four walls of my room, having nothing much to do but watch TV or doze off?  

-x-x-x-

When I had my last break-up, (that was almost 4 years ago now, or was it?), I felt as if I had lived everything in life. I had a feeling that if I did not end life then and there, there would have been nothing in my life but mere repetitions. Life, “as I knew to live it” had run out of options.  

I could have joined a gay group then. I could have met somebody to tide over the pain of a broken relationship (which I admit I found, though I never sought it).

And then I met Uma. I told her that I was facing a dead end, at a stage in life when I had run out of all ideas about how to live. And in our sessions I realized that I had been so busy building life for myself, that I had forgotten how to “simply live.”  

-x-x-x-

And Uma told me the tale of a fish. The fish who swam wonderfully in the wide ocean. And one day it became aware of her own self, swimming. And she wondered how she could swim in that wide ocean. Was it that little fin of hers that went this way and then that? Was it her tail that glided through the waters? Was it her body that was so graceful in the waters? And as she tried to understand her swim in the great ocean, she forgot how to swim, and lost balance. And fell deep to the bottom of the ocean, until the ocean told her that to swim needed no great thinking or planning. It was inbuilt in the little fish, by something greater than her mind. And to swim, she didn’t have to ‘think’ how to swim, but just let her essential nature take over, that of a fish, and she will ‘know’ how to swim.  

-x-x-x-

How many of us have forgotten how to live, the same way the fish had forgotten how to swim! We are fed with ideas by movies, books, religion, and corporate bosses on how to live. So we end up looking for the perfect job, the right mate, the good friend, the right religion, the suitable partner, the perfect moment, the perfect life…. And all the time, it escapes us how we are building things in our life to live life, never actually living. Things we collect, are things we lose. And when the pain comes, we try to stifle it by collecting something else. 

-x-x-x-

The flowers bloom in the right colours, and the bees come to them when they are ready. The river flows knowing not where she goes, and meets the wide ocean waiting with wide open arms. The bird flutters her tiny wings knowing not that they will take her to the skies.  

The mystery that is life, is perhaps something that has made us so restless in this 2minutes ready fast-food times. We no longer trust life, and no longer trust the Limitless source that has made our finite minds.

So youngsters lose their virginity before their bodies are ready. We get married in a jiffy thinking we are in love, and then soon find out that we are not meant for each other. We take up a high-paying job, and later find it hard to keep it. We take diksha from the first available guru and then feel the sadhana is just not our cup of tea, and start looking for another guru.  

All of the instances above, are the symptoms of heavily depending on a finite Mind, which looks for excitement and grows weary of a toy and then discards it looking for a new toy. We have started living in a world where we want to know exactly what will happen to us in the next moment, afraid of losing, trying to save us pain before a marriage collapses by looking for an alternative boy-friend, looking for another job before leaving the current one. Not daring to face it all out till the end. Not daring to wake up with a partner whom we love lesser than yesterday. Not daring to work another day at a workplace where the job seems no more challenging, and very monotonous.

When the excitement is gone, when the thoughts and dramas of the human mind cease, there is clearing up of space in life for newer visions, newer alternatives which we thought never existed.  

When we stop relying so heavily on our own minds to build our life, and let go, living and waiting for the bigger Infinite Source to take over, that is when Real things start happening. That’s when we start learning.

-x-x-x-  

I can’t write anything more about what happens when we drop the whims of our limited minds and let go, to depend on the one Infinite Source (Life? Nature? God?) to take over. Because I myself am on the threshold of this new journey. As and when something happens, you will be the first ones to know. Meanwhile, I lie low and wait for the perfect surrender from my part to happen. Not defining what I want in life anymore, but letting myself find the beautiful gifts wrapped underneath the Christmas tree on a beautiful Christmas morning. Wish me all the best.

(that’s me in the pic above)

“Kehne ko saath apne ek duniya chalti hai

Par chupke is dil mein tanhai palti hai”

To say, there is a world walking with me

But loneliness lies hidden in my heart…

Life as it is now

Life has never betrayed me, unlike people.

Life brought me people from far away shores, and things from distant lands. Life never betrayed me.

So it took a scared scared kid from a cage into the big big world. Life brought to me love, pleasures, gifts, lovers, and friends.

Life never betrayed me.

And now I look forward to what next it has in store for me.

Life, guide me.

-x-x-x-

The weekend

As every other weekend, these two days were lazy; I hardly did anything than eat, sleep, watch TV, and more sleep. This takes away all the stress and physical tiredness that I have to bear the entire weekend.

On weekends, I can hear the sweet birds of Mira Road and enjoy the peace of my colony. Then there is my visit to Qamar’s cyber and the long hours of surfing here.

Mom’s around and that makes it all the more special. I buy different things for her, fruits and junkfood, footwear and clothes. And I feel good that I am finally earning money again and spending it on good things.

-x-x-x-

The nightmares continue

Today morning I woke up after a long series of dreams. The first ones were of joys of a straight life, with a female colleague (with whom I argue the most, and whom I hate the most) featuring as a loving wife to me, bearing my child…!!!

Next was back to my childhood house in Bandra. The apartment on 2^nd floor. There are male prostitutes, finest of men from the mid-east and west, making love with the family! And it seemed ok, as if lust was one simple need and we had bought the men in wholesale for the whole of the family to enjoy. And I made love to the black guy and the white one, as my siblings had their share of fun. And it all seemed so ok, with the doors and windows open.

Next I heard announcements of floods, and water flooding through the streets around our building. My mom and elder sister (she looked all the more younger and more beautiful) sat around. There was a hush though. Like the lull before the storm. And then it happened.

Waters flooded the streets, (like 11^th of July monsoons). But this time, the flood crossed the ground floors, then the first and then reached our house. Sister was calm. It seemed she didn’t bother. Mom ran out excited like a child, looking at elephants who held their trunks high on the flooded streets as they drowned in the rising waters. I pulled my mom by her hand and ran up the corridors to the 2^nd floor, where we stood in the balcony as I showed her what madness she displayed when she ran to the 1^st floor, which was now submerged and so were the elephants, air bubbles and lisped sounds of the elephants trumpet rose up from beneath the water.

The water levels rise, and reach my nose-levels, until it has risen so much that I could hardly breathe and begin to suffocate. I feel sad for my mom, as thoughts of her hit my mind and I want to help her. I jump up holding on to something. I search for mom. She’s safe.

And then there is anger. Anger at the way people seem to accept the imminent death. I roar in anger, and run to search for empty bottles, and tie them round my mom. I don’t want her to drown.

My sweet sweet mom.

And then, we are on the streets as the waters subside, but there are announcements being made about the flooding about to happen again. I see the roads left damaged by the waters, but shops open up slowly, and I wonder where are all the corpses, perhaps rotting in the homes that were once abuzz with live people.

And I want to protect myself and my family. That’s the only thing on my mind, as I run around to gather/buy everything I can to keep my family safe.

-x-x-x-

Now

I spend the entire day in the house, and feel like a freak as I walk to Qamar’s cyber café to surf the net after 10pm.

“That’s what bothers me about India the most, the resurgence of fundamentalism. Any excuse to get rid of your neighbor who doesn’t share your faith is a good enough excuse.”

-Khushwant Singh, writer of Book- Train to Pakistan

-x-x-x-  

The dramas of human interaction, the games people play, the holy alliances (read groups), the sacred friendships, the simmering hatred in hearts, the crowning of the beautiful, pretty and attractive & the envy that they attract, garlands for a few and a cold treatment for the less glamorous- the corporate can be a test of fire for a person who would like to see the world as a place of fair play and equal opportunity.

So each time that reality hits me hard and gets on my nerve, I have a tough time dealing with the strong feelings that well up within me as reactions to my new corporate environment. At times I strike out, and in the end find myself being one of the herd. At times I hold back my anger, and end up feeling choked with the poison of reaction that was contained within.  

-x-x-x-

I stayed away from this very world for almost 2 years. Some place, I believed, there was that perfect world, that Ethiopia I had dreamt of as a teenager at college. The perfect world.  

When all the time I did know that the real world outside was different, nowhere near the Ethiopia I wanted it to be.

-x-x-x-  

At times, I wonder how good if I get circumcised. Then I think of the repercussions of this in event of Hindu- Muslim riots. Nowhere in the world perhaps, it matters as much in India whether you still have that foreskin, as Khushwant Singh says in one of his novels.

This is the country where people are burnt alive in trains. Where the chief minister then orders the police to lock up Moslems in their very homes and then burn them alive as the entire building is set up on fire.  

This is a country where a police officer gets a gallantry award for a fake-encounter in which an innocent is killed in the name of a terrorist. This is a country that does not honour its side of promise of a UN plebiscite and continues to repress the people of a State- Kashmir, which has not seen any development in years and where the youth has been forced to take up arms against the government for a separate state.

Massacres continue in Sudan, the Tutsi tribe is crushed in Rawanda, Serbian Moslems are killed right under the nose of UN troops.  

Where is fair play in this imperfect world, Suresh? What do you expect inside the four walls of your corporate world, when the world outside continues to burn in hatred and ignorance. Where nationality rules over patriotism, where selfishness is called modernity, where ignorance is masked in rhetoric.

I tell myself, choosing not to participate in this world is Cowardice.  

-x-x-x-

A close colleage at work, Mrs.Kaur tells me that I am bluntly honest and that really hurts people around. She wants me to drop the anger from my honest statements, so that they don’t hurt. I wonder how would I do it.

She advises me to drop hatred that wells up in my heart often for a certain person at work, and I tell her I am not a saint and that my dislike is justified though restrained.  

I try to read Sukhmani Sahib ( the book that confers peace to one’s mind) and find that it fails to reconcile my mind to peace, and only attracts me away from my polytheistic faith toward the idea of a single, all-loving God.

And ironically as it might be in the post-9/11 world scenario, in a country where your life depends on whether you have a foreskin on your dick… I find myself attracted to Islam.  

And Yogesh, as I always do, I cannot apologize as profusely as I want to, for being myself.