The Month Of Ramayana!

Today, is July 16th and the month of Ramayana begins!....In Kerala it is the month of heavy down pour ! Nature pours down its purging waters , and people of Kerala wash down their impurities with Ayurvedic Sukha chikilsas( full body treatments), coupled with intake of food apt for the purgatory process(karkidaka kangi).They squat before the lighted lamp and read or listen to Ramayana(aayana or journey through Rama's life).

Ramayana

Ramayana, the literary masterpiece of Valmiki is an epic poem, which reflects Indian ethos and values. This allegory not only quenches the spiritual thirst of the inquisitive listener but also the imaginative elevations of a curious child. Ramayana, portrays the divine birth, extraordinary childhood, exciting adolescence , and spiritual maturity of Rama the hero. It represents a story line where good triumphs evil, love triumphs lust, where virtue triumphs vice! Ramayana is not only the story of Treta yuga, it is also the story of Kali yuga. In Rramayana, there is war, battlefield, defeat and victory! the same strife, the same war, the same struggle is manifested in our inner world.... the Ravana in us alive.....we need to call upon the Rama in us to rescue us from this battlefield and mark victory ...: lead our path towards better evolution!

Author

Valmiki , who authored Ramayana was said to be a great enlightened sage. He was not a born saint , nor was he born into a family of saints. He was an arrogant, ignorant hunter, who lived with his family in a forest and hunted and robbed for his livelihood. Once he aimed his arrow at a pair of birds... A great sage witnessed this and asked him , the reason for committing this sacrilege.... and warned him of the consequences! The hunter was confident that what ever he has to bear in his life for his sins, he will always have his family by his side! Back home, he realized that he will always have to suffer alone, when his family backed up from sharing the fate of his deeds! Realization dawned on him ... he badly needed to come out of this life's maze. He ran back to the sage and surrendered at his feet. The sage asked the hunter to sit in between two trees and just chant...aa maram(that tree) ee maram(this tree)....He sat as per the sage's directions and chanted aa maram eemaram .... for a very long time .. which eventually became rama rama rama rama....He was enlightened.....this was the power of rama mantra!(chants which take you beyond your "man" or mind).

Memories

I was first introduced to the rama mantra by my Appa(father).When I was fascinated by my own hand writing, when I began to hold my pencil right and drew alphabets on paper.....Appa introduced a routine for my brother and me. After our regular chores in the morning we were supposed to write down one page of rama mantra. I still remember chanting Sree ram Jai Ram JAI JAI RAM and writing it down in a book.The enthusiasm of writing actually sprung from the innate competitive spirit to outdo your sibling! My Appa still keeps our books. This helped us in improving our hand writing and also introducing us into mantra japa without our own realization.

I also remember waiting for Sunday mornings during my school days, so that I could watch the Ramayana story telecast on Television.

Later RAMAYANA came alive to me through the dance sequences taught by my mother.The literary magnum opus found expressions in dance and music , creating Rasa! I was awe struck by the dance potrayal of Ramayana by my Guru Dr. Padma Subramaniam.She lived Ramayana in her Ramayatubyam namaha!, where audience were enthralled and glued to their seats,and elevated to ecstatic states!

For the past few years I have been regularly reading Ramayana , during this month . This year I left my copy of Ramayana back in India. But I have started a story session with my kids , every morning, much to their excitement.
Sri ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram !.....as this mantra echoes in me ... it also enlivens sweet childhood memories!

A small victory!

My childhood days were spent in and around a small township.The township had a hospital, where I was born; good schools where I did my schooling; temples adjacent to our school where we used to bribe God for our tests and exams and also for the tasty prasad of bananas sliced into small triangles and sprinkled with sugar.Our township had small shops where we could purchase all necessary groceries and vegetables, and one Martin's barbershop, where customers queued up for their turn of haircut and to hear Martin's interesting stories.Rather than taking me to a beauty parlor, I was often taken to Martin for trimming my hair, and I used to enjoy his pamperings as a child. After nearly 25 years, still my father has his hair cut by Martin and whenever I go home, my father takes my son to Martin's barber shop, where he still pursues his job with the same old enthusiasm.

I am not going to write on Martin and his hair cutting techniques...... ; I was just trying to fly back in time and pay my obeisance to my Guru MARTIN!
It was in Japan , when I first tried my hand at this art.I do not have any formal training in this arena, but my regular visits to Martin's barbershop would have surely stimulated the artistic expressions in my fingers! Language was always a big hurdle we had to face in Japan.Though I picked up the basics of the language necessary for my survival, initially even the mere task of shopping was Herculean task.After facing umpteen number of embarrassing situations, Our whole team rather preferred to have long hair rather than approach a hair cutting saloon.

I was impressed when one of my Japanese students ,Nishijima San told that she herself cuts her husband's and children's hair.All our team members including my husband PP were now slowly transforming into Neolithic Homo Sapiens with enough hair to put two tiny ponies!This was when I first armed myself with scissors and comb and cajoled my husband into agreeing to be my guinea pig! (privilege of the newly wed)!. I inwardly saluted my guru , and started to cut in all directions...My hands just moved according to my imagination....After the job was done I knew it was not perfect... but PP gave me a satisfying smile...( you know why? ... he could only see his front cut... if he dared to see his back cut: but he was least bothered.....)

This was my strength ! With each haircut I learned a few tactics and techniques...Today I manage to give a decent haircut to PP and my two boys....And also save $35 on the 3 haircuts! .... I rejoice in this small victory!

Enjoy this virtual haircut (hat tip to Mishmash). Do use your head phones for a good laugh!

Once upon a time.........

Once upon a time, there was a tall strong tree which majestically ornamented a garden. A new leaf with pastel shade of green sprouted on one of its branches. As time flew the baby leaf acquired new shades of green and expanded in width. The leaf started feeling a new sense of pride. It thoroughly enjoyed the golden radiance of the Sun during day and the silvery reflections of the moon at night.

One day it looked around and found one of his earlier companions who was slowly changing color. This increased its sense of pride. It grabbed the opportunity of showing off it's might and looking down upon the sad plight of its yellow companion. The yellow leaf only smiled in return. Days passed, the yellow leaf again transformed into brown, life almost drained from its veins, a mild breeze finally pinched it away from its parent, and there it lay, merging with the brown earth. Now the green leaf which was brimming with life energy and sarcastic laughter, slowly started changing too. Its once charm and beauty began to fade.Green turned to pale yellow to brown.Once again blew the wind, and the leaf could no longer fight back. It also embraced the path of its companion.Yes! when the brown leaf falls let not the green one laugh!

Does not this tree unfold our own story? At the prime of our youth, when the fluids in our body are meandering in its right course, with all its might and vigor, we tend to believe that, this is how we will be for ever. When we are still young we take our parents for granted, unmindful of their sacrifices. Only when we step into their shoes do we realize what they had once gone through. Yes, today I am able to understand my parents more! The expectations and hopes they had built on us. It also makes me pause a while .....and think/feel about the years ahead.......the twilight years!

Have you ever glanced at the twilight sky.....still sheltering the shades of the disappearing sun, the hues still reflecting the silent rays, not of warmth but of calm? Does not this sky unfold our own story?

Have you ever tried to capture the depths of the ocean? Its vastness, its depth, its ebbs and tides? Does not this sea unfold our own story? Swimming through the ocean of life, with tired limbs and weak body , can they find floats? A small touch, an understanding glance,a few loving words and a small amount of our time......these can be perfect floats!

Let us learn from the green leaf, and the vast sky which holds hands with the deep ocean! Let us not laugh at the brown leaf, but rather offer companionship. Let us not look down at the tired swimmers, but rather provide support. Let us remember that we reap what we sow..... but many times over!

A secret formula!!

An instant rewiring occurs in your cerebrum and within no time your priorities change, your attitude changes. The only thing that is permanent in life is change! Yes, when one takes a leap into motherhood,what occurs is a metamorphosis. One sheds the layers of youth and finds oneself suddenly embraced in the new layer of womanhood.Those thoughts which once diverged to your likes, dislikes, your passions , pursuits , your hobbies , jobs ... all now seem to converge at one core, your child.

My passions and interests blurred away into the unseen past, as I cloistered happily into the innocent warmth of my baby. His smile, giggles and baby talk filled up my whole space and time. I was away from my home land, in a new environment , surrounded by a new culture. I was not woken up by the bicycle bells of the milkman or paperwala, or by the spluttering sound of the mustard seeds in hot oil accompanied by the aroma from the kitchen. As I peered down from our eighth floor balcony all I could see was people rushing for their jobs and kids rushing to school. My husband too had to rush early to his office. But I never felt lonely, I was charmed by the unearthly beauty and love that sparkled from my baby.

When he was 4 months he turned over on his tummy gleaming with pride at his new achievement, on his new world view; at five he managed to sit upright, not yet mobile, still unable to explore new horizons.Whenever I turned on my music system ,I noticed his head and tiny hands keeping in rhythm with the music. I was excited, and in order to amuse him started to dance with the music. Like a doll which responds with the turn of a key, he would blush with peels of laughter which automatically was reflected on my face too! I wanted to amuse him more, and one day took out my precious dancing bells (Chilanka), which I had not used since I conceived. This time I had a dance music on and danced with my dancing bells, and to my amazement I found my only audience sit upright and clap his hands with a toothless smile.

I was possessed by an intense desire to perform. But circumstances were different now. I was not in India where there was more exposure and oppurtunuties for my art.Here I had a wonderful audience, my baby who never hesitated in applauding and appreciating my every move and turn. Keeping my desire burning within I danced everyday before, the best audience ever, satisfied after every performance.

Days passed, my baby was fully accustomed to every step I took and every expression that came along. One day, my husband announced the 30th Anniversary of FORD in Taiwan (Ford was a client of my husband's company) and proudly said that I was asked to perform Indian dance. The secret formula had worked once again for me. A formula???

yes! I know formula that has worked wonders for me....

"Desire + Effort = Grace" You should have a strong desire and should put in your maximum effort, you can harvest miraculous results!

I danced for the anniversary celebrations before a huge audience, but my precious little one was enjoying every move from the front row in his father's lap, applauding and smiling his toothless smile!

The Art of Listening

"All the world is a stage, all men and women merely players, each has his exits and entrances......" truth echoed in the words of author- philosopher William Shakespeare.

All of us are playing our respective roles thus unwinding the tapestry of human life. Born with innate artistic tendencies, the whole life is welcoming us to unlock our inbuilt faculties, prompting us to deliver our monologues,our dialogues and soliloquies, clothing us with our costumes ,guiding us through diverse acts and scenes from prologues to epilogues!

Our first stage,that of a new born baby, untainted by the games of the mind, our art flourishes in full bloom. It is a stage which reflects our true and pure nature, when we can smile, a half moon smile in wrinkles of sleep without any particular reason; a stage when we can listen to the drama around with our whole being , unperturbed by its sounds and furies.Then as a child, still upholding shades of innocence, we plunge on to a deep search, our tiny eyes deciphering every twist and turn, unable to comprehend everything around. We are now transformed into a curious listener, listening with rapt attention to the various stories that unveil the undiscovered and untrodden roads ahead.The gates of adolescence invites us to a maze of mirrors, where we stumble and dash upon our own reflections , confused ,frustrated , puzzled , trying to fix the missing jigsaws. Fully surrendered to the power of the mind, now we are audience to only our own mind drawn conclusions. Surviving the maze now, an adult, a victim of worries and anxieties which wring your neck with spondylitis, a slave of a mind created world. Twilight years, which promised peace and relaxation have left you weak, dragging you back to the immobility of childhood yet unable to smile, the untainted smile of your true self.

The art of listening, an inherent trait in us gets buried and fossilised under the mantle of life. When we listen to someone, we no longer listen to them but only to our own judgements and prejudices which is non stop played in us. We might be physically present, but our thoughts have taken us else where.I remember sitting in my physics class, staring at my teacher but mentally in an Utopian world.

The art of listening also reminds me of an episode in the Indian epic, Mahabaratha. The warrior hero Arjuna is chatting with his pregnant wife Subhadra, speaking to her about certain war strategies he has mastered. Surrounded my enemies from all sides, Arjuna seems to be the only one who could penetrate and successfully exit from the army formation known as
"Chakravyuha". His wife dozes off to sleep, but the unborn baby in her womb is still awake intently listening to his father's interesting stories.When Arjuna finds his wife fast asleep he stops midway and his unborn son, Abhimanyu, is unable to grasp this special technique fully. Abhimanyu turns out to be a great warrior like his father, and in the battle of Kurukshetra,
he is able to enter into this Chakravyuha formation, the result of his listening to his father from his mother's womb. As he was unable to listen to the whole story due to his mother's sleep, he was handicapped in releasing himself successfully from the formation in the battle field and embraces death with honor.

The greatest gift we can give someone is to listen. Let us cultivate this art. When we listen, let us do so with our full being, only then arises true communication. It is not only a gift to others but also a gift to ourselves. I have not yet mastered this art, but I'm sure that it can enhance and enrich the quality of life. So lets practice the art of listening and master the art of living.

Tea Ceremony!

When ever I hear the word "tea" , there is an incident that comes flashing to my mind, and the thought of it makes me smile. Let me narrate it to you.

It was a very busy day. My father was ironing my costumes for the day, my mother hurrying over the eleventh hour preparation of the lec-dem she was about to deliver, and I was busy in front of the mirror , dressing up for the dance performance. My brother had to shoulder the responsibility of tidying up and give an appealing touch to our front room , for we were expecting a guest. He would be here any moment. He r he would have secretly appreciated the tea making abilities of his school going son.

Meanwhile Amma was ready and rushed to the kitchen to get a sip of the remaining hot tea, for she was having sore throat. I could see her gargling intermittently in the morning with hot salt water. She had to give a long lecture in front of a crowd ,
and she always relied on home remedies.As soon as I saw her taking her sip of the tea, she involuntarily spat it into the kitchen sink, her face filled with a strange expression, something nearing the "bheebhalsa rasa" ! I ran to her, worried
witnessing her strange behavior.
Amma was shouting at my brother, "Did you serve this tea to our guest ?". My brother nodded a yes .
"You made tea with the water I had heated up for gargling! It was loaded with salt , Oh! my GOD! how could we serve it to our guest? " she gasped.
His asking for water and his strange inquiries regarding tea drinking in our community did have a meaning! He had courteously finished his salt ginger tea , suppressing his natural facial expressions.
When my mother explained to him what had happened and mumbled her apologies he just replied, " I'll never forget this meeting!"

This was an incident which took place nearly 15 years ago. But how could one forget such an incident.
I wondered what tea I would be served,as I was on my way to Kajiyoshi San's house. I was invited by this gentleman,whom I greatly admired, to his house for a tea ceremony.Tea ceremony was an entirely new experience for me.

Kajiyoshi San and his wife Sadami San , welcomed me to their house , which reflected their aesthetic sense and love for Nature. As soon as I entered their house Sadami San directed me to a small water fountain they had fixed at their entrance where I was asked to wash my hands and face with a bamboo laddle.The cool flowing water was energizing and revitalizing. I was directed to a room which was sparsely furnished , but had something in it to elevate one's spirits.The room was a tatami room, the floor spread with reed mats.

There was antique pottery and unique calligraphy,and a humbleness and simplicity about the whole ambiance.


The tea ceremony first began in Buddhist monasteries and was known for its medicinal values.The monks had the tea made of bitter powdered tea leaves to keep themselves awake during meditation.The coming of Zen Buddhism , made it more popular. It was called " Chado or Sado".This tea ceremony lasted for 4 hours.The host would go through the detailed preparation of tea , giving emphasis to each an every movement. There was a perfect unison of the body , mind and spirit during this ceremony.It reflected Japanese spiritual tradition and culture.The guests will be first served a sweet, which should be eaten sitting in "vajrasana" on the tatami mat.Then the guest will be served the first serving of thick brewed tea.There are rules to be followed here too. The guest lifts up the fine work of pottery which holds the tea ,asking permission from the person seated at his left , whether he can have it.Carefully turning the front of the bowl , to face him he can sip the tea.He should now wipe the place where he had sipped with the small finger of his right hand. Then placing the bowl in front , now the bowl facing away from him, with his elbows on the knees one should appreciate the art work on the pottery.The bowl now is passed to the person sitting on the left.The second serving is a dilute version of the tea.The whole process is like a meditation which flows in a very soothing and slow motion.It is practiced as an entertainment for spiritual upliftment.It is a process where you are taught to think of others first.I went through this whole process , thoroughly enjoying every moment.At the end of four hours I was feeling lighter and purged.
I am grateful to Kajiyoshi San and his wife Sadami San for giving this taste of Japanese culture .
I too mumbled the words with a bow as I said oyasu minasai (good night) to my friends," I'll never forget this meeting!"......

God is still working on her!!

As the Macro cosmic Omnipresence rejuvenates into the microcosmic creations ,
as Nature replays itself in its myriad forms,
as the first ever flower receives its first sunshine and enlightens the plant,
as the first reptile soars up in the sky freeing itself from the fetters of the gravitational pull tasting freedom,
as the carbon transforms into a diamond, the precious gem:
Consciousness unravels itself !!!

While Nature is still at its play creating and recreating , its flora , its fauna and its infinite variety of creatures,we do fumble upon mutations. Yes,mutations,that are still full of Nature`s artistry yet having a pronounced difference. Yes,different in form but still an embodiment and expression of Nature. Yes,different because of a surplus or lack of the building block,the chromosome.

Let me share with you this real life story of a gift of Nature,who is different and who is special. I am fortunate to have her as my dear cousin. I still remember the day she was born, when my uncle walked into our house with a beaming face of a proud father. I remember peering into her tiny little eyes, when I was a little scared yet wanting to hold her feather like body. She grew up in a warm atmosphere surrounded by love and affection. Her tiny legs refused to take her first step even at the age of three,her mouth unable to produce audible meaningful sounds! I witnessed the silent pain endured by her parents and the whole family .... They were unable to accept that they were blessed with a special bud, which will also bloom in its own special way. She was diagnosed by doctors of various disciplines, and she also accepted alternative therapies.... She slowly started to walk,started to talk....
I still remember clearly,the way she snuggled in my lap and stared at my face trying to decipher the sounds that I produced ...the way she swayed her body to any melodious music!

But time passed,she grew into adulthood, yet untouched by its complexities. Those legs which once refused to walk slowly took rhythmic steps of classical dance. The perfection and grace she rendered would not be measured according to regular standards , but still she danced,she danced before audiences without inhibitions. Her in born talents today unravel when she cooks,stitches ,memorizes phone numbers!

The child in her still alive : still frustrated on missing out something about the adult hood,She is God's rare creation, He still working on her. Don't we also yearn for the innocence and heart of a child,faded away or buried in our process of attaining maturity? Like the consciousness which is ever flowing in all the
creations, in you and in me and in all that we see around,the same inherent consciousness is latent in my cousin and all the special gifts of Nature too. Let us not read each others labels but rather look beyond it,to read something divine and sublime , reflections of our own consciousness.

Watch this performance she gave at the annual celebrations of her alma mater swabodhini, school for special kids !