The incredible lightness of flying

One more story on Stuff -

The incredible lightness of flying

:)

Slow cooker

Many years ago, when I was haunted by the pain of childlessness, I had gone to visit a psychic with one burning question, ‘Will I ever be a mother?” And she had said, “No, in this life you have chosen a different path, you have decided that it will be about yourself, about finding who you are, and evolving to your highest potential”. It had sounded grand at that time and even lofty but I had still wanted a child and had come away disappointed.

Now, all these years later, with the pain gone and having eased into the situation, I can look back and see that she was right. I can see that not only about that situation but all the situations, circumstances, events, people who have entered my life and left or stayed behind, were all pushing, forcing, cajoling me to turn away from the world and look within to find answers to all my quests. To put away acquired knowledge and rely on my own inner knowing, that timeless wisdom we are all born with.

I doubt if this would have happened if I was busy raising a family with nary a moment to spare to spend in contemplation. All the dark nights of the soul that ended in clarity on glorious mornings, all the veering into despair that made me push away from darkness into the light, all the hours spent in raging questioning, in quiet introspection, in the letting go of resistance to circumstances have slowly allowed clarity to emerge from the murky depths of confusion.

I can now see that each experience, no matter how unpleasant it had seemed at that time, had contributed, like a piece of a puzzle, to making my life whole. To helping me evolve. To making me go towards my inner self. I can now see that life is a slow cooker, ingredients are getting added to the broth all the time as and when needed, some bitter, some tangy, some sweet but all necessary and nutritious and are all going towards the making of a whole and tasty me :)

The four-leaf fritter

I must confess that in the past when I have come across a blog that shared recipes I have felt slightly let-down. I mean, a blog is about serious writing, not recipes. Even though I do trawl the net looking for new and interesting ways to cook, recipes are meant to be on food sites, not blogs. So now, when I’m about to share a story and a recipe, I smile a bit sheepishly and self-indulgently :) But then, I tell myself, when a recipe forms itself out of inspiration and available ingredients in your kitchen and turns out to be a success, it begs to be shared.

I’ve been growing fenugreek in my kitchen garden these past few weeks and today I pulled out the last of the crop. Instead of making the usual rotis or sabzi with it, I thought, let me, for a change, make fritters with it. Then, just for variety I decided to add mint leaves and the leaves of the Coleus aromaticus (panikoorka in Malayalam) from the kitchen garden. When I dug into the refrigerator to retrieve the coriander leaves, I saw some corn ears taking up a lot of space in the veggie tray and took one out, de-kerneled it and added the kernels to the chopped up leaves. Then some besan went in, together with cumin seeds, turmeric, chilli powder and salt. Generous squeezes of a lemon went in next, all combined together with water. The mixture turned out to not have a pouring consistency and feeling reluctant to add more besan, I decided to stick to ‘healthy’ and add wholewheat flour instead. When that had gone in, I remembered sesame seeds. I love sesame seeds so much that given the chance, I’d give in to the temptation of adding it to EVERYTHING. Which is not such a bad thing compared to hubby’s penchant for adding fenugreek seeds to everything. So, in went a bold dash of sesame seeds. I then spotted a half-peeled potato sitting on the bench-top and chopped that up and put that in too. The batter was now a thick yellow-green mass with the greens kind of lumping together in solidarity.

Now, in keeping with my ‘eat healthy’ philosophy I had planned to pan-fry the fritters with as little oil as possible, but looking at the thick mass bursting with leaves, I realised that pan-frying is only going to cook the underside and the leaves and insides might remain uncooked, so I poured some more oil into the flat bottomed pan so as to have an oil depth of a few millimetres. I then poured tablespoonfuls of batter into the hot oil and flattened each fritter out so that about half of it was submerged in the oil. Fried them on both sides to a light brown crispiness and drained them on kitchen paper, which to my dismay got quite drenched with oil. However, the end result was quite crunchy and tasty.

Well, after I had eaten a couple of these oil-laden delicacies my conscience literally started to jump up and down in anger telling me off and telling me to go work off all the fat I had ingested. So, off I went on a walk and as usual when I go walking in the quiet dusk in the balmy weather, I tend to muse and ponder over things. I got to thinking how like life it was, the fritters that I had made. A lot of times we don’t have a say in the hand we get dealt in life. We have to make do with what we’ve got and fashion a life out of it. We might have to take large amounts of wholesome flour and somehow stir in the bitterness of fenugreek, the hot anger of chilli, the coolness of mint and the fragrant virtue of coriander. Add great dashes of lemon for zest and sesame for the nutty flavour, salt for steadfastness, all to be combined and fried in the trials and tribulations of life. But just to the right degree, not overdone to result in burn-out or frustration, or underdone with a soft belly and laziness.

All great recipes are born this way, I like to think. In times of famine or plenty, people have taken what was available and combined and cooked them in ways that would result in food that was not only tasty but was nourishing to the body and soul as well. I guess that’s what our lives are about too. To take the things that are available and at hand and fashion a life that is a thing of beauty and nourishment and wholesomeness.

Spectacles of nature

I stepped outside today evening to try and spot the unfolding of a heavenly spectacle in the skies, the conjunction of Jupiter and Venus. It took me several minutes of scanning the tree-obscured horizon to  finally spot the two planets in a gap between the trees, sparkling bright in the azure sky. The brighter of the two might have been Venus and Jupiter even though bigger in size looked like a younger sibling hanging around the brighter one. They are orbiting on vastly different trajectories, but once in a while their travels align them in such a way that when looked at from the earth, they appear to be in conjunction.

Later on, when the night had deepened, I stepped outside once again to gaze up at the night sky. The sky was almost clear, with only a few clouds obscuring the view, and stars lit up the heavens. The Milky Way was a diaphanous swathe across the sky and looking at this starry display, once again I was moved by awe, thinking of our tiny little planet amidst the heavens and the universe spreading out into infinity. And a tiny little me, sitting on a tiny little planet watching it. Its sheer grandeur is so monumental and yet to think that the force that shaped the stars and the galaxies also shaped me and throbs within me. This puts us straightaway into the league of stars, and we can feel the pulse of creation, of awesomeness throbbing within us.

Earlier on, I had gone for a walk and sat down by the river. The sun had gone down and the sunset was lighting up the sky in golden hues. Down there where I sat there was no sign of human habitation. It was as though I had escaped into a different world. The river flowed with music on her lips and jauntiness in her step. Sea gulls feed on the pebbled banks and once in a while took off in flight, spread their wings and alighted again. The bank opposite was thick with bush of various kinds and hues, and shadows gathered among the leaves, and slithered on the branches, whispering secrets. As the day retreated, the night approached, like a soft-footed lover, all velvet smoothness and dark mystery.

Sitting there, cradled in nature and caressed by the velvet night, my mind grew calm and still. I began to feel a blurring of my separateness as the walls that I normally put up while negotiating the eddying currents of human transactions began to dissolve and fall away. The sense of a separate 'me' began to disappear and the sense of a far greater vastness began to reveal itself. There was only an observer and the feeling that all was in oneness and all was in bliss.

When the mind falls silent, truth and beauty reveal themselves. What does the mind do other than record events, store and retrieve data, and based on past recorded data, form opinions, concepts, beliefs etc. But the moment is newborn and fresh and its beauty and aliveness cannot be sensed by a mere cataloguer of a database, it must be sensed by something beyond the mind, something that dwells and moves within us and whose ethereal voice is normally drowned out by the cacophony of the mind. In moments like these, when we are in the midst of nature, when we get the chance to drop the mind and move into stillness, the soft, loving voice reveals to us, not in words, but in a deeply felt sense, the truth about ourselves. Then, we can be said to have come home.

~~~

Silence isn't always golden

Another kind of raw, powerful and gut-wrenching post ....

Silence isn't always golden

Elections 2011

It’s election time here and this weekend the country will go to the pools to elect a new government. In the run-up to that, TV channels have been telecasting debates and today I happened to watch the debate between the two leaders - the incumbent Prime Minister and the leader of the major opposition party. First off, what impressed me was the manner of the interviewer / mediator. No fuss, no bum-kissing, no sucking up. In true journalistic style, he introduced the participants and left them to do the talking and interjected only to cut short rambling speeches, ask pertinent questions, and call for breaks.

The two contestants were perfectly gentlemanly in their behavior. Each of them, with obvious pleasure, proceeded to point out the defects of the other party’s policies, shred to pieces their track records, and even pinpoint and highlight the gaffes and muddles the other has delivered in the past. And all this without raising their voice. For me, who grew up on the theatrics of that spectacle - the Indian Parliament, it was amazing. I sat there paying only scant attention as they discussed matters of national importance, just waiting for the drama to begin.

In the Indian equivalent, in a similar situation, the contestants would have been shouting down each other, papers, mikes, maybe even shoes would have been flying, and expletives would have to be silenced by the TV crew. It was such a great relief to have witnessed a debate with tempers kept in check, no drama worth reporting and matters conducted in the most civilised manner. It was a relief and an education.

A different way of seeing

Sitting here in my lounge on a balmy late spring afternoon, listening to my favourite music and watching the roses outside nodding their heads in the breeze, I cannot help think how simple are the things that make life beautiful. And almost free. The sun pouring down on the trees, grass, leaves and making the flowers light up with an incandescence does not demand a fee. Neither does the breeze, though not visible, indicates its movement by leafing its fingers through everything that comes in its way. And yet, how easy it would be to miss all this, the simple, yet profound beauty of it. If the TV had been switched on, or if my mind had been pre-occupied with the mundane details of life, all this would have been passed over as if they didn’t exist at all. I guess, that’s what happens with every moment, if we see things merely with the physical eye, just recording and then going over to the next experience, we miss the beauty which is inherent in every moment.

Every moment that we are given is perfect as it is, it is our minds that interprets it as being good or bad. If the expectation is met of how the moment should turn out to be, we are pleased, if not, then we react with disappointment. But if we do not meet any moment with expectation but meet it with just a open-hearted welcome, then events will lose their power to disappoint us. Each moment will be fresh and new to our experience. And if we begin to see with the eye of the soul rather than just with the mental eye, then the hidden beauty in all is revealed.

How to photograph lampposts :)

Evening. I am out on my walk. Bright sunlight. After a while I realise that the nature of the light has changed, has become filtered, surreal, like as if God had turned on the special-effects button. I look up at the sky. The sun was inching slowly towards the horizon but was hidden behind huge masses of clouds which looked like a cotton mattress had burst its seams and floated up into the sky. Out comes my mobile. No, I don’t have a hotline to the sun and neither to the clouds. But I do have a rather good camera on it. Point and click. Unfortunately, the sun was too much in my eyes and the viewfinder was in total shadow for me to see what I was clicking. The result is the picture seen above. Not a bad picture really, the glory of the light and the clouds has all been captured, except for the lamppost sticking out, like a sore thumb, into the celestial scene.

Looking at it one would think that the lamppost was the celebrity being photographed.  But no, I have made a photographical blooper here. Even though the viewfinder was in shadow, the real live scene was right in front of me, then how come I didn’t see the lamppost. Because I was too focused on the scene being played far in the distance to see what was in the near vicinity. I took it too much for granted. This happens all the time in life. We look high and low, far and wide for something and all the time it is right there, under our nose, staring up at us. All it takes is a slight shift in our perception to see that which we fail to notice.

Awareness is all about focus. We become aware of what we turn our attention towards. That is like stating the obvious. But have you noticed that our very lives consists of what is filling our awareness. The quality of our lives is entirely dependent on what we are focussing on. Let’s look at another scene. My garden. This is one place that is an endless source of joy, wonderment and peace for me. I experience the sight, touch, sounds, smells of the plants, trees, flowers, weeds, birds, insects and get transported into raptures of delight. But once in a while, I enter this same garden wearing a gardener’s hat. Hardy-gloved and armed with sundry gardening equipment, I potter around, digging and weeding and pruning, casting a critical eye at the health and well-being of its inhabitants. At such times, my focus is of an entirely different nature. And even though it can be argued that it is for the welfare of the flora, the practicality of my focus renders me almost entirely incapable of seeing the beauty of the scene and reveling in it.

So, I guess, it stands to reason, that we can change the quality of our lives by changing our attention. By changing, as it were, the nature of the seer.

And gently she flows ...

.. a blue, benign beauty with laughter on her lips, bubbles in her hair and sparkles in her steps. Pulled mesmerisingly by the sea, sometimes fast and rapid, yet at other times placid, almost still, gently she flowed. And I fell for her charms all over again.

Now that I am back, I am out on my walks again and today the river calls me towards it. The sun is inching its way slowly towards the horizon having graced the day in an almost cloudless sky. But now as I walk, it hides its glare behind white cottony clouds casting a surreal light on everything.

The park is sparkling green and heavy with grass. I feel the resistible urge to go and roll in it, to feel its soft, cool touch and smell its grassy fragrance. But no, the river is waiting and I  must go to its side before the sun dips over the horizon. 

The river as you can imagine flows in a valley that has formed between hills and throughout the year, the rain run-off from the hills gather in streams and flow towards the river. Near the point where it meets the river, all the streams converge and this stream flows between a grassy embankment, finally meeting the river in a gorgeous little waterfall.

Finally, I reach the river itself, a blue beauty sparkling between green banks. I walk down the pebbly path and sit down by the river side and let out a deep sigh. It’s been long since I have seen her and experienced her serenity, joy and exuberance.

A duck paddles by, swimming hard against the current. Bubbles float and pop into the crisp air. Birds coming home to roost call from the trees on the banks. I dip my hands into the water, it is cool and refreshing.

Soon, the shadows lengthen as the sun prepares to bid adieu. As a farewell gift, it splatters its gold onto the waters, and the river is now as a radiant bride with gold on its body and rose on its trim.

As I head back home, everything is draped in the golden orange of the sunset sky. The houses perched on the hills sparkle with reflected sunlight and even the hush in the air is golden.

I bid adieu to the river, now darkening under the azure sky and take one last shot of a beauty that is everlasting and that never fails to gladden my heart.

The flight between trapezes

Now that I am faced with yet another change, it has become very clear to me, that my life is not meant to be lived in the comfort zone. I notice that every time I settle down into comfort, circumstances change or events happen that pitchfork me from comfort into chaos. Then for a large period of time, I stumble and curse. I kick and scream and tread water, trying hard not to drown, just simply to remain afloat. Needless to say, over time all this abates and I settle down comfortably into aforesaid and previously markedly uncomfortable circumstances. Then, guess what happens next!

This chain of change and settling in and then change again, I began to find a bit bothersome, until recently I came across a reference to a trapeze jumper. And I thought about how, when a trapeze jumper lets go of the bars that his legs were hitched to and reaches for the hands or bars that will hitch him again, there are a few seconds when he is not supported by anything. This is the time when he is actually flying, in the air, on his own. The little gap when he is greatest at risk of falling and also the time when he is most alive. When he is supported by nothing but grace.

When I apply this analogy to my life, I find that it applies to me too.  For me, one of the stimuli that gives me the experience of feeling alive is change, of facing the unknown, of pitting myself against challenges not certain if I can meet them and yet certain that everything is going to be alright. Risk-taking releases adrenalin, that gives a high, and from time to time, I crave that high.

Change also brings out various hidden facets of my personality or adds new ones by forcing me to acquire skills that I previously didn’t have. Even though the change may sometimes not be to my liking, I like to think that I am evolving with change, growing roots, branches and wings, that it is taking me closer to fulfilling my limitless potential. 

Discontent

Occasionally, (thankfully not often) I am assailed by such strong feeling of discontent that the resulting discomfort is almost physical. A quiet voice (no doubt angelic) gently reminds me that Providence has been so kind as to shower me with so many blessing I must not be ungrateful and therefore unkind. But even though the logic is sound and the sentiment worthy, the discontent will not go away. It rages on in my breast with such ferocity that I am forced to focus all my attention on it. It may be argued that discontent is a positive emotion. Even though it has negative connotations and makes one feel miserable, just think, if it wasn’t for discontent, most major explorations and therefore discoveries and inventions would not have taken place. There is a joke that the English were so fed up with their food that they sailed forth to other lands in search of better-tasting food J And discovered (and to the natives dismay, conquered) other lands. 

So what is this discontent telling me? That there is something in my life / in my worldview that is in urgent need of changing. Bells are going off loud and clear announcing the need for urgent renovation. Something is stagnating and putrefying that needs to be set in flow once again. Discontent, in this case, seems to be the soul’s cry to be set loose from lack of growth and inaction.

Unfortunately, as I find out, it is not as easy as it sounds. Hearing the soul's call is one thing, but actually setting out to follow it is a different thing altogether. I guess, I'll have to live with this discontent until that happens. Churning and burning and giving me no rest ....

I just Am

I am already there.
I am already immersed in Divinity.
I already Am.
I am not this or that. Not daughter or wife or friend, or neighbour or employee.
I am not this name or that.
I am not bound by labels or roles.
I just Am.

It is mind-blowingly liberating to realise this ...

Surrender

We humans during the course of our lives build so many barriers between our innermost, vulnerable core and the outer world that for us to open up fully and surrender completely to another human being becomes virtually impossible. So terrified are we that the other will hurt us in some way that for all our adult lives we go about clad in armour and fortified with shields and swords.

I am one such person. However, fortunately for me, surrendering to God, or to my Higher Self is much more easier. It could be because I experience my Higher Self as being loving, benevolent and compassionate.When I surrender to this Higher Self, a lot of things happen. I not only lose the barriers that are imprisoning me, I am also able to shed my ego and face my Self egoless. This happens effortlessly, like as if I rise to a place where the ego is no longer needed, since I am now out of the survival mode and in my natural state.

The other thing I have noticed is that I become desire-less. This could be because desires arise in, and are created by the mind, and when we are able to rise above the mind, the desires also disappear. The only desire that can be said to exist is to remain in this state of surrender. But it cannot be called a desire as such, because it is spontaneously and simultaneously being fulfilled. Only when I drop back into the mind does the desire arise again, to regain or return to that state of grace.

Zen and the Art of Car Driving in India - 2

Well, the day comes when Ismail announces that I have been first-gear-trained enough and now it’s time to take to the road. The actual road, not the back-roads of sleepy hamlets where we have been practicing so far. The only problem being that the ‘road’ in question is the National Highway which runs close to my house. So, heart pounding, pulse racing, hair standing on edge and hand-gripping-wheel, I set out to brush bumpers with overloaded interstate lorries, burly State Transport buses and autos with the hyperbolical legend ‘to seat only 7’, when there is thrice the number clinging to its insides and dripping from its sides. From then on it is pulse-racing, heart-stopping action. Terminator-look-alike lorries bear down on me with exhausts fuming and horns blaring. Buses stop in the middle of the road without warning to upload or download passengers, with scant regard for courtesy or the passengers’ lives, sending me into panic-mode and causing Ismail to jerk the hand-brake. Autos, with their over-flowing humanity materialise from nowhere and streak across my path, making me freeze with fright and Ismail to yet again, pull the hand-brake. And most inexplicably, vehicles driving on the wrong side of the road, approach us head-on, while I stare at them saucer-eyed, bracing myself for a collision, their occupants jaunty and mindless, while I pick up my scattered nerves and shake my head in disbelief. The only thin veneer of safety I have in this unruly medley is the ‘L’ board which we have decided to put up even though I don’t have a learner’s license, but which sends out hidden signals to other drivers, ‘be warned, this car is liable to behave irresponsibly and stop without notice or reason’.

Lesson five : Driving on the National Highway is good for the heart. It gives it a workout even while seated seat-belted in a vehicle with the AC on.



New Zealand as you might know is a pacifist state, in politics and temperament, where there are ‘give way’ signs everywhere and we have been taught to drive defensively. So it is common practice for motorists to stop and give way to other cars and pedestrians. So true to my NZ training, on the first days of my foray into the big, bad jungle of Indian roads, I am giving way with such tameez and taqaluff that would put any Lucknowi nawab to shame, until it prompts Ismail to proclaim in exasperation, ‘if you drive like this you will never get anywhere. You must not give in to muscling-in tactics, otherwise you’ll get edged out of the road’. I protest with equal belligerence that I am not used to vehicles coming so close to my vehicle, I am used to COURTESY. To which Ismail pointedly points out the obvious, ‘but you are not in NZ any more, this is India. Yahan koi bhi kissi ke liye rukne wala nahi’.  Reality check. And check-mate. Bolti band. Heart down in my boots wishing I was catching the next flight out to NZ.

Lesson six - Reality bites. Bites big-time in India. But what is reality but the people and their attitudes. And my response to them.



Anyway, it so transpires that after a few days of being edged out and pushed around and stopped in my tracks by the likes of pedestrians, cyclists, even buffaloes, my hitherto unknown Amazonian genes kick in and decide to kick-ass. No more taqaluff, and most certainly no more tameez! Stopping and giving way? Pooh! what is that? After all the road is mine too, I proclaim belligerently to Ismail, while kindness cringes in my heart and courtesy cowers dumb-struck. I stare aggressively at hungry-looking underpaid drivers, disdainfully turn my nose up at muscled-mustachioed glaring men and frown down at sneering autorickshaw wallas holding my own and not giving in an inch. All the ‘give-way’ rules are wiped clean from my brain, courtesy gets tossed overboard and crushed underfoot. Tameez dries up quickly in the dry heat, while taqaluff was last seen hitch-hiking in the direction of NZ as I slowly get programmed into ‘jungle’ mode in a brilliant case of regression. Sad to see it though, sad to see myself get into ‘survival’ mode, where all one is thinking about is ‘I, me, myself’ with all the others ‘gaye bhaad mein’. 



Lesson seven - when in Rome, drive as the Romans do. Even if it turns you from a sweet-tempered, courteous, pacifist into an aggressive gargoyle with a wicked glint in your eyes and a snarl on your lips. Like Chief Seattle so poignantly put it, “end of civilisation, beginning of survival’.

Zen and the art of car driving (in India) - 1

-ONE-

Yes, yes, I went and bought a car. That too a brand new one. Silky silver. The reaction to this has been varied. Some people said, ‘Wow!" Most seemed happy, but my friend in New Zealand put it all into perspective. She said, “Jolly, I’m amazed you bought a car”. She should know. She's travelled widely in India and knows that traffic = chaos here. Another friend in NZ said, “Good for you with the car, you really are a strong person”. That was kinda perplexing. She has never been to India so I’m still trying to figure out the connection. Maybe she thinks that cars in India don't have power steering. Mum said, ‘What colour is it?” Gosh, Mum, now I have a vehicle capable of causing death and destruction and you are enquiring about the colour? Mum does make profound statements like that sometimes.
Lesson one - don’t take yourself or your acquisitions seriously and don’t lose perspective.

Well, step one over, the next challenge is to drive it. Hardly a challenge one would think for someone who has been zipping up and down highways in NZ at well past the speed limit, except for one small detail. This car has a clutch pedal. Never would I have thought that an insignificant looking piece of metal, less than 6 inches in length could make such a difference to my life. Or would turn driving from a pleasant meditative experience to a harrowing lesson in concentration and coordination. Yet, a challenge is a challenge and in order to tackle it I get myself an ally. Called Ismail. My self-appointed driving instructor.
Lesson two - when God gives you challenges, he also sends help. Sometimes it just materialises on your doorstep.

So driving lessons begin in ernest. At early hours of the morning. Too early for my protesting body clock to handle. So half-asleep and irritable, I try to solve the difficult enigma called the manual transmission and for the first time in my life I wish I was rich. Rich enough to buy an automatic transmission car. Yes, my angst is so great that when Ismail (he must have an especially large cruel bone) points out passing automatic cars, I almost drool with desire. Yes, yes, I keep reminding myself, (after the car has stopped again in the middle of the road), if 10th-fail taxi drivers can do this, so can I, after all it’s just a matter of making the left foot-brain connection. My poor left foot who for so long has relaxed comfortably against the car carpet rousing itself into action to render some foot-tapping accompaniment to zesty music is now being put through the drill of having to constantly ‘clutch dabaa ke 1st gear mein daalo’. Or to get even more scientific, my poor right brain who for so long was given to writing rhapsodies about the silken smoothness of petals silhouetted against summer skies has now got to frantically descramble stimuli coming thick and fast from all over the place and send messages to my left foot to not forget that there is a vital ‘under-6 inch’ piece of metal and to not (for the nth time) release it in first gear. Or even more important - to depress it while changing gears.
Lesson three. There exists a vestigial right-brain---left-foot connection which had been lying unconnected and dormant for long (or maybe holidaying in Greece) and which needs to be reconnected (holiday cut-short) pronto and on the double.

In my solitary moments I secretly think that Ismail is too much of a first gear enthusiast. In fact I think he’s obsessed with it. Else why would he spend so much time teaching me something that is used only while starting the car? Wait, he tells me ominously, wait until you start driving in traffic, then you’ll remember all your first gear lessons. I nod my head in great doubt. But in spite of his obsession with the first gear, this Ismail is quite a character, chatty and friendly and philosophical. It is easy to get talking to him and the topics of our conversations are wide-ranging. In fact we get into such deep discussions that I even begin to suspect that I am taking so long to master the first gear because my mind is focussing more on the topic on discussion rather than the topic under foot. One day I ask him if his wife wears a burkha. ‘Yes, it is said she must in the Koran.’ I digest that for a bit. Then, just out of curiosity, ‘is your wife good-looking?’ I’m thinking, why would anyone want to cover up a plain-looking woman? ‘It says so in the Koran’, is his stoic answer. ‘No, no,’ I protest, wondering what the connection is, ‘I’m not asking about the Koran, I’m asking if she looks good’. ‘I don’t know, but it says so in the Koran’. This parrot-like repetition irks me a bit so I say with some exaggerated patience, ‘Ismail, forget the Koran, what has the Koran to do with your wife’s looks, just tell me how she looks.’ ‘Parwah nahi’, he says. His tone has suddenly changed from open friendliness into stony coldness. I am stunned into silence, so stunned am I by the indifference in his voice that I take my eyes off the road and look at the closed indifference etched in his body language. Suddenly, the clutch pedal looks so much easier to handle, so much more amenable to reason than people’s attitudes.
Lesson four. Car mechanics, any mechanics, laws of physics, laws of pure science, all clean, all manageable, maybe tough to crack but easy to master. Laws made by man is another matter altogether.

------ to be continued --------

My skydive at Lake Taupo

Finally, I found the time to upload my skydive video onto YouTube :)))

Click here to watch the video

I loved it so much that I've decided to jump at every turn of the decade, my life decade that is. So the next jump will be when I turn 50. :)))

Day 11 - National Park to Wellington

Well, my holiday has almost come to an end. When I wake up I lie in bed thinking about the past 10 days and how much fun it has been. So many firsts in just one trip, that thought itself is enough to make me feel alive and enthusiastic :) I guess the feeling comes from the novelty of it all, going to places you’ve never been to, doing things you’ve always wanted to do, each moment is new and a surprise, your senses are alert to all the new experiences. When we come back to our normal routine life, that sense of novelty is lost, things are routine, habit reigns and we feel ennui. Therefore, holidays are good for us, they recharge our batteries, clearing our minds of junk and injecting fresh thought.

A 320 kms drive lies ahead of me and I decide to take it slowly. I want to savour these last hours on the road, these last moments of my wonderful trip. After I leave the desert like landscape of the environs around Mt.Ruapehu, the scenery becomes green again, and as I turn around corners I suddenly glimpse the white-streaked slopes of Mt. Ruapehu rising in the distance. I decide to stop next to a meadow to take some pictures and when I get out of the car I realise it’s one of the most beautiful scenes I’ve seen so far. The whole scene is lit up with light. The sunlight lies sparkling on the grass, the rounded undulating mounds are speckled with yellow wild flowers nodding merrily in the breeze. Sheep graze placidly behind the fences and wild grass wave their bushy heads at the wind. In the far distance, a dark green swathe of pine trees grow tall and above it all Mt. Ruapehu rises, imposing and silent. After I’ve taken my fill of pictures, I just stand there and drink in the scene allowing the serenity to settle into my bones.


I stop wherever I can, at Waioru, at the Rations café, for a cup of tea and a slice of lemon cake. Waioru has an army outpost, hence maybe the café is called Rations Cafe. There is an army tank outside and little boys are having a great time climbing onto it and pretending to be soldiers. With their dads keeping a watchful eye. A nice father-son bonding moment. I watch the kiddos for a while, it’s very interesting watching kid dynamics at play. How the emerging personalities develop and how they interact. Then it’s time to take to the road again.

After the hills and valleys and winding roads, I’m now driving in flat country. The horizon disappears in a haze on all sides and the road lies straight and flat. Hence this area is called the Horizons Region. I am tempted to take a detour to Whanganui town, where the Wanganui river meets with the sea. Plying on the river is the popular paddle-boat steamer Waimarie which was established in 1900 and is the last remaining boat of a fleet that used to ply the river carrying stuff up and down back in the old days. This river cruise is one of the main attractions for this area. But I decide to give it a miss and carry on straight ahead.

Driving solo on these roads gives me plenty of opportunity to ponder and contemplate. There have been so many firsts on this incredible journey it amazes me to think that what started as a whim turned out into this fantastic experience. I realise it’s never too late to do stuff. Age is just a barrier in the mind, in fact all barriers are in the mind. The spirit is free and willing. Always. After my sky-dive, I learnt that the oldest person to sky-dive was 91 and the youngest was 5. What must have the 91-year old been thinking? That why not do it, he’s got one foot in the grave anyway? But don’t we all have a foot in the grave? Do we know our expiry date? What then prevents us from living life to the fullest?

I realise that all our actions are motivated by just two things. Either Love or Fear. We do things out of love or out of fear. Even a simple, mundane act as brushing our teeth even though done out of habit is being done because we love our body and don’t want out teeth to rot and fall off. Look closely at every one of your actions and you’ll find that either one of these is the main motivator. So why not do everything with love, after all that is the highest energy vibration in the universe. Why do anything out of fear, why not banish fear entirely from our lives, and live as if everything is possible. Because, everything IS possible.

I also think of all the people who helped me during this trip, most of them total strangers. I think if we approach people with innocence and trust, most of the time you get trust and kindness in return. But growing up in a tough city like Bombay, I was forced to learn to watch my back and to distrust people. Obviously, mistrust comes from fear and trust from love. It takes a whole heap of courage to keep trusting even after you’ve been let down.

I also learnt that having faith in the universe works. After all, if the Universe can hurtle the planets around and create the galaxies, it can be trusted to make a few dolphins appear near a boat or to bring up good weather for driving. You only have to ask and trust. And hey and presto, it happens.

I stop next at Levin, where there is a rest area. A playground sits in a largish area and sometimes a toy train runs through it. There is also a dining area with a microwave oven and hot water for tea/coffee. I heat the food I’m carrying, take it outside and eat while watching the kids playing. The weather has been pleasant, warm with a nice breeze blowing.

Wellington is not too far now and shortly I reach the Kapiti coast, just north of Wellington. Kapiti has a few beaches along the coast and is a popular weekend destination for Wellingtonians. There is a little stretch where the road is close to the sea and inclines downwards. So you get a good view of the beach from a height and then after a while, you’re driving alongside the coast, the breakers smashing against the rocks.

And after a short while I’m home after a memorable vacation. The odometer says the car travelled 2820 kms. Gosh! That sounds huge! Maybe I even stretched the car’s limits. :) In so many ways it was awesome, fulfilling and a journey of self-discovery. I feel as if I am cradled in the safe, loving hands of the Universe. In the last 11 days I’ve learnt so much, grown so much, enjoyed so much, for which all I feel an immense gratitude towards the Universe.

Day 10 - Waitomo to National Park

I wake up to the dawn chorus. In the perfect silence the birdsong rises loud and clear. I cannot lie in bed today because the lodge is a bed and breakfast place and Janet had informed me that breakfast is from 7.45 to 8.45. So I make myself a cup of tea and go outside. Being summer, the sun has risen early and sunlight is swathed over everything, the hills, the rooftops, the road. Trees sparkle and the cows in the hills are silhouetted perfectly in the bright light. One cow says ‘mooo...’ and another replies ‘mooooo...’ I’m sure they understand each other even though I do not. Somewhere close at hand a sheep goes ‘baaah, baaaaah’. My city-dweller heart goes rapt with delight. I feel rested but alive. This is how one should begin one’s day, I think, at peace and living every minute keenly, deeply. I wonder how to keep this aliveness alive always. It could be that living among nature brings down our barriers, our masks, and connects us with the source that lies within all.

The other guests are having breakfast already and Janet and Colin go from table to table chatting. They are such a nice couple, no airs, very helpful and friendly. I compliment Colin for his cookies that he has left in the room. And Janet helps me to find things-to-do at the National Park, which is my next stopover. On my way out I discover that they have a little lily pond with orange fishes in it and around this a veggie garden. Broccoli, brussels sprouts, onions, berries, growing cheerily in the sun, looking healthy and delicious :)


Then I start a 2 hour drive to the National Park. On the way I stop at a small town for a break and see a restaurant that has been built into a railway carriage. I wonder how it would be inside. I should have gone inside and had a look.


As I get closer Mt.Raupehu rises majestically in the distance. This is the highest peak in the North Island and in winter is covered in snow. There is a twin peak called and both mountains are popular ski-fields. After I check in at the YHA hostel I enquire about the activities I can do. This is the only place where I hadn’t thought beforehand about what to do, so I’m a bit at a loose end. Ann, the lady at the counter suggests the I take the ski-lifts up to almost the top because it’s too late to start climbing. Little does she know that I have absolutely no intention to climb :)

So I have lunch and drive the 9 kms to the foothills of the mountain, to take the ski-lifts. The ski-lifts are mainly used during the skiing season to take skiers up to the top so that they can come skiing down the icy slopes. Non-skiers like me, however, go up and come down in the ski-lifts itself :) Most of the snow on Mt. Raupehu has melted away in the summer and only small streaks still cling to the top reaches of the mountain. The mountain looks so much different without the snow. During winter it is a white fairyland, snow on everything including the housetops and bushes and even the foothills and it all looks like a picture postcard. Now, it is all rocks and gravel, in various shades of brown and grey. This transformation is amazing and hard to take in at first. Even the houses look drab and dark.


I take the ski-lift which is really an open chair suspended on a metal rope attached to the supporting ropes being rotated by a pulley system. As it takes off and my feet lose their contact with the ground, I must admit that I feel little bouts of fright. But once you get used to being suspended in mid-air by a flimsy looking rope it starts to become fun. As I climb higher the air gets colder and Mt.Raupehu gets closer. Somewhere along the way a waterfall hangs, singing spritely among the silent rocks, splashing down all the melted ice.


I reach the end of the lift system and get off. Getting off is tricky because the lift doesn’t actually stop, just slows down, so you have to hop off and move to the side else, it’ll come and hit you. There are only a few people around as most are either climbing up or down using their muscle power. My muscles are still complaining after yesterday’s cave adventure so I feel no temptation to join them. :) But I climb a few rocks to where the snow line begins. The snow lies in patches against the rock face and when I take up a handful I find they are actually tiny ice crystals. They feels crunchy and start melting due to the warmth of my hand and forms a ball when I press them together. Nice feeling! I then settle down on a rock and just gaze at the half-snowy landscape.

The silence of the mountains are of a different quality. Since there are not much living things around, the silence actually emanates from the rocks, the snow and hangs in the air. It is not a pulsating kind of silence but a deep brooding one. I breathe it in, into my inner spaces. It is no wonder that the Maori consider Mt.Raupehu to be sacred, there is a sacredness in the inscrutable rocky face, the impenetrability, the awesomeness of its size that makes man seem so fragile and so puny.

The rock formation where I’m sitting is crater like with a huge bowl like depression in the mountain surface and people have make tracks for slides, for sliding down on their backsides. Shortly after, a family arrives who discovers these and proceed to whoopee down the tracks on their bottoms. It seems like fun but I feel in the least inclined to get my bottom cold and by pants wet. So I watch as more and more people arrive and take to the slides. It is interesting watching people’s reactions during this their little adventure. The young enjoy it thoroughly, taking the bumps and the excitement in their stride, the older ones look a bit self-conscious and a little apprehensive and do not do as many repeats as the young ones.

Having lost the silence in the air and growing tired of the human activity I take the ski-lifts back down. The view while coming down in panoramic. The plains are spread out on all sides parts of it simmering green in the distance. For the main part, however, it is brown, especially the foothills and the desert around the mountains. The desert here is not made of sand but of dwarf bushes and dry grass which looks sparse but still has a strange stark beauty to it.

Back at my room which is on the first floor I find on looking out of the window, a couple of young people sunbathing on the grass. They have put up a little tent on the grass and I wonder if they are going to spend the night in it. I am amazed at the Europeans. They leave behind comfortable homes, with cosy beds and heating and spend days living in tents with hardly any basic amenities, while most of the people in the Third World are trying to acquire just the conditions these folks have left behind. Hmmmmm....

When I look out of the other window I see much to my surprise Mt.Raupehu looking serene far in the distance. I had not realised that I had such a good view of the mountain from my window. If only all surprises in life are pleasant ones like this :)))


Bath and dinner over, I’m ready to rest for the day. This has been a quiet day spent in much reflection and contemplation.

Day 9 - Auckland to Waitomo

When I wake up in the morning I find it’s raining which is actually quite a pleasant change from the hot weather we’ve been having. B’s house is in a very pretty place, on a large ground filled with fruit and other trees. Birds are atwitter among the leaves and a pleasant breeze blows through the house. She kindly packs food for me for lunch and dinner and assures me that she had a good time and then we bid each other farewell.

The distance to Waitomo caves is 200 kms and the GPS informs me that it’s going to take 2.5 hours. Hmmmm..... The journey is much more pleasant today because of the rain and the drop in temperature. Also, as I move southwards, the landscape gets lovelier. Brown gives way to green as the hills and fields are swathed in lovely, delectable shades of green. Up north, it was more cattle country, but now sheep start appearing in the meadows as white furry bundles head down in the grass grazing. It’s hard at times to keep my eyes away from the landscape and on the road. For once I wish someone else was driving and I was in the passenger seat feasting my eyes on the panorama spread out on both sides. I wonder what I’m doing in a metal box on wheels, burning up precious fossil fuel and whizzing by at breakneck speed. A spectacle like this deserves to savoured at a slower pace, maybe on horseback or in a horse carriage, windows open, hair blowing in the wind and spirit bounding among the trees and the hills.


After four days of company, I’m alone once again. Even though the company was nice to have, I must admit that I like the solitude. I can now actually hear myself think and even drop my thoughts and be in silence. It is usually hard to stay connected with my inner self when the attention is on the world and other surface things. So I just enjoy my own company. Sometimes I talk to the car, tell her what a great job she’s been doing, taking me across the countryside without complaint. I send out waves of love and gratitude. Did you know that all energy has consciousness?

I reach Waitomo Caves and check into the lodge. It is built into a hillside and is therefore at various levels. I find that the room I’ve been alloted is at the very top level and has a wonderful view of the surroundings. Little hillocks undulate in the distance and pine forests rise dark and thick on some of them. Sheep dot the sides of the hills and among the trees birds call and crickets sing. The lodge comprises little cottages and the owners Colin and Janet stay in the main house at the bottom level. Around each structure flowers and bushes grow in abundance. On the verandah outside the house on a roof trellis, two grape vines have spread their branches creating a green canopy and unripe grapes hang down in perfect bunches. It is so heartwarming to see foliage growing in such profusion.


Waitomo is famous for its cave system some of which contain stalagmites and stalactites and also glowworms which when viewed in the dark makes for a surreal experience. The word Waitomo comes from the Maori for wai meaning water and tomo meaning sinkhole, so it can be translated as ‘water passing through a hole’. I’ve been here before and seen the glowworms and all that but this time I want to try out black water rafting :)

So, after a quick lunch I head off to the Black Water Rafting company’s meeting point. Because we’re doing a wet exploration through the caves, we’re given wet suits to don. In the ladies changing room while we’re putting on our gear, I hear someone say ‘What am I doing here?’ again and again. :) The wet suits are, well, wet. And clingy. And stick to you like second skin. I guess it helps to keep the body heat in.

Then we all get into a van and are taken to the side of a small stream where we are asked to choose tubes that our bottoms will fit into. Tubes are circular air-filled donuts which will be used to sit upon and float once we are in the water. We are also given helmets with lights on them.

Then we do a trial run of jumping off a waterfall. We have to attach the tubes to our bottoms and jump into the water facing backwards so as to land in the water on the tube and bottom down and head up :) The trial run seems easy even though it is a bit of a shock to the system to land suddenly in the cold water, sink a little and gulp a lot of water. Then we are taken to the mouth of the cave. This cave is called the Ruakuri Cave meaning ‘cave of dogs’ because according to Maori legend, some young hunters who were returning from bird catching were suddenly attacked by wild dogs. In order to escape, they threw the dead birds at the dogs and ran away. The chief not too happy to be deprived of food sent them back to get the dogs. They, with the help of some more tribesmen came back, found the dogs in this cave, captured them, took them back, killed and ate them. In the process, also discovered this cave.

Back in the present day, for us, a different kind of adventure begins :)

The cave system here is made up of tunnels with uneven stone floors and limestone walls and stalactite ceilings. It not dry but has a constant flow of water flowing through it sometimes at a rapid pace and occasionally the floor dips so that the water then gushes over the fall. As we enter the cave it gets dark, so we switch on the light on our helmets. Then clutching our tubes we pick our way gingerly over the rocks, trying to avoid the limestone jutting out or the stalactites hanging too low. When the ceiling is too low, we get on our tubes, lie back flat and float through the gap. We climb into holes and through holes, lose our balance, grab the walls, scrape our skin. Over the waterfalls, we attach to tube to backsides, stick our bottoms into it and jump. Yippee!!! And land in a splash, gulping water and getting soaking wet.

I must say that it is interesting to note and very heartening to find that in situations like these total strangers become very helpful. For helping hands reach out whenever someone is in need of help and everyone looks out for the other. It must be the presence of danger that kindles a kinship with people you’ve never met before, who do not even speak the same language as you and whom you may never see again.

All throughout the cave system glowworms are to be found. Actually, only the first half of the word ‘glowworm’ is true because even though it glows it is not a worm, it an insect called the fungus gnat. And it’s not the insect that is glowing, it’s its shit. So what we’re looking at is glowing shit. The gnats themselves are in the larvae stage and they attach themselves to the roofs of these caves, excrete luminous stuff and thin, sticky lines that hang down. Flying insects that get into the caves, are attracted to the glow and when they come near, get trapped by the hanging lines. The glowworms pull them in and make a meal of them. They hang around like this for 9 months after which they metamorphose into adults. The adult gnats, however do not have mouths, so they cannot eat, so they just mate furiously for 3-4 days, after which the male flies off and dies. The female, then goes around laying around 120 eggs, after which she also dies. Out of all those eggs around 40 survive. The survivors proceed to eat the unsuccessful ones, thereby producing shit and then the cycle is repeated. All very fascinating.

After all that wading through ankle-deep, knee-deep water and jumping off waterfalls, we come to the most mind-blowing part of the adventure. We are asked to get into the eel formation which involves us getting into single line, putting your legs on the side of the tube of the person in front of you and grabbing the feet of the person behind you whose legs are on your side. Thereby, we form a tight line. Then we switch off our lights. And then the guide in front slowly pulls us along. I just lie on my back, my bottom in the water, looking up, and in the darkness, the roof above is lit up with the glow of thousands of glowworms. It’s like as if the starry sky has come down and is almost within reach. It is almost totally silent except for the occasional splash of water and I just lie there gliding slowly through the water, in the near total darkness, under the soft light of the glowworms. It is elemental. It is exhilarating. It is surreal. All the wading, and jumping, and scraping and falling out of tubes and gulping water suddenly becomes worthwhile.

After that wonderful experience, we come out of the eel formation, climb some more, wade some more and then come to the real test. Our guide tells us to switch off our lights and glide thorough the pitch dark all by ourselves. And off we go, bumping into each other, the walls and sometimes the floor, trying not to get lost or get left behind. Finally, light is seen at the end of the dark tunnel and we all climb out of the cave into daylight. I feel stiff and exhausted. My body sends messages like “I’m not young anymore”, “Stop torturing me”. Which I conveniently ignore. Hehehehe :)))

Back at the premise, I climb out of the wet suit and get into the hot shower. Aaaahhhhh!!!!! What a great feeling! Hot water against cold skin! To get warm again after more than an hour in a cold, wet cave system wearing a wet suit. Then we all go and have a free complimentary soup and bagel. My body is partially pacified :))) That was such a great adventure. Even though I must admit that there were times when I wondered, ‘Why am I doing this?” “What am I doing in this wet suit, jumping off waterfalls?” Pushing boundaries, of course :)))

Back at the lodge, after dinner, I pick up a conversation with Colin, the owner. Turns out this is his retirement business. He is a former high school teacher. I compliment him about the profusion of plants and flowers and his success at grape-growing. He says things grow because they can’t help growing, because the climate is such, it is conducive to growth. I enquire about a place close by where there are a few lions and you get to pet the lion cub when it’s just a few weeks old or until it grows it’s fangs. He says wild animals should not be allowed too close contact with humans, else they lose their wildness and forget their real nature. (I would say the same about myself :))) Look at dogs, he says pointing to his dog, they are pack animals, they follow a hierarchy, alpha male and alpha female, then others down the pecking order. Our dog waits for us to finish dinner before she has hers, even though we keep her dinner out first because she knows that she is further down the hierarchy. Therefore humans should never allow dogs to sleep with them, then the dogs will think they are above and will rebel when they are controlled. Dogs are like children, they like structure, Cats, on the contrary are independent and solitary and don’t care for hierarchy or structure. Quite interesting!



I come back to the room and sit and gaze at the landscape outside. The setting sun has lit up the grass and the light is streaming through the leaves. The dusk chorus is actively twittering in the trees. Thus, another memorable day has come to an end.

Day 8 - Kaitaia to Auckland

Morning finds me still in bed reluctant to get up simply because I’m still feeling tired but we have to checkout at 10 and there is another long drive ahead. A hot cup of tea and a cold shower revives me somewhat. Unfortunately, the motel has not kitchenette, so we cannot make any breakfast so after checking out I inquire about the breakfast facilities at the hotel only to be told that it was over at 9. Darn! However driving through town I find a cafe and having refueled myself to the full take to the road again :)

The weather is perfect for a long drive. It rains occasionally which helps to keep the heat down and the cloud cover reduces the harshness of the sunshine. The landscape is as usual beautiful. Rolling hills, cattle grazing in paddocks, pine trees glowing dark on the hills and occasionally we go through forests where trees, ferns and other vegetation grow thick and dense. Little one-lane bridges straddle streams and sometimes rivers and tiny ponds flash by. The colour as we drive southwards changes from brown to green. Fields of corn appear lush among the grassland and the hills as we drive further south get greener and greener. Through it all, A R Rehman and R D Burman compositions provide sing-along company.

B is an inveterate clock-watches. She checks the time meybe every 10 mins and I ask her if she has a train to catch :) She says she spent a lifetime working by the clock so now it has become a habit. But you are retired now, you can throw away your watch, at least take it off and put it in your handbag, I suggest, and enjoy the moment. She measures the distance covered and remaining and calculates the time that will be taken to reach our destination. I sigh in resignation. Maybe she needs to keep her mind busy.

Why this focus on the destination, I wonder. Destinations are like signposts, when we reach one, another one has taken its place. They keep moving and shifting through life and sometimes we focus so much on them that we forget to enjoy the journey. The final destination for the body is the grave, the mind gets lost in oblivion but the spirit knows no signposts nor time, it forever dwells in the present.

Even though the drive is long and sometimes arduous, I find myself enjoying it. Driving is like meditation sometimes, The mind goes into cruise control, the hands steer and the foot works the levers seemingly without any direction from the mind. Surely, there must be some deeper intelligence driving this whole mind-body thing that we become aware of at times like these.

We arrive at Auckland finally a lot later then B had calculated, mainly because of traffic. I tease her about that. So I’m spending the night at her place. No places to visit today, just the inner spaces of myself.