I didn’t light his candle today. Not because I forgot. But I just couldn’t be bothered. He left without saying bye. I know it’s silly to bring this up now, after so many years. He needed to do whatever it was he needed to do. He needed to go. I understand. But the missing makes my heart crumble again and yet again. How is it possible to keep going after its smashed so many times? It feels like the old yellow rubber duck in his bath, being stamped heavily upon, by a topless angry Arnold Swarzenegger wearing big black military trousers and boots. What is this thing that pretends to drum in my chest, tattered and torn?
He broke the rule. Saying good-night was our ritual for many years. After settling him in his bed, I religiously kissed him on his chin, both his cheeks, first left and then the right, his closed eyes, first the left and then the right and then, once on his forehead. He put his little arms around my neck and we both held each other for a short while before I switched off the light and went to my room. We loved it and slept peacefully.
He didn’t respect our little rule. Maybe he couldn’t. But, I deserved at least, a proper good bye. But then, can anyone truly know who deserves what?
“Suppose we look deeply at a rose. With some concentration and mindfulness we can see that the rose is made of only non-rose elements.
What do we see in the rose?
We see a cloud, because we know, without the cloud, there wouldn’t be rain and without the rain, the rose couldn’t grow. So, a cloud is a non-rose element that we can recognise if we look deep into the rose. Next, we can see sunshine, which is also crucial for the rose to grow. The sunshine is another non-rose element present in the rose. If you took the sunshine and cloud out of the rose, there would be no rose left.
If we continue like this we see many non-rose elements within the rose, including the minerals, the soil, the farmer, the gardener and so on. The whole cosmos has come together to produce the wonder we call rose. A rose cannot be by herself alone. A rose has to inter-be with the whole cosmos. This is the insight we call Interbeing.
When looking at a rose, if we can see all the non-rose elements that make up the rose, then we can truly touch the reality of the rose. No matter what we look at, if we can see that it is made up of everything in the Universe that is not itself, then we touch the true reality of that thing, its non-self nature.”
His words brought light. His voice, peace. His presence, compassion. He said, “No coming, no going. No after, no before. I hold you close to me. I release you to be free. Because I am in you and you are in me.” I will always hold you close to me, dear Father of Mindfulness.
Woke up at 3 am this morning to attend a Poetry workshop on-line, India time. Himalayan Writing Retreat made it happen for us twelve. Hard to believe so much fun and learning could happen with strangers, sitting thousands of miles apart. Here’s what came out of it. Looking forward to much much more. Today’s Haibun:
She is decimated – an earthen clay pot, once holding colourless water in a colourless circle, now dust. She watches this happen to her, as if from outer space. As she zooms in, she can touch the wetness of what is spilt all over the marbled floor. It is possibly still within reach, this source of life. Drop by drop, she picks it up and adds it into her tumbler of tears. It magically swirls into an aquamarine blue – deeper than the deepest ocean and sky. The blue of life. Yes. It is blue and all of it, her very own.
She colours her words with it. The words that were once, blood red.
Her walls, her flowers, her friendships.
Now she has this blue, she’s complete again. Fully of this earth.
Once upon a time there was a beggar. He sat at a street corner, pleading for scraps. Anything – pennies, food, clothing. For thirty years, he had lived in dire poverty. One day a young man came along and asked him, “What is it that you sit on?”
“It’s an old wooden box.” mumbled the beggar.
‘Shall we have a look inside it?’
“It’s not worth looking at. I found it in a rubbish heap years ago.”
‘Ever looked inside?’
“No. What’s the point? There’s nothing in there.”
‘I can help you dust it down if you like.’
“Can you spare some change for me please?”
‘Yes. After we’ve looked at the box you sit on.’
“If you insist…”
They took the rotten old blanket off the wooden box and managed to pry it open. With utter disbelief, astonishment and elation they saw a heap of glittering gold-coins within.
While we look for scraps of pleasure, fulfillment, validation and security outside of us, the true wealth of deep unshakable peace and the radiant joy of Being lies within us. Inspired by “The Power of Now”, a book by Eckhart Tolle, I’ve been practicing making this moment the focus of my attention, surrendering to what is and saying ‘yes’ to life, noticing the direct relationship between inner resistance and pain, observing the subtle life-force that flows through my body, witnessing my emotions arise and cease as sensations in my chest and tummy. I have learnt to trust myself. I have found glimpses of freedom from my mind and felt my presence as one with the Universe. Who would’ve thought this possible?
Earlier this week I had the honour of sharing some of the theory, practice and research on this subject through an on-line presentation entitled “Making Friends with Now”. Many thanks to The Compassionate Friends for making this teaching accessible to many.
“Hi. I am Dr SM. I will be anaesthetising you for your procedure today. Could I ask you to please remove your mask so I can take a quick look at your teeth and airway? Thank you.”
My guess of how their whole face looks is often completely off the mark. They look more beautiful than I imagine especially if they remember to wear their smiles. I have missed smiles exchanged with random strangers walking around random shops and street corners. I have missed hugs from friends even more.
Countless nuclear fissions on the surface of the sun translate into radiation that hits the Earth’s atmosphere and creates an electro-magnetic field, some of which converts to heat and light. The green plants picks it up along with CO2 and through photosynthesis convert the sun’s energy to carbohydrates, proteins and fats. Our food takes these to the mitochondria in our cells. These little power-houses create fuel, energy and warmth through the process of cell-respiration. This solar event carries on within us at a molecular level.
Two of the best things about being human are, smiles and hugs. They bring us into the sunshine of another human being. We are beings of light. Our design makes us heal spontaneously when our energy is high. The two things that deeply damage human energy are – fear and guilt, both of which have been ramped up in myopic and manipulative ways.
This is the time for us to find each other and our state of harmony. To know that we are alive right now and sing it out loud. The present humanity is an unfinished symphony and I feel some of the best bits are yet to be created.
“We have travelled past the longest night.
Now treading into the return of light.
In the stillness of mid-winter, may we dream into existence a magical new world,
most kind and bright.”
Wishing you, me and humanity, many songs, smiles and hugs. xxx
Recently, our highly respected Prime Minister declared there was a need to treat ‘problem drug users’ with ‘compassion’ by investing in rehabilitation. In the same breath, he said that his government would ‘wage a war’ on drugs by removing passports and driving licenses from drug-users to tackle drug-related crime. He rightly emphasized that drugs were really ‘bad for society’.
Little surprise that he said absolutely nothing about the invisible drug that is freely available in shops and restaurants and can easily be found in homes, clubs and pubs. Many of us use it everyday even though it causes severe social, financial and health damage. As good friends, family and colleagues we often encourage each other to use it, while thinking nothing of using it ourselves. Some of us go as far as taking offense, when someone declines our offer to use it. Yes, alcohol is a drug. It is a depressant, even though it can fool us into thinking and feeling otherwise. It causes more than 60 types of diseases and injuries.
Alcohol use, particularly heavy use and dependence is directly associated with suicide in three ways:
(1) through its dis-inhibiting effects, it emboldens people to attempt suicide
(2) individuals with Alcohol Use Disorders are at an increased risk of suicide as compared to the population at large
(3) alcohol consumption co-relates with suicide rates, all over the world.
Thank you dear PM for giving us a chance to think about our relationship with ‘drugs’, especially at this time of year which can be difficult for some and over-festive for others.
I wish you good company, much fun and laughter now and always. May you be blessed with lots of cake.
He: “In the present climate, this doesn’t look good. Does it? Two white men, Clifford and I, leading this place.”
Me: ‘I think it’s great as you both know your stuff and work well together. Also, the organization is gaining strength and reputation under your leadership. Give it at least another year before you change anything. Everyone’s happy.’
He: “Yes, but … it doesn’t look good.”
Me: ‘What do you mean? Who’s looking? So long as the job is done well and the purpose of the organization is served, I don’t see the problem.’
He: “Yes, but, could I ask you to be my Deputy?”
Me: ‘Oh. Me? Hmm. What does the role entail?’
He: “I will find out the details and let you know.”
Me: ‘So, you are offering me a role and you don’t know what it is?’
He: ‘Yes. But I’ll let you know very soon.’
Me: “If you don’t know what the job is, how can you offer it to anyone? How can you know that I am capable of doing it?”
This was wrong at so many levels. Don’t use people to make you look good. See beyond their ethnicity and gender and think about the job at hand. Think about their abilities and aptitudes. Remember meritocracy? Would you have a doctor or a lawyer or a car mechanic or an architect look after you only because they had particular demographics or because they had the right credentials and were bloody good at their jobs?
Moreover, my colleagues would know that my promotion had little to do with my capabilities or performance and everything to do with the fact that I am a ‘woman from a minority community’. It would be insulting. No. Thank you.
We are one race – the Human race. Each individual, fully deserving to be seen as their unique self, way beyond their gender or color or creed. Let’s not loose the plot altogether.
Nineteen months passed before I could travel again. The uncertainty in the air for all this time meant no one knew when they would see their close family that lived in far-off countries. The news relayed the horrendousness of the situation in India and the 6700 kilometers between them and me made me feel utterly powerless. I would have flown to India at least thrice in this time but I waited for it to become possible.
Then, it did. Si booked my tickets and I felt like I was flying already but coming up to the date of travel, the extra layer of bureaucracy turned me into a tight knot of nerves. This test, that certificate, the other QR code, the timing of this, the reference number of that, one on-line form to be filled on the way out and another on the way back and so on and so forth. I had 2 close friends on speed dial, one in India and the other, a frequent flyer in the UK.
Yet, in the run up to the date of departure, my antacid consumption seriously shot up. In my awful dreams, the faceless uniforms looked at my paper work and shook their heads from side to side. They sent me back home from the airport. They told me I would have to quarantine at the other end in a seedy hotel for 10 days. That would eat up more than half my holiday. I woke up in a bath of sweat.
My two suitcases were mostly packed with chocolates, cheeses, cheese-crackers, sheep’s wool, woolly jumpers, bamboo socks and other such goodies for my folks. I got on the plane at Heathrow and landed at New Delhi safely, utterly grateful to be united with all my loved ones back home. How much I take for granted!
I immersed myself in the everyday life back home- boiling milk, making chapattis, creating rangolis at Diwali, indiscriminately consuming sweets dripping in desi ghee, singing, praying, chatting and overeating at every meal. I set aside my concerns about pending jobs, deadlines for writing assignments, hacked e-mail accounts, consciously locked them away in a clanking steel Godrej cup-board.
Yes, there was pollution and poverty. There was religious and political bigotry. There was the Right and the Left and the Middle, the Farmer’s protest, the choked Press and the Covid dictats. There was my mind, noticing that Saagar was not physically present in the room. His cousins were messing about, grandma was cooking his favourite chicken curry, Olivia Rodrigo was singing ‘Jealousy Jealousy’ on the Bose speaker, his uncles and aunts were drinking beer and chomping on roasted, salted cashew nuts, talking about the joys of driving on the new highways network and the high price of petrol. We were celebrating our togetherness but he was not here.
In that thought, he became present to me. His essence appeared in the room, as me, my presence, my noticing, my love and my longing. It was subtle, only perceptible at a certain frequency that in now accessible to me. This nameless, formless realm that makes itself known when I pay attention. My real home. Its doors always open.
Before I knew it was time to come home. My two suitcases filled with silk and cotton fabrics, saris ‘borrowed’ from my mother, home-made carrot halwa, cashews and almonds and proper Darjeeling tea.
I am back home from back home now. Rested and reconnected. Refreshed and reassured.
Every child or young person who dies by suicide is precious. These deaths are a devastating loss for families and can impact future generations and the wider community. There is a strong need to understand what happened and why, in every case. We must ensure that we learn the lessons we need to, to stop future suicides.
-Services should be aware that child suicide is not limited to certain groups; rates of suicide were similar across all areas, and regions in England, including urban and rural environments, and across deprived and affluent neighbourhoods.
(No one is immune.)
-62% of children or young people reviewed had suffered a significant personal loss in their life prior to their death, this includes bereavement and “living losses” such as loss of friendships and routine due to moving home or school or other close relationship breakdown.
(Saagar was unable to return to his life at University due to a new diagnosis of a mental illness.)
-Over one third of the children and young people reviewed had never been in contact with mental health services. This suggests that mental health needs or risks were not identified prior to the child or young person’s death.
(Saagar had been in contact with Mental Health Services but they discharged him as soon as he showed signs of improvement. They did not follow him up. His GP was unable to identify his high risk of suicide despite his Depression scores being the worse they could be for at least 4 weeks.)
-16% of children or young people reviewed had a confirmed diagnosis of a neurodevelopmental condition at the time of their death. For example, autism spectrum disorder or attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. This appears higher than found in the general population.
(Saagar did not.)
-Almost a quarter of children and young people reviewed had experienced bullying either face to face or cyber bullying. The majority of reported bullying occurred in school, highlighting the need for clear anti-bullying policies in schools.
(At his Primary school in Belfast, his peers called him ‘Catholic’. He didn’t know what it meant but he knew it was not right. This went on for more than a year before I found out. When I spoke to his class teacher about it, she denied any problem.)
The film ‘1000 days’ tells us about Saagar and what we have learnt from his life and death. I am not sure what or how much the policy makers and service providers have learnt or changed but we have learnt and changed a lot and here we talk about that. The film is presently available on-line at the Waterford Film Festival (Short Programe 6), till the 15th of November at the link below. Please take 20 minutes to watch it if you can. You will learn something too. Each one of us can make a difference.
He didn’t want to go. The new school was an hour’s drive from home. His bags were packed. Each piece of clothing had been labelled, “Baxter 289”. Each set had been neatly marked and packaged – rugby, cricket, football. He was getting ready to leave for the most prestigious Boarding school in town. Nothing less would do for a seven years old lad from such a good family as his. It was for his own good. This precious boy needed a proper education, even if he had to be separated from his sweet mum, wrenched away from his big house on the hill and the fields all around, his playground. This was unquestionably the right thing to do and it was being done. They would make a proper young man out of him.
His mum knelt beside him in his room, combed his curly brown hair back from his forehead and kissed him there, gently. She looked at his freckled face and spoke apologetically, “I’ll see you at the weekend my darling.”
“I don’t want to go Mum.” He said, looking straight into her big blue eyes.
“I know sweetheart. But once you get there, you’ll have so much fun. You won’t want to come home” she said.
He looked at her face, his eyes now pleading. She felt an ache in her chest and looked down and away at the green Persian carpet.
“Don’t send me away. Please. I promise to be good.”
“My sweet, sweet child. Your dad only wants what’s best for you. Let’s not keep him waiting in the car.”
She held his hand and walked him out into the sunny afternoon of that last Friday in August. The sun was keeping the car warm even though all the windows were open. The day looked like it ought to be a happy one.
It was never the same again.
Forty years later.
He wanted to come home for Christmas. The Government had locked everyone in their homes because of the bugs. He lived in the big smoky town full of bugs. She still lived in her lovely big house on the hill in the open, clean and green countryside.
“It’s not as bad as they make it out to be Mum. We are well and strong and so are you. Nothing will happen. Don’t worry.”
‘I do worry darling. Let’s meet once this season of calamity is over.’
“I would really like to spend Christmas with you.”
‘Yes. That would be nice but I am not sure. The government has not given permission yet.’
“They really should. If they don’t, that would be more of a political decision than a scientific one.”
‘The Government only wants what’s best for us. Let’s not disobey the rules.’