Saturday 2 October 2010

By Thy Grace

Harimandir.
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That I may be the bird, flying against the wind, my tussled feathers guiding me towards you, for one more glimpse.
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That I may be the sikka, exchanged for dust-covered shoes, travelling in the pockets of pilgrims, or tied to their chunnis, and carried into your vibration.
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That I may be the pool of water, soaking the feet that come towards you, before embarking on the journey within.

That I may be the marble, melted by the tears of those who seek you, as their heads bow in reverence, placing their fears at your door.

That I may be the bucket, lowered into the sarovar, bringing forth the nectar that cleanses your marble floors, and drenches your children with joy.

That I may be the milk, poured from above, cascading down each step, purifying the spirits of your servants.

That I may be the jute mat, worn by the feet that graze my weaves, as they walk around you, around you, around you, towards you.

That I may be the fish, in your sarovar, living within the infinity of your four corners, my body soaked in your nectar.

That I may be the blossom, cut from my stalk, separated from my root, threaded through my petals, drying at your feet.

That I may be the ray of light, shining on your golden surface, causing your reflection to dance on the surface of the water.

That I may be the breeze, coming through your gates, caressing the pages of the gutka that carries your holy name.

That I may be the grain of sugar, liquefied over the flame, molded into a blessing, that your devotees might carry home a sweet reminder of their darshan.

That I may stand in your shadow, once more. Bathe in your light, once more. My palms together, once more. My forehead on your marble, once more.

That I may come home, Guru Ram Das. To your City of Nectar, once more.

Tva Prasaad.

Wednesday 23 June 2010

For Oorra, for Sa, and for Ek Oangkaar

A few months ago, I learnt that one of my teachers left her physical body.
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Guru Raam Das, Rakho Sharanaee.
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Her actual name I did not know then, and I do not know now. We, her students, called her Phenji, and she was known to everyone as Aunty Nikki. To me her actual name does not matter. I have always thought of her as Phenji, and that is enough for me.
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It will be a rare family in Setapak or Gombak that does not know Phenji; most of us and our neighbours studied under Phenji’s guidance. If in search of a Punjabi, Kirtan or Paath teacher, you needed look no further.
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As a teacher, she was firm, gave tonnes of homework which she checked with a stern red pen, loved giving surprise spelling bees, obsessed about neat handwriting, insisted on clear pronunciation, made us practice to perfection, and expected nothing less than best behaviour in class.
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I learnt under her continuously from when I was around 6-9 years old, and then intermittently between 10-12.
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As a child, I remember looking forward to class; not because I was excited about learning, but more because of the other kids I would get to meet and hopefully play with after class (if only Mataji would come a little later to pick me up!).
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As a child, I remember being slightly intimidated by Phenji; I liked her no-nonsense approach, but I also feared her slightly, and I knew she meant business. I guess she reminded me a lot of my Mataji, and even at that age, I knew that she was good. So I listened, I practiced, and I learnt. As did many others under her care. We didn’t have much of a choice. You see, Phenji insisted that we learnt.
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As a child, I remember first the car journeys to class when we lived further away, and later on the bicycle rides my brother and I made through the old Malay settlement to get to her home using the quickest possible route. I remember standing outside her gate to make sure the dog was tied up before we went in. I remember eating pakoriya in her kitchen while we waited for class to start.
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As a child, I remember that she held my hand when I wrote my first ‘Oorra’, and then I went on to write my name. She held my hand as she placed my forefinger on ‘Sa’, and then ‘Re’, and then I went on to sing a shabad. She held my hand as we moved our fingers across the first page of the Panjh Granthi, and then I went on to read the last.
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I remember being told off as often as being praised, I remember patience, and above all I remember that she never gave up on any of us; no matter how slowly we caught on. ...
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And then our family moved. We lived further away, and by this time I had learnt the basics so Mataji took over the Paath classes at home. Our contact with Phenji more or less ended, aside from the occasional meets at Gurdwara. ...
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Now that I look back, I don’t think I met her more than a handful of times between my last class and when I heard the news. This is not to say that our paths did not cross, just that I did not make the effort to go up to her. She became just another person I saw now and then.
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As an adult, it pains me to think that I never appreciated her while she was still with us. My only real contact with her was during class, which started with Vaheguru Ji Ka Khalsa, Vaheguru Ji Ki Fateh, and ended the same way. And she didn’t expect more. All she asked was for us to be on time, pay attention, and learn. ...
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As an adult, it pains me to think that after all my years of learning with her, I never went up to her, as an adult, and said Thank You. For my first lesson, right to my last. I owe so much to this wonderful lady, and I never said it. I don’t have any pictures of her in our photo albums. I never visited her in her last days; mainly because I didn’t know that she was unwell, but I cannot help thinking, also because I never took the trouble to find out about how my teacher would be doing, all those years after. ...
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As an adult, it pains me to think how much of what I am and I know today, I owe to that ‘Oorra’, that ‘Sa’, and that ‘Ek Oangkaar’. In so many ways, she is my Mian Mir; she laid the foundation that I am built on. ...
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We have many teachers throughout our lives; but it is only a few that leave us with jewels so precious that we cannot repay them; only hold their teachings in gratitude, our heads bowed.
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As I sit here now, trying to say everything I wish I had said many moons ago, I hope she knows that she is loved, and revered, and missed. I pray that my young cousins have teachers like her, that my nephews and nieces have teachers like her, that my own children one day will have teachers like her. ...
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You know what the beauty of it is? Phenji is not alone. There are so many more like her out there, we call them our ‘Punjabi school teachers’, teaching our children how to read, write, speak, sing. Unsung Heroes. Gentle women and gentle men, to whom we have entrusted the task of giving our Sikh children the tools that may help them on their way to discovering their identity. ...
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I hope, that you do not wait as long as I have waited to show your thanks. How I wish I could give her one last hug, and just say it. ...
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Instead here I am, attempting to now sing to my Unsung Hero. She is no longer here to correct me as I go off-key, but I hope she has been listening nonetheless. ...
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From all your children, Phenji, thank you. For Oorra, for Sa, and for Ek Oangkaar.

Saturday 5 June 2010

Walk On By

Ok so that was one loooong intermission :)
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Before I jump into Part II, please let me add that I will, to the end, defend your right to eat and enjoy candy. My decision to keep away from it is not the start of a crusade I’ve embarked on to preach the evils of such deliciousness, and steer people away from them! What I was trying to say was how even when I knew that there was something I wanted to give up; I continued to indulge in it because I found ways to justify it to myself. Maybe Marshmallows were a poor example, but hopefully further down I will make more sense.
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So, to continue where I left off:
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When I said Things More Serious, maybe you thought I meant Cigarettes, or Drugs, or Alcohol. Yes, those are serious and dangerous addictions indeed. However on that subject my knowledge is extremely limited and I will not pretend to know anything about the challenges of quitting – that is a world I do not comprehend, and I cannot imagine the strength a person must have to make and act on that decision.
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I will instead stick to a more familiar realm.
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The concept of giving something up is prevalent in many spiritual paths. The Act of Surrendering is seen as a test of faith, a step to build discipline and an anchor to help focus on the Soul’s Journey.
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Food, for example. Which can be a Deeply Spiritual Experience if we do not trivialise a fast. I have always liked the concept of Lent – where you give up something you love to eat as an act of gratitude. Or maybe I just like it because it starts with Pancake Day :)
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Sleep is another one. The idea of surrendering sleep to Meditate On The Beloved is Divinely Beautiful.
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Money for Charity. Time for Service. Although I like to think of these as ‘giving’, rather than ‘giving up’. That which we are duty bound to do as human beings, regardless of our spiritual paths, and even if we follow none.
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But beyond the physical, another part of us exists. And for a Truly Spiritual Surrender, that non-physical part of us must also Let Things Go.
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You know where I’m going with this, don’t you? :)
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Kaam. Krodh. Lobh. Moh. Hankaar. The Big Five.
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This is not a sermon, delivered in a preacher-like tone from the Holier-Than-Thou to You-Vice-Ridden-Masses.
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Dear God, no. Guru knows I have my own Daily Battles with them. Occasionally won, but too frequently lost. It’s a bit of a Catch-22, really. Just when I think I’ve got one under control, it just means my Pride has kicked in, and I’m back at square one! Rather I share these that we may all expand collectively, and guide each other along.
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They are crafty little things, these Five. Even though we know that they cause us to stray, somehow we’ve handed them the reigns to Rule Our Lives as they see fit.
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Even when we think we know what they are, how they arise, and where they will come from; even when we lock all the doors, close the windows and seal off the chimney; even when we station a full-time guard, leave all the lights on, and install a motion detector; even then they find a way in.
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Unfortunately a lot of the time we are in a Sleep So Deep, that even if the burglar alarm does go off (which is rare), we do not hear it, or will convince ourselves that it must be the Neighbour’s Cat, and drift back into sleep.
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And for the rare moments we do Awaken, once we have seen the Trespassers, we start to relax and shake off our anxiety. You see, The Five are Familiar Faces. We have had them around for so long that we do not know how now to ask them to leave. Not letting a stranger in is one thing; kicking someone you know out is a Whole Different Matter.
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We being humans after all, what can we do?
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Many years ago, when I was a much Smaller Speck, I remember a Devotee in the Sanggat asking a Blessed Soul this: How can we prevent The Five from arising at all?
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He smiled the wise smile that Holy Men have, and said, that you cannot. It is not possible, because they are what make us human. We view each of The Five as evils, but they also play their part in our self-preservation. But we must be aware of them, and behave consciously. They will surface, whether we allow them to or not. So let them come. But do not let them linger. That is our battle. Do not let them linger. Ask them to leave, pray for Guru’s Grace, and Make Them Walk Away.
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When The Five visit and we let them stay, we make them feel welcome to visit again. Which they will, repeatedly. The more frequently we let them through our door, the more frequently they will knock on it. Before long, we are Leaving the Door Open and Handing Them The Keys. Reign over me, please. It is just so much easier having you around than asking you to leave. Because that will just be uncomfortable, and we don’t like unpleasantness. Why ruffle a relationship that has gone on for Such a Long Time?
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Every temptation is the same, whether it be to eat a Marshmallow (in my case), to smoke a cigarette, or to react in anger. Even after we’ve given it up, no matter how long we’ve stayed away from it for, the temptation does not go away.
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So we have to choose. Resist or Give In?
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Peel the layers of our own Onions, to learn what temptations target our core. Define our own Kauravs, and fight our Mahabharat. Unravel The Five, lay them at Guru’s feet, and pray for Grace.
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May Guru guide us, and shine our path with Light, that we may see with clean eyes those that come to conquer us.
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They will keep coming, like unwelcome guests, hoping to be let in, this time, or the next, or maybe the next next?
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And may we peek through our door, look upon them, smile, and wave them to Walk On By.
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Let them be on their way, and we on ours.

Friday 12 February 2010

Bye, Bye, Gummy Bear :(

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Marshmallows, Gummy Bears, Sour Tape, Liquorice, Starburst, Rocky Road.
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Oh My God, Marshmallows.
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Having always been a vegetarian, I have, however, Never Said No to candy. I know it contains gelatine, but I practiced the Art of Selective Mental Processing, and Refused To Act on that bit of information. I mean, Marshmallows were at stake. And Gummy Bears! And M&S Rocky Road treats! (I really Need To Focus).
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And we know that the only Purpose Of Their Existence is to be consumed. How could I, in my Hearts of Hearts, deny them the opportunity to Serve Humankind? It would have been Cruel of me to refuse. Evil, and Heartless, and Cruel.
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Right, enough deception. I like candy, ok? I like it a lot.
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Oh My God, Marshmallows. Sigh.
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http://www.oswegotea.com/2005/09/marshmallows-revisited.html

So I guess the cat is out of the bag – I have been cheating all this while :)
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But the weight of all this cheating bore down on me. After all these years of presenting myself as a vegetarian, the Nagging Voice that said ‘yeah, right!’ grew louder and louder In My Head, until sometime in 2009, when I finally decided to own up, stop pretending, and quit gelatine altogether (it still hurts to Say It Out Loud).
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I know exactly what you’re thinking. Oh My God, Marshmallows.
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How could I convince myself that Something So Innocent was Something So Naughty? It was Tough. And I didn’t let it go gently. I went Cold Turkey. One day loads, next day None.
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Yeah, they weren’t too happy about it either, what with me interfering with their Sole Purpose Of Existence and all that. There were some Harsh Words exchanged, Heart-Breaking speeches delivered, and A Lot Of Tears shed.
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But my mind was made up – I knew it was time to quit. So all the Somethings So Innocent and I parted ways. They continued to Serve Humankind in their own yummy way, while I tread in alleys in search of every Gummy Bears Anonymous support group out there, hoping that The Next One would help me get over Marshmallows.
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Still looking, by the way.
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Do I miss them? Y-E-S. Do I regret it? Y-E-.... NO, of course not.
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Giving up Something You Love isn’t painless. And I had it easy. You see, I still have Chocolate and Hazelnuts :)
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But still, candy wasn’t an addiction, it was Pure Love. Completely different category.
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Did I think I would make it? Not really. Have I been tempted? Too many times.
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But the most important question is this: Will I eat it again? And here, in spite of all my melodrama above (meant to tease my ex-Love For Candy more than anything else); I will comfortably and contentedly say: NO. Because ultimately it was my choice to give it up and to stop lying to myself :)
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And this is the perfect place for an Intermission. For after this, we turn to Things More Serious. So here goes.
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INTERMISSION