Guru Ladho Rey

I cannot count the number of times I have been told that sakhi about Makhan Syah Lubhana and his ship in troubled waters. The One Where He Finds The Guru.

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When I was younger, that sakhi was just another one of those feel good stories I heard, about how our beloved Makhan Syah the merchant was losing hope in stormy waters, and turned to the Guru with a prayer and a promise of 500 gold coins, the Guru saved him, and then Makhan Syah went round Baba Bekala dropping gold coins at the feet of holy men until he was caught out by the real Guru, and the story ends with him running to the rooftops, jumping with joy, and singing “I’ve found the Guru! I’ve found the Guru!”

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And the Sikhs were overjoyed, and we joined him, and we threw a big party. It may not say that in the history books, but I bet you we did – this was as good a cause for celebration as any. If in doubt, keep reading.

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Back to the point. It used to just be another feel good story. Another one of Guru’s wonderful miracles. We don’t think of it as much more than that.

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Historical accounts don’t press the point either. When Chapter 8 on Guru Har Krishan ends, with Him being overwhelmed by the disease He took upon Himself to save a city from the clutches of Yama, we just turn the page, and there is Makhan Syah, waiting for us in Chapter 9, so that he can get going on his merchant ship.

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Just like that. Turn the page, and the story continues.

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Not for me, not anymore. I heard the story again today, just as I wrote it above. The page turned quickly when he told it too. But today, for some reason today, my heart stopped. I couldn’t bring myself to listen to the next chapter, because my ears were drowned out by the silence my spirit felt.

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There was a time, one excruciating time, when we didn’t know who our Guru was.

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Suddenly the strings were cut, and there was nothing to hold on to. Who did we turn to with our hopes and prayers? Who blessed and held us? Whose home did we flock to at all hours of day and night, just to sit in His aura?

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We were lost, fatherless, guideless, lost, lost.

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I thought I knew the meaning of loneliness. But then in that one instant I was so alone that the earth vanished and I was alone in an empty galaxy, floating, drifting, unanchored.

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Where was my Guru? I could not see Him, and I was lost.

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So rewind. Before the dancing on the rooftops, before the storm settled, before Makhan Syah even set sail. Rewind, rewind.

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Go back to that place, kneeling by Har Krishan’s side, clutching his tiny robes, helplessly lost as His last breath leaves His lips. Feel that despair. Who do you turn to now? Which way to look? Where to seek solace?

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Remember. This was a time before our Holy Guru Granth, Light of the Universe. It was a time when the only Guru we knew was in physical form. Today I would have gone to a Gurdwara and crumbled at the feet on my Guru, hands raised, pleading for my Perfect Jyot to carry me home. But on that day, all I could do was to let a wave of loneliness flood into my being.

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Gu-Ru. My Light in darkness. But I cannot see it anywhere, and no one can guide me to it. I feel the burden of a thousand empty souls, wandering, aimless, directionless, wandering, wandering.

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And I ask this: Why are there no pages in between Chapters 8 and 9? If I were the author I would leave 5, no 10, no 1 lakh empty pages in between. Blank, without a single word in them. For there is nothing to say when all that exists around you is emptiness.

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How many days lay in between? How silent was the wind? Did the trees know that on the earth wandered a homeless people? Did the rivers echo the sorrowful murmurs of our hearts? Where was my North Star on those nights?

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My soul roams, helpless, unanchored. In agony, in anguish, searching for that Light. Where is it? How do I keep my faith without You there to guide me?

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How many days must I walk, like a lost boy in a children’s fairy tale?

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A flower does not comfort, a child’s laugh does not comfort, a full harvest does not comfort. Emptiness.

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Spare me this separation, for it tears at me so unforgivingly.

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My 1 lakh pages do not seem to end. They stretch on into oblivion. When there is no Light, I cannot see the end of the tunnel. Darkness envelopes me and pulls me into a black hole.

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Oh, but what is that sweet, sweet sound? Who is that I hear?

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Guru Ladho Rey, Guru Ladho Rey.

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I have found Him, I have found our Guru.

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http://www.flickr.com/photos/papalars/691515009/

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A hundred glowing moons. A thousand splendid suns. Blinding Light, North Star, Rainbow.

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And there is the sound of us chaining ourselves to our Guru, never to be unbound again.

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And there is the sound of our anchor sinking in the Guru’s vast ocean of Light, never to drift again.

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May that knot never fray. May that anchor never be unmoored.

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Are you still wondering if we threw a party on that fateful day?

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I only wish I had been there.

Stratford-upon-Avon

A friend and I have been planning for a bunch of us randoms to go away for a weekend at a cottage in Stratford-upon-Avon. Even though the idea is to just to relax and not do much, there is still lots of groundwork - like finding the right cottage at the right location, possibly renting a car, sorting out the food and finding ways to keep ourselves occupied (contrary to public belief, girls don't just sit around painting each others nails when they go away)... Over the last few days, we've had tonnes of emails flying back and forth to get all the details sorted.

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If you thought this post was going to be about how we planned the trip, you are very much mistaken :) Instead, I'm out to prove that this blog is not only a place for me to ponder about life's serious questions, but also to celebrate a jug full of silliness when it presents itself!

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Some text has been ammended to protect the identity of the other individual (it does get quite silly!), but it's largely all there!

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This is how it all started:

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saya guna imaginasi dan saya jumpa ini:

http://www.luxurylifestylelodges.co.uk/index.htm

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Ade music lagi doh!!!! LOL

Eh cun la... ade sungai, ade itik.. kau nak ape lagi? :D

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lol saya take dengar music, saya punya pc saya suruh diam jadi kalau ade orang hantar alamat untuk laman yr doji-doji dan bising-bising tak-de la bunyi!

asalkan ade sungai, ade itik, tak payah apa-apa lagi!!

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siape la kawan u yang hantar alamat ke laman yang doji-doji (seriously woman, doji-doji?? :p)

pc saya pun biasanya diam-diam je.. tapi boleh pasang headphone le... :)

tapi takde monyet la.. u tau la I kalau cuti takde monyet tak sedap tau!

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eh monyet yang macam mana? 6 kaki, pakai turban dengan skirt orang skot?

kalau nak sembunyi-sembunyi dan seronok-seronok, jangan bising ya!

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eleh eleh.. cakap aku pulak.. siape yg pegi laman doji tu? bukan i......

Hmm tapi kalau ade orang skot 6 kaki, takkan nak cakap no pulak :) eh die ade kuda dgn crossbow tak? kalau ade, set la aku ni!

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siapa yang hantar laman doji tu, huh? huh?

eh awak ni, orang bagi enam kaki awak ambik enam kaki tambah kuda tambah anak panah tambah busur panah tambah kuda tambah itik tambah ayam......untuk apa? awak-kan vegetarian?

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I gelak terkekek-kekek sampai terhikup-hikup!! pakcik sebelah aku pandang semacam pulak haha

Eh keje aku kan suka tambah-tambah - lagi banyak lagi bagus la. U kan tau aku punye retirement plan nak buka satu kebun kat kampung... memang sesuai tau.. nanti pak skot aku (name dia mcdonald la, ape lagi) dgn i nyanyi lagu old mcdonald ade sebuah kebun, iya-iya-yo

u ingat ape.. i merepek je ke? ni semua dah ade dalam aku punye plan tau! kalau tak caya i hantar lagi satu kain-sebar excel bagi kau tengok

glosari: kain sebar = spreadsheet

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eh ronald takde masa nak nyanyi lagu "iya-iya-yo" di kebun, dia kena pergi jaga kedai gerbang emas

ehhh tak payah hantar kain sebar, saya sudah cukup takut nak bawa awak ke rumah yang ada sungai dan itik nanti itik dan sungai pun dia kodkan dengan warna dan tanda semak!

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u jgn melebih-lebih ah.... saja je nak tuduh ronald aku buat bukan-bukan kat kedai dia tu... nanti aku cari ibu panah dia, ade spesial baru dalam menu dia nanti: ex-kawan-kawan ronald.

eh by the way i nak tanye.. u guna kamus yg mane ah... jgn nak tipu... i tau bm kau takde la canggih sangat... i guna http://pgoh13.free.fr/english_malay_dictionary.php... takde la bes sangat.. tapi cukupla kalau nak berborak dgn u... kalau cari kamus yg dahsyat nanti kau tak paham pulak!

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And so on….. But I think I'll cap it here while you still think we have some sense... or have we lost you already? :p

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As you can imagine, we've have been so busy trying to outdo each others Malay skills that we got a little sidetracked and the details of the trip still need some ironing out!

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Now if only the actual trip will be as much fun.... :)

The Pi of Life

A few years ago, a Canadian writer by the name of Yann Martel wrote a book called the Life of Pi. It is a fascinating book that starts off in the former French colony of Pondicherry in India, where a little boy named after a swimming pool has his life thrown out of balance as the Pondicherry Zoo is closed down, and within a few pages he finds himself on a little boat in the Pacific with a hyena, zebra and of course, Richard Parker, the Bengal tiger that accompanies him all the way to... hmm maybe I won't give everything away and let you discover that for yourself. I'm not even sure why I brought it up. After all, this post has nothing to do with that young boy named Pi. Nothing to do with him at all.

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That Pi might be a stranger to some of us. But the Pi that I'm referring to is one that we all know.

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Pi

A mathematical constant, the value of which is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter.

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Or the definition I prefer.

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The ratio of a circle's area to the square of its Radius.

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In the few years of my human experience, there is one thing that I learnt very quickly: there are very few constants in life.

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Things change. People come and go. Joy does not party for long, and sorrow doesn't linger either. Cookies disappear from jars. Chocolate melts even faster. Fluffy pet rabbits leave for heavens of green meadows and crunchy carrots. Maids who become family get on a plane and fly away. Snowflakes melt. Coal black hair becomes salt and pepper. Friends forget. The great big ball of fire burns out a little more every day. At first there are no teeth, and then there are so many that you need a thin wire to restrain them, and then even they fall out. A hand held by a hospital bed one day becomes ash and rejoins the earth.

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In contrast, the list of constants is very short. In fact, the official list begins and ends with only One item, which ironically (or perhaps not) is also referred to as Ek. God, Guru, Yahweh, Khuda, Bhagwan.

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But this post has nothing to do with that either.

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It is about my list of constants, to which I add an item of my own. One that may not be as All Encompassing as Ek, but is no less Divine.

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My mother.

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My very own Pi.

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Pi and Radius

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Pi is the ratio of a circle's area to the square of its Radius.

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When the Radius expands, the rule of Pi makes the area of the circle increase because the ratio between the two, Pi, is constant. On days that life seems expansive and infinite, She spreads Her wings and takes me on Her back and we soar as we fly amongst the stars. We visit all my hopes and dreams and get close enough for me to reach out to hold them in my palm. And when I open my hand to show Her what I have, She beams at me with a light so bright that the stars around us pale in comparison.

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And when the Radius contracts, the rule of Pi makes the circle smaller, because again, Pi is constant. On days that I just want to curl up and disappear, She pulls the boundaries in, plants a garden of blossoms around me, wraps me in a blanket, blesses me with a prayer, and keeps me warm like only the love of a Mother can. In that little piece of heaven, I don't even remember the contraction, because all I see is an endless ocean of lilies.

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Being Pi means that She has to keep the ratio constant same unchanged. She has to stop drop halt give up everything anything all the time anytime always when the Radius changes moves shifts. Because the ratio cannot must not will not change.

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The Radius knows that Pi is at its mercy. It expects constant attention as it shifts, pushing the circle in and out, sometimes too rapidly, sometimes intentionally, sometimes continuously, without giving a moments thought to Pi, and the fact that She has so many other Radii to watch over as well.

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Pi and some of her Radii

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Pi is just expected to keep up.

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And Pi does.

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At times it seems as if Pi does not even exist for Herself. Her entire existence is defined by the length of the Radius.

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And what has the Radius ever done to deserve its Pi?

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I do not know. I cannot think of my Pi as anything else but a blessing so magnificent, so unwavering, so constant, that every inch of my existence is defined, blessed, celebrated, just because I have my Pi.

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My Pi that brought me to the feet of my Guru. Sat with me every night until I finished my homework. Held the umbrella when it rained. Smiled through tears, because sometimes a child does not understand. Held out a hug anytime it was needed. Prays for me, for my happiness, for my peace, for my soul’s journey, without me knowing when or why. Holds me when I cry, and cries with me. Makes our home a temple and a sanctuary. Loves me as if I am the greatest gift and blessing God could bestow.

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Radius can be quite a challenge for Pi

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And all I have to offer in return is a humble prayer, that Pi is as blessed to be a part of this equation as Radius is.

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Because without Pi, there would be no circle.

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And the Radius would mean nothing.

Only human, after all

Sometimes I feel as though I live in a state of permanent tug-of-war between Mind and Heart. They both want different things; they tease me and cajole me and pull me in different directions, they try to convince me that I should think with one, rather than feel with the other. I do not think one is good and the other not, I am only lamenting at this perpetual struggle that I sometimes find distressing.

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How does one decide what is right? Sometimes I am able to summon Soul into the debate to settle the matter. Soul is neutral and guided by a greater wisdom which serves a higher purpose; hence She presides over them both. But She takes her time, and meanwhile I have to think of ways to amuse them until the intervention arrives :)

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All this would not really be of any concern, except that sometimes I find myself caught in the middle of a spiritual tussle, such as the one detailed below.

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To my Mind, the most appealing argument for Sikhi is the concept of Shabad as Guru.

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I will not deny that the reason for this is perhaps rather egoistic: I do not think I have it in me to surrender to another human. I believe myself to be capable of devotion, of love, of compassion. But for me to surrender to a Teacher, it needs to be pure and unwaveringly constant, I need to be able to place it on a pedestal, and make it a standard to live up to. I need to know that it will always, always, always command my high opinion and respect, I need to have faith that it will never disappoint my conscience. I need to believe that I will never need to question it, as every message I receive will be completely in sync with my Inner Voice, which naturally will be none other than that very same Teacher. These are high expectations indeed, but I think perfectly justified in view that I am planning a full and unquestionable surrender.

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And if there is anything I know to be true, it is that all things physical are ephemeral. I may love them, learn from them, and have an experience, but all at a detached distance. I may welcome them into my space, but release them just as easily. My understanding of Sikhi tells me that I will be blessed by the presence of many great souls in my lifetime. I may call them Saints, Rishis, Yogis, and even Gurus. I may bow to them, seek their guidance, revere them, be healed by their energy. But I must remember that they too are transient, their time too will come.

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There is only one constant: Shabad. The wisdom of the Great Soul. The true Gu-Ru. My Light in Darkness.

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But that is a sophisticated ideology for a simple being, and this vexes my Heart. While it recognises Shabad as the ultimate teacher, it struggles to let go of the 10 physical Gurus that provided the space for Shabad to come to be. The attachment I refer to is not only attachment to their messages, but also an attachment to them as beings of the 5 elements just like you and me, as real as the presence of any mortal being.

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It is an attachment to the stories of their lives and those around them, to the places they were born in and fields they slept in, to the rivers they crossed and forts they built, to their names and that of their children, to their swords and locks of hair.

There is no defence here; I confess that the attachment is physical. And it is difficult to imagine it otherwise, because if I truly believe them to be my father, mother, brother, sister and friend, which I do, then as a human being I should also be allowed to long for the physical space that I would expect to share with those people.

There are times when I want nothing more then to be a grandchild sleeping in Nanak's lap, or a daughter resting my head against Ram Das's knee, or a servant with my arms curled around Gobind's feet. I want to be blessed by a hand on my head. To be humbled by touching my forehead on the Marble Floor. To be warmed by the glow of joyful Harkrishan.

Is it a justification to say that although these are physical attachments, they exist to pursue a spiritual experience?

I am only human, after all.

Miss Lulu pays a visit

Life is a great teacher.

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Once it sets it's mind on a Lesson, it does not get distracted, and more importantly, it does not give up. No matter how slow, stubborn or resistant it's student may be, life has mastered the art of driving a Needle through a Tank.

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Just as well, really. For some of us usually miss the Lesson, time and time again. We walk through life arrogantly, wearing our impenetrable armour, blissfully ignoring life's trusted assistant, The Pink Flying Elephant, who comes our way with an envelope secured to Her tusks. The note reads: Wake up you Fuddle-Duddle, here is your latest Life-Lesson!

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As we all surely know, a visit from The Pink Flying Elephant is a rare occasion, for She is only summoned at the most pivotal moments, to deliver the weightiest Lessons. Given the graveness of her position and responsibility, I've decided to call her Miss Lulu. (For understanding of obsession with naming things, please refer to earlier post).

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Miss Lulu's friend. Not as pink, but then Miss Lulu doesn't judge by skin colour.

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Lately, I've found myself in frequent company of Miss Lulu.

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I can see you, at the edge of your seat, about to slide off onto your knees, hands clasped, gazing at me in veneration, asking: How, how O Great One, have you managed that?

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It's no great secret - in fact it has happened quite by accident. All I did was move away from things familiar to me, and now, out of my comfort zone, I am forced to tune in to my environment. For reasons as selfish as self-preservation, I have to be more aware and sensitive to what goes on around me. And now I see Miss Lulu more clearly than I ever did before.

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However, mere mortal that I am (shocking, I know :p), I probably still miss quite of a few Lessons, and misinterpret the rest. Yet, I am unperturbed, for I trust life (or Miss Lulu) to be stubborn enough to keep coming at me with that well-used Needle, until I get it right.

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My recent Lesson was delivered in a most round-a-bout, round-the-bush, round-the-world fashion. It started with an absolute failure with books - since the start of 2009, I have remained sufficiently unimpressed with each one that has crossed my path. One was so unbearable that for the first time, I broke my own rule of never leaving a book unfinished. This desperation to read something worthy drove me to spend a hopeful afternoon in a bookstore, where Voila! Miss Lulu came to me in the form of Richard Dawkins.

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I should like to write much more about Richard Dawkins. But I also don't want to digress. For now, it suffices to say that he is an evolutionary biologist, a keen believer of Darwinism, the author of The God Delusion, and, perhaps most relevant to my Lesson, an atheist.

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And what was I doing with a book like The God Delusion, you might ask. Besides the fact that it seems to have broken my Midas curse of turning books to dust (i.e. I actually enjoyed it), I will boldly declare it to be one of the books that has helped me affirm my faith even further. Quite the opposite effect that dear Richard intended, I think, but oh well, we all have our little disappointments!

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The reason I brought it up is this: one of the arguments laid forth in his book is that humanity and compassion should surely surpass belief in God as desired virtues. If we spent less time in religious practice and more time serving the universe, would that not be a better use of our time and energy?

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To the average reader, I suspect this suggestion might be considered sacrilegious.

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The enlightened would instead respond: but that is exactly what my faith is all about. For the act of caring for creation is in itself a salute to the Creator.

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It is easy to love a flower.

If life was to put a name to this Lesson, I think it would be called: A Lesson in Love. Bringing me towards this book reminded me that perhaps the greatest form of worship is the service of the world we live in. Sikhs of course understand this concept as Seva. But this is not Seva as we understand, or rather misunderstand it. This is Seva as in Manas Ki Jaat Sabhe Eykay Pehchaanbo, recognising the human race as one (Guru Gobind Singh).

As much as it sounds like a happy-daisy, care bear, slightly-on-a-high philosophy, I think it's also the toughest one there is. To utterly and totally love one person is challenging enough. But to take that concept and extend it to every living, breathing organism we know and will know of? That is near-impossible. Almost as impossible as believing in the existence of Miss Lulu.

Logically, though, if we think about it, this should be the easiest thing there is! If I can accept that we are all made of the same elements and by the same creator, and that He/She lives in all of us, then you are really just an extension of me. How hard can it be to love an extension of myself? Even if that extension was large enough to stretch my imagination?

Don't we all know the answer to this one - EGO :) It's all about me, honey. Me, and MY love, and MY God, and MY faith. By the time I've filled in the 'me's, there is no room for anything else, not even for Miss Lulu's Needle of Life-Lessons. By filling all the space out with Me, we paradoxically create a vacuum where there is nothing.

Miss Lulu had one more point to make. Just in case I got the message wrong, and only remembered to love humanity, She caused me to witness a fascinating incident.

It was lunchtime at work, and we were enjoying the sunny day by eating outside.

Enter: Pigeon. Sad, scruffy looking pigeon.

Enter: Nice Lady, on the phone.

Enter: RSPCA, on the line with Nice Lady.

If you've lived in London (perhaps this is also true in other parts of the world), you learn to dismiss pigeons very quickly. Much to the public's distaste, they are everywhere, they are a nuisance (so much so that people console each other by saying that it's lucky if they poop on you), thus leading to the unaffectionate label of 'pest'. Besides an obsession with the weather and a love for curry, nothing unites Londoners more than an utter loathing of pigeons.

But how does one love a mushroom? Asks she, who does not love mushrooms.

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Which is what made this incident so much more meaningful. Nice Lady had seen Scruffy Pigeon, noticed that it was injured and could not fly, and had called the RSPCA to rescue it.

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I know. I could barely believe it myself.

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I'm not sure if you want to sit down for this, but the more heart-warming thing is that someone from the RSPCA actually came. And rescued the pigeon. She took it away to nurse it back to health.

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In case you missed a paragraph earlier:

London Pigeon = people no like = pest.

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Sometimes it's easier to love a haystack.

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I don't think there is much more to say. If this isn't a Lesson in Love, I don't know what is. This was Miss Lulu at her finest; Needle through Tank.

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I know that this Lesson is not over. Love is the Mother of All Lessons; it will need frequent reminding, all the more because it is so easily forgotten. Or perhaps we choose to forget it, as we push difficult things under the carpet to worry about later, when we're older, better, wiser.

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I know Miss Lulu will be back again. Perhaps with a different Lesson, perhaps with the same one. Either way, I will keep my window open for her arrival, beautifully bubbly and Pink, flying towards me with yet another priceless Life-Lesson.

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You should too.

Ode to Orissa

I love stuff.. and I collect tonnes of it. Anything that has even a little bit of a memory attached to it, I either have it in a box somewhere or it's on display in my room. It's not that I think I'm ever going to use it or need it, I just have problems letting go... so by now you can imagine that I have a LOT of stuff!!

Problems of letting go stretch to other things as well - I still carry around stationery from more than 10 years ago, and for more recent gadgets, I kept my phone for longer than was necessary just because I got too attached to it. No, you don't understand, it really really needed to go, but after being with me for so long I couldn't imagine giving it up! I wonder if it's because I like to name things... this is a nasty habit I picked up from Surabhi (more on this crazy nut later), and once you give something a name you're a goner! Ok, so I've already admitted that I've got issues lol :p.

Anyway.. recently, my dear phone, that I named Orissa (long story for another time :p), reached her deathbed. She was practically on life support (read: needed to be constantly charged) and randomly went into cardiac arrest (read: phone would go dead in the middle of a conversation). Recognising that perhaps I'd held on for too long, I decided to get a replacement. SHHHHH don't say it too loud, she might hear you :)

My dear friend Surabhi, recognising how painful this experience would be for me, tried to ease the pain by writing a beautiful poem for Orissa. She got the gender a little confused, but otherwise it's an absolutely ridiculously nutty poem, one that I'm sure Orissa would appreciate. So here goes:

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Ode to the mobile phone

The autumn wind blows strong

Bringing forth the wintery gray skies

Those sunny days, they are long gone

And here, Kiren is left, with her mobile

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She stares at it with apprehension

Tis a tragic story, an Aesop Fable,

However can she explain to it

That she hath replaced it! Oh, the betrayal!

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As she whispers those painful words,

Tis most difficult for the mobile to endure,

How else to react in that excruciating moment?

When told 'I dont need you anymore'

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Kiren thinks, 'Ah, how lucky I am'

'To have such an understanding phone'

'He could have screamed, shouted, sued me for abuse'

'As I leave him all alone'

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He knows that it is time to go,

He hath served her well, tis true,

But now, he falls apart at the seams,

And all that keeps him together is a huge tube of UHU glue

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He cries, She cries

They all cry, they tear, they bawl,

He because he knows the end is near

She because she cant hear people who call her at all

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He knows the end has come

When he hears excitement in her voice, her tone,

For what is this arrived, in a brand new box

Why, it is a lovely new mobile phone!

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'Goodbye world' says Mobile,

As he turns off his light for the very last time,

'Forgive me, for my sins I must atone'

Before the midnight hour doth chime

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And so we come to the end of Mobile's tale

But for him the end is merely a beginning, a start,

And he knows, that whatever Kiren may have to do,

He is her one true love, within her heart.

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Sigh... It's making me cry all over again.. hehe.

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Anyway, I have named the new phone, it's called BB, which is short for Bling Bling - because it's a little too black and shiny for my taste :)

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Oh, and in case you're wondering, I'm still carrying Orissa around with me... she just won't get out of my handbag and I don't have the heart to kick her out!

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Rest in peace, Orissa. And BB be warned, you're stuck with me for a VERY long time!

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P/s: Subi, you're now publicly famous for zany poems... muahahahaha :p