71 years ago a random line was drawn across the map of our country by a historical giant who sat thousands of miles away from us and felt compelled to make a decision in a hurry. Not surprisingly, it was a bad decision that left a huge gash on the chest of Mother Earth that still bleeds. That historical icon didn’t care who we were, whether we were Indian or Pakistani, whether we were dead or alive. He is dead and gone but still winning. Let us not let him win. This is a new world. We can change history.
Open your eyes and see. We are one.
Look at us. We look the same. We speak the same language. We share the same mountains and rivers, the same sky, sun and moon. We share the same songs and stories. We are crazy about Amitabh Bachan and Rahat Fateh Ali Khan. Our TV serials echo the same stories to each other. Our women are the most beautiful in the world. We love to sing and dance and celebrate our families. We work hard and love whole- heartedly. Don’t let the demons of hatred devour us.
Open your eyes and see. We are one.
The dust of our lands has the same heavenly fragrance. The people want to live peacefully and want a good education for their kids. The world recognises us as peacemakers, awarding the Nobel Prize for Peace in 2014 jointly to Malala from Pakistan and Kailash from India. We share our passion for cricket and produce the best cricketers in the world. We share the same spices and laugh at the same things. We are home to the oldest Universities in the world. We are an ancient and wise civilization. Let us play music and cricket together, not war.
Open your eyes and see. We are one.
There is enough pain in the world already. Please don’t create more. Please don’t. Please. Wake up and hunt out the arsonists who light sparks and entertain themselves by making destructive fires. Weed them out from the root and remember, that line which was drawn 71 years ago was artificial. Let’s keep it that way. Let’s not honour it any more with the blood of innocents. Don’t listen to war-mongers.
It’s not a tranquil lake. It’s a torrential flash flood and it’s fast approaching. It’s coming towards me and I am putting up a big fight but not winning. I am being pushed towards it by the boulder of time. Another turn of the wheel. The approach is a rough zig-zag path with exhausting ups and 3G downs, jagged corners and innumerable pot-holes. It goes thud-thud-thud. My brain hits the hard inside of my skull multiple times as it comes closer and closer. Am I going to hold my breath when it happens? Am I going to be submerged for longer than I can hold on? I don’t know how to swim and my limbs are pathetic. What am I going to do when it hits?
6th May 2018
It’s here – the 24th birthday of a man-child who didn’t reach his 21st. It’s a blessed day. A happy day. But it doesn’t feel that way. A painfully long weekend filled with his absence. A trip to the local park. An ice-lolly. Carrying his djembe around in the sun like a mad woman as if it’s my baby. Baking raspberry, pistachio and chocolate brownies. Holding back tears all day. Being with ‘it is like this’. A visitor. A long evening. A nice meal. An enormous hole. Massive nothingness – a vacuum that my love wants to get into but there is no way in or out. It’s sealed like a submarine. Not a drop of water or a molecule of love can enter or leave. The void sits in the middle of my living room. My life. Starving my love of all expression. Suffocating me.
7th May 2018
It came and went. I lived. But I am not getting anywhere. I want to be someone I am not while accepting everything as it is. How can these two positions be compatible? It’s like being night and day at the same time. Not dusk or dawn – they are too serene. Do I have a realistic hope of ever getting there or am I delusional?
Does unconditional peace exist? Apparently, some folks have experienced it. I have too, for brief snatches of time. To have it as a native state of being – unblemished, pure and vast consciousness. It seems unachievable. But they say it’s possible. May be. Some day…
This forgotten book-mark in a book being revisited after two years is an origami crane – a symbol of healing in Japan. A school kid had given it to me at Hiroshima as a token of gratitude for helping him practise his spoken English.
Paper folding started in China in the first century and reached Japan in the 6th century. Here it was cultivated as an art of understatement. Origami suggests. It implies without announcing outright. It intimates without brashness. In Japanese folklore, a crane is fabled to live for a thousand years and is held in high esteem. It is believed that folding 1000 paper cranes brings the folder’s wishes come true.
A young girl called Sadako Sasaki survived the Hiroshima bomb when she was only two years old. Less than 10 years later she was diagnosed with leukemia, a cancer of the bone marrow. The disease progressed rapidly and the prognosis was not good. She set out to make a thousand paper cranes. She could complete 644 before she died on Oct. 25, 1955, less than a year after being diagnosed. Her classmates, family and friends made more to bring them up to 1000 and buried them with Sadako.
Her story captured the imagination of the country and the world. Today, we recognize the crane as a symbol of peace and hope.
“She let out both the pain of our parents and her own suffering with each crane.”
“Her death gave us a big goal. Small peace is so important with compassion and delicacy it will become big like a ripple effect. She showed us how to do it. It is my, and the Sasaki family’s responsibility to tell her story to the world. I believe if you don’t create a small peace, you can’t create a bigger peace. I like to gather those good wishes and good will and spread to the world,” said Masahiro, her brother.
Left the massive, fire-walled monster of a building, feeling as tired as a rag. Stood on the covered walkway looking at vertical lines of water heavily following gravity, falling like a velvet curtain, making the darkness darker. Couldn’t gather enough courage to step into it. No rush. No one waiting at home. Cold hands in pockets, frozen tips of noses and ear-lobes. Cool, moisture-laden air flooding the balloon-bags in the chest and leaving with a tiny bit of fatigue. Even though the jungle is concrete, it offers some respite.
While I stand at the edge of this temperate downpour, tiny deflected reflected droplets find my face and keep me awake. The noisy business of clanking rain adds to the drama.
Over the next few minutes the drops become grainy. Splat! They shatter on flat surfaces of windscreens and pavements, leaving a little residue, a trace of things to come.
The noise suddenly vanishes, as if the conductor of an orchestra has indicated a pause. The air changes form. Little white flakes completely defy gravity and dance gracefully in all directions, seemingly weightless. The darkness lifts into soundless brilliance. Streetlights exaggerate these elegant movements. I bounce onto the road and walk under this light white flurry. My feet land on softness. The whiteness starts to make little homes on hedges, fences and chimneys. I am transported into a world of lightness and joy.
May God make your year a happy one!
Not be shielding you from all sorrows and pain,
But by strengthening you to bear it as it comes;
Not be making your path easy,
But by making you sturdy to travel any path;
Not by taking hardships from you,
But by taking fear from your heart;
Not by granting you unbroken sunshine,
But by keeping your face bright,
Even in the shadows
Not by making your life always pleasant,
But by showing you
When people and their causes need you most,
And by making you anxious to be there to help.
God’s love, peace, hope and joy to you
For the year ahead.
Everyday presents opportunities for change but the very last day of the year makes me think harder about them. What do I want to change? Stop? Start? Improve? Loose?
All these come from a place of non-acceptance. I would like to be in a state of acceptance, starting with myself. I am fine. I give myself permission to be as quirky, kind, silly, funny, generous, happy, spontaneous, sorrowful as I like, as long as I am authentic. Completely and unapologetically true to myself, irrespective of what anyone else thinks. There is only one of me. I embrace all aspects of myself, knowing that I am the best version of myself at this moment in time.
It’s fear that stops us being ourselves, mostly fear of rejection. If I never reject myself, no one else’s rejection would matter. If I proudly stick with who I really am, I can’t go wrong.
I honour all I have been through and all those who have helped me. Despite everything, life is good. It is full of love and blessings. I have the perfect role model. Someone who has never been afraid to express himself fully and be his wonderful self, spreading joy!
We wish you a peaceful 2017! May you unwrap your wonderfulness and spread bliss! xxx