No two. Only one.

(Photo credit: Sangeeta Mahajan. Sunrise on the Nilgiris. Oct 2026)

Today has been the day of dragonflies, hundreds of them swooping down the hill, past me as I sit on my balcony gazing at the gorgeous blue mountains of South India in the gentle afternoon sun. I am at an Ayurvedic centre (Indian traditional medicine) situated in the most scenic part of Tamil Nadu, known to be inhabited since prehistoric times. I am here, resetting my system, reminding myself what a healthy daily routine looks like and in the process getting looked after with daily massages and freshly cooked meals.

Being here at present is serene, soulful, safe and sacred. Holding myself and my body with love and honour. Returning to myself afresh. Being still and silent. Smiling on the inside, singing on the outside. Who would’ve thought this possible, even for the briefest moment. Yes, tomorrow I might turn into a puddle on the floor but right now, I am okay and that is a blessing.

Every week we chant ancient Sanskrit mantras. This week we chanted a set of verses written by an eighth century sage, philosopher and teacher of Non-duality, Adi Shankara. When asked by a young boy, who are you? He responded:

“Neither am I the Mind, nor the Intelligence or Ego,
Neither am I the Ears, nor the Tongue, eyes or Nose,

Neither am I the Sky, nor the Earth, Neither the Fire nor the Air,
I am Pure Blissful Consciousness.

Neither am I the Breath, nor the Five Vital elements,
Neither am I the Body, nor its Five Sheaths,
Neither am I the organ of Speech, nor the Hands, nor Feet,

I am Pure Blissful Consciousness.

Neither am I Hatred, nor Attachment, Neither Greed nor Infatuation,
Neither am I Pride, nor of Envy and Jealousy,
I am Not within the bounds of Righteousness, Wealth, Desire nor Liberation,
I am the Ever-Pure Blissful Consciousness.

Neither am I bound by Merits nor Sins, neither by Joys nor Sorrows,
Neither am I bound by Sacred Hymns or Places, Scriptures or Sacrifices

I am neither Enjoyment, nor an object to be Enjoyed, nor the Enjoyer,
I am the Ever-Pure Blissful Consciousness.

Neither am I bound by Death and its Fear, nor by the rules of Caste and denominations,
Neither do I have Father and Mother, nor do I have Birth,
Neither do I have Relations nor Friends, neither Spiritual Teacher nor Disciple,
I am the Ever-Pure Blissful Consciousness.

I am without any Form or Variations,
I am Present Everywhere as the underlying Substratum of everything,
Neither do I get attached to anything, nor get freed from anything,
I am the Ever-Pure Blissful Consciousness.”

The meaning of these verses is not yet fully clear to me but it is comforting to know that you and I share our Being as the one and only one blissful consciousness. So, if there is One and only One, then could there be any space for separation. Could this felt sense of separation be a mere illusion? I wonder.

Resource: The essence of Non-duality: https://rupertspira.com/

Times six.

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Two summers ago, on a dry Saturday morning in London, Si and I set out for a walk. We headed to our local park, Streatham Common. As we took a turn into the Rookery, we noticed a young man sitting on the third step of the wide, well-trodden staircase descending towards the South-East. He held his bent head in both his hands.

An invitation.

I took a deep breath, softly stepped up to him with a ‘Hi. Good morning.’ He slowly raised his head and mirrored back my faint smile. None of our smiles reached our eyes. They were not real yet, only polite.

We got talking and forgot about the walking. Miles was in his late thirties, a father of two. He had been unable to work for a few months because of disabling symptoms that suggested something like Chronic Fatigue/ ME/ Long Covid. Of late his stress levels had rocketed as his employer had started suggesting ‘malingering’ in his letters. Even though his GP understood and validated his medical condition, his employer showed no understanding.

We gathered for coffee in the park on two more occasions that year. We enjoyed our chats, kept in touch and met up regularly even though not frequently. This year, he tells us he has been dismissed from his job after a “fair process” for “gross misconduct” for being physically and mentally unable to work. Gross misconduct includes physical violence, theft and fraud, intoxicated while at work and similar serious offences.

A study at King’s College London looked at the causes of death in 2000 patients with CFS/ME conducted over the years, 2007-2013. A total of 17 patients died in that period – eight died from cancer, five from suicide, and four from other causes. When compared to the general population, less than one suicide would be expected in a study population of this size. Yet five deaths by suicide were recorded. This means that, after controlling for age and other factors, the rate of deaths by suicide in this study was approximately six times higher in people with CFS than in the general population.

The reasons for this vulnerability are – poor quality of life with no hope for relief, loss of employment, finances, and/or relationships, chronic pain, secondary depression, and other associated mental and/or physical illnesses.

Miles felt he was losing his sense of self as a capable human being with integrity. People didn’t always believe or understand him. Maybe he is what they called him, a malingerer. This is hard on his family, but they support him all they can. The kids are delightful. He still has good days and bad, still has serious brain fog he cannot work through sometimes, still can’t do much but he tries his best. He carries a lot of shame for this thing that happened to him. He feels trapped.

No tests can prove his diagnosis. No definitive treatment is available yet.

Resource: Action for ME: https://www.actionforme.org.uk/

The garden

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No home to return to this time. A few months ago, we were feeling un-anchored while planning our upcoming summer-break in the UK. No home to return to this time.

I sat down, thinking, this was a chance to make a home in another part of the UK for a few weeks, wondering where that might be. By the sea. Somewhere quiet and quirky, not-too-long a train-ride from London. Devon! We’d spent a delightful few days with friends there last year. I looked up houses for short lets and a cabin appeared. It was available for the duration. It was solely solar powered with a good fridge-freezer and all amenities. Most of all it boasted of an array of outdoor spaces. The photographs were a feast. We booked it before it was taken. In our minds our holiday had begun.

On the day, our hosts were at the car park to receive us and help us with our luggage. They asked us if we knew the story of the garden on the clifftop, where our cabin was located. We didn’t.

Jason was an accomplished young geologist, working at a Diamond mine in Angola.

“On 8th November 1998, the Yetwene mine was attacked by rebels. Several of his colleagues were killed and Jason along with 3 expatriates and 5 Angolans were last seen being herded into the bush. For many years the families were led to believe their men folk were alive. What followed the disappearance of the men is a story still waiting to be told. When someone ‘disappears’ in such circumstances, it means there is no defined moment when ALL family members can accept the missing person IS dead. Each person comes to accept that inevitability at different times, in different ways – and even then, there can be an extended period of time when you believe he’s dead but hope he’s alive. Oscillating between those two states. He must be dead, but he may be alive!

When the hammer fell signalling this plot was now the Pope family’s – it was an emotional moment for Nev and Alan. Did it mean they both accepted their son was dead? (Sadly, the answer was “No”.)”

Of all the places we could’ve landed up in, we are here, in a memorial garden by the sea, with the family of a young man who did not come home, a family that actively sought answers, remembered and talked about things and lives that matter.

Can anyone claim to know which is worse?

Knowing your son is dead or not knowing if he is?

This question is invalid as no one can judge any loss as ‘good’, ‘better’ or ‘worse’. I cannot know how Nev felt then and how she feels now. She cannot know how I feel. Sometimes I can hardly identify my own feelings. How can I claim to know anything of others? No one can. It may be a good guess but only in the head. Not in the bones, the middle of the chest. Not in the experience of the drag of gravity.

This is a joyful garden of fragrant pink roses and hand-made big-eyed metallic spiders, massive and tiny, dotted around. It has a playful feel to it. It is clearly, all about love.

If the path of grief is a loving humbling pilgrimage, this is a perfect shelter along the way.

(Resource: Circle of Remembrance – peer-led support groups for bereaved parents)

Gifts of the season.

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The blustery wind is uprooting age-old trees. It’s making such a racket, I can’t hear anything else. The gust is roaring and the rain is pouring at sharp angles. Everything is soaked. The air is so heavy with moisture that every bit of fabric in the house is saturated with it. Invisible dampness pervades the kitchen towels, curtains and tablecloths. That laundry has been trying to dry itself on a stand, standing in the middle of our living room for the last four days and nights but it’s nowhere near dry yet. The pages of my books are swelling up as they become more and more damp. The incessant rhythm of banana and palm leaves fanning outside the window and the dance of the silver oaks permeate the milkiness of the cloud inside which we live. The clanging tempo of huge rain drops hitting clay roof-tiles makes it feel like a proper rock concert.

The water has pushed its way into the house. The wind has driven it in through the frame of the west-facing window of our bedroom. A thin line is streaming down the wall, starting at the lower end of the wooden slat that supports the south-facing roof. Most days we wake up to the surprise of little puddles on the floor.

This is normal. Our little rented cottage is unable to keep the monsoon out. Most other houses are the same. It’s to be expected. It’s familiar now. It makes me smile. So far, we’ve spent two months of two monsoons here. Despite the above gifts of this season, a deeper silence and stillness remain present within me. They’re also becoming very familiar.

Next week we fly to Heathrow. Wow! People everywhere. Again. Wonder what that’ll be like. I hope to carry a little box of silence and stillness with me so I can open it and smell these pleasant fragrances at will.

For now, I need to find a way to dry the laundry. I could iron these clothes, but the power supply is unavailable. The sun will be on holiday for at least three more months. I think the only way to dry them is for me to wear them and let them dry on me before packing them up.

What’s been good?

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(Canna indica – grows wild by the roadside everywhere in Sakleshpur)

What’s been good?

It’s healthy to ask this of oneself – what’s been good? Not with the aim to overlook or deny what’s not been good or run away from it. Simply to acknowledge the things that have felt and still feel positive, no matter how tiny. The good and the not-so-good coexist but the mind tends to focus and fixate on what we resist which often falls in the latter category. This is a great way to redirect the mind and train it to pick up on the good, one little thing at a time.

Here’s my list from the last few days:

An unexpected packet of 100% Cacao powder showed up in the kitchen cupboard. The previous packet had finished. So, yay!!! This kind of a thing is a special blessing when you live at the back of the back-of-the-beyond and the nearest proper confectionery is a five-hour drive away.
Our neighbour sent across the freshest, sweetest pineapple from their garden.
For the last 24 hours we’ve had no electrical supply (normal) but our inverter worked beautifully, which meant we didn’t spend last evening in darkness.
Mangoes are in season!!! Need I say more?
The long-awaited monsoon is here. The farmers are happy and the temperature has dropped to a very comfy range.
Our landlord was clearing up his Heliconia bed and offered us 35 root balls!
There was a break in the rain this morning and I could squeeze a nice little walk in the coffee plantation where I saw the tiniest yellowest butterfly flitting past.
The breeze was cool and refreshing.
Most of the shoots of the Jade-plant that I was trying to propagate have taken root.
Playing rummy with friends yesterday, I surprised myself by closing two hands that were utterly hopeless to start with.
When I returned from my walk and opened the fridge, it lit up. The electricity was back.

How does this list help?

It shows us our resourcefulness in the middle of chaos. Helpful and friendly neighbours, ability to enjoy food and be creative, prioritise physical health, ability to feel relaxed and connected with nature, be joyful and have a sense of achievement – all the things that we can easily take for granted.

So, what’s been good in the last week for you?