Wish and hope.

A draft of chilly wind brushed my shoulders reviving the freshening of the senses , an comforting earthly feeling as isat on the terrace that had a clear view of the tirumala temple and the exact place where Srinivasar is enshrined , meditating and reciting slokas in praise of the supreme being.early in the morning.

The chirping of a tiny bird in all probabiliy one f that flock of birds that had danced in crazy exhilaration ,in perfectly synchronised circles yesterday evening over the place[just outside the temple] where the processional deity of Srinivasa and his consorts were lodged ,on a gently swaying swing in a mandap lit by one thousand oil lamps , in step with the acomppaniment of vedic chantsand bhakthi songs , like as if on a signal unmindful of the huge congregation of devotees ,reminding me of the belief of Sri vaishnavas once again that the deity of the sacred 7 hills is visited by nitya suris everyday to pay their obeisance to their master in deified form, the eternal blissful lord of the universe ,from their usual residence at vaikuntum where they are said to be for ever at service of Narayana, free from all earthly contamination's , mainly the insurmountable lure of the senses .The bells chiming at the temple and the gently re assuring rustle of the leaves of nearby arasamaram --sacred fig tree as the wind bounced off each one of them , the multitude  echos of which, synchronised to form the symphony ,brought an element of peace  and calmed the hankerings  and the restlessness wrought in their relentless pursuit.What a moment! Is this the definition of spiritualism?Were those few seconds an small trailer to the breath taking breadth of eternal calm that awaits one?  

As i looked at the  vimanum glistening in golden splendour, it seemed to be radiating very silently but very emphatically the essence of gita.That the moment i was luxuriating in was due to my senses .How can this be spiritual? The gentle touch of the cool breeze and the sweet chirping of that tiny bird were all pleasurable 'feelings ' even if it is a unique oasis in the arid desert of life.The one who is enshrined there is beyond the senses , its dualities and as gita tells us has transcended it and is therefore always unperturbed and free and thereby holds the hope for each one of us to acquire , if not the same at least ,near about equanimity.

Easily said than done Very, very few can reach such a state.

Were those birds flying in exhilaration and in gratitude over srinivasar 's image  yesterday evening such souls, the mukhta's ,who are said to have the power to assume any form and shape as they will as per srivaishnavaites faith? 
It is my fond hope that they were the mukhtas ,with a wishful thinking that one  in that sacred flock is also the one who had brightened my life and lightened its burdens and has successfully overthrown the shackles of this worldly life and has gone beyond pain and pleasure and has become absorbed in that infinite and eternal bliss .
A mother's fond hope.--------14.8.13     8 am 

photo.Srinvasa temple at tirumalai 

Naganandi tree.

The leaves of the dome like naganandi tree had turned into a brilliant saffron .The tree which is famous for its highly fragrant flowers, rose pink in colour resembling the hood of a naga or serpent sheltering the tiny lingam within ,was shedding its leaves ,that had ripened from a pale green to the sacred saffron colour . The ground below was richly carpeted by layers upon layers of twirling, twisting and floating leaves shed by this very old tree at the park.
Today [15.7.13]  i could fully appreciate the sacredness attributed to this tree .The unique shape of the flowers set in the backdrop  of this astonishing and exquisite colouring of the ripened leaves that was suffusing me with its spiritual beauty ,and enabled me to fully grasp the reverence it has evoked amongst all down the ages, sages and common folks alike.

Greetings to the sun.

The gulmohar tree that was spreading out tall and wide had effectively eclipsed  the happenings in the wide blue broad sky visible beyond my window .Since its felling recently the space beyond became ,glaringly visible.
Today  early in the morning around 5 am i chanced to see the first rays of the sun ,that was yet to rise ,as a thin silver ribbon ,tying a thick curtain of slate blue clouds .Down below the street was deserted .Nothing stirred .Neither human nor animal.
To get a better view of this daily celestial event that goes mainly unnoticed by me and  others as well ,  living in concrete jungles,i went up to the terrace  get a better view .
The thin ribbon of silver slowly turned brick red and spread on the eastern sky staining it rapidly in translucent red, as it expanded , stirring some very indefinable primeval feelings and inexlicable awe .That of the transistory nature of all life and that which awaits all, beyond the invisible but tangible border that has to be crossed one day or the other.

Though nothing stirred in the street below, the sky was throbbing with the excitement peculiar only to life., that of the leisurely but powerful flapping of wings of eagles in companionable twosomes , coasting seemingly casually.
It amazed me that these birds of prey were the first to greet and salute the dawn breaking through the night.Poetry's always refer to koels or the beautiful swans as the first amongst the birds to greet the sun .On reflection it makes sense that eagles who rely on their keen eyesight to swoop and snatch their preys down much,much below ,ought and are up there first,to greet the light that will illumine and line their lives.Their dependence on the sun is verily much more than the other birds.

Have the ancients of this country observed this deep devotion and obvious gratitude to the eternal celestial brilliant orb by the eagles as i do now and felicitated it with according it the sacred honour of being the vehicle of Vishnu--sarveswara   ?

Then came the parrots screeching in ecstasy with the sheer joy of living after a night of peaceful slumber .Their round green faces smiling in contentment ,deepening the natural rosy rouge of their beaks.

By now the slate blue clouds were licked by tongues of orange flames as the sun rose as a huge disc like a distant delicious cotton candy attractive and inviting one to savour its flavour and disappeared soon behind clouds that blushed in pleasing pink.

The presence of the sun in all its splendour triggered the whirling of a huge flock of pigeons that waltzed gracefully  first in clock wise circles and next in anti clock wise direction in a frenetic pace ,till such time, few minutes thence, becoming utterly exhausted as to make them drop down to their perches .A raven from a wall cawed and a koel sang from a tree top signalling  the end  of the ritual put up by the only life forms in this earth --birds that greet the dawn and rising sun with uninhibited joy and unparalleled gratitude.

silent bubbles.

The waves sparkling with thousands of silver stars , the reflection of early morning sun ,spread itself as frothy milk as it touched the sands .As the main waves withdrew back to the sea, the drenched sands were covered with bubbles of all shapes and sizes that lost all its air in few seconds and lay spent on the biscuit coloured sands ,wetting it even more as it gave up its identity in its very short  lived life.

Brithrahari the 1 cent AD philosopher poet king 's observation as he sat meditating on the banks of ganga at Haridwar ,that life was like bubbles ---budhdudha  of a rapidly flowing stream came to my mind as my feet soaked in the cool water  on a warm day and inhaled the restless energy  of the relentlessly crashing waves  as well as the gentle eternal calm of the deep waters,beyond. Both, facets of nature.

There were  couples  with kids ,playing in the waves , an old lady laughingly chiding her grandson who was caught unexpectedly in a  wave and was rolled around.Groups of young men playing cricket and several others practising silambhaatam--traditional fighting with sticks,and few others executing gymnastic tricks and fishermen unloading their  catch from their small catamarans--.A black butterfly flitted just above the spray , flirting with it ,seemingly taking a dangerous flight path.

Innocent faces of blissful ignorance was to be found everywhere. Creased at the most with the worry of having to attend office tomorrow after the leisurely weekend.How i wish that i could gather their innocence and ignorance wrought by ordinary normal  mundane but  comforting existence and smear it over  and regain my own.A lanky horse and its rider came near , searching eagerly for children's  his customers .The good old proverb came to mind -If wishes were horses i would be riding it .

The wall of silence i had erected around myself was breached exactly an year back and was slowly chipped away .Of what use  is that to me or to those around? It seems only death has been visiting periodically ,ever since, then.

Before i was haunted only by the death of my son but now the deaths elsewhere unconnected to me yet in a round about way linked to me has started to haunt me as well.
How i wish that i am really a paranoid, scizhoid, delusional lesbian cum transgender and treated precisely as such as per the rumours floated around me and not what i am actually being perceived by those desperate for power.

PPT's and immoral and unethical media houses  ,life of innocents , civilians is nothing to be trifled with , whoever and which ever side they may be.

Who is the maniac who is in the centre of this all? The deciding authority of the information gathered from me , from my conversations and even the contents of the stories i read.Use me if at all [i seem to have no say]only for creative purposes and never  for destructive ends.

The thread.
1. 22.5.13--Decided and stated aloud that it was my 'Karma 'that no one near me is wiling to believe the bugs, tapes etc.

2.24.5.13 ---in a telephonic conversation with my brother delved in past .The fact of our childhood pal returning to normal life after a brief stint as a Naxalite in AP.That of a famous neighbour marrying a tribal woman which was disliked by his father an up Brahmin'.of course i could overhear some one else's breathing and sharp intakes.


Earlier my conversations were very brief and never into the past.

3. 25 th noon read    'Ants 'a short story on tribals by the Oriya writer Gopinath mohanty  in 1940 ,about smuggling of rice by tribals owing to starvation and the hero an officer'tracking them down the jungles to book them for crime against state, but dropping it with a sudden  change of heart on seeing their pathetic forms.

Just who has this unbridled power and right not derived from any law ,to read what i read in my leisure?

4. Night got the news of the death of ex salwa judam chief and several congress men[collateral damage?] at the hands of Maoists.
I immediately caught a cold and at same time burned with fever.My facial muscles tightened and earlier weepiness was replaced by anger bubbling ,forth.

Only a bhasmasuran will work thus.Every party seems to have one at its midst.The  difference is in the scale of wounds inflicted  on self and causalities caused as collateral damage.

A line of co incidences and i am absolutely paranoid ,thinking my house is rigged and bugged and  under covert surveillence and totally delusional in stringing them together and arriving at illogical and irrational conclusions which is nothing but the sustained efforts of kgb and co to show my true colours to the faithfuls.All nothing but bubbles.

I dearly and very clearly hope so.What a relief that would be ..
.

Mangalore.

The city reminds me of Mysore but as a newer and modern version.The main roads are in concrete..It also reminds of Varkala with its winding inner streets with a lot of ups and downs.
The temples are just like the one's i visited at Kerala .The construction and layout with broad tiled roof's, the tiles known as Mangalore tiles that once denoted prosperity when it was laid on roof's of dwellings in Tamilnadu and Andra  in lieu of the locally made small sized tiles.

The tiles have stuck on forming the roof of several houses  side by side with spanking new multi storeyed buildings and  flat roofs.What struck me was the abundance of banyan trees  on the road side exuding solidity and continuity.

At night however the city took a altogether new look as we took another route,with blazing lights over shops , malls and gym's that looks out on to the traffic laden road with the exercisers visible to every passerby through the transparent huge glass windows ,exactly like some of those gym's at Chennai.A country wide phenomena of gyming in confines but visible to the public, a deliberate design?

Mangalore is a mini modern metro like those dotting South and Gujarat --my recent visits being confined to these places so are my observations.

Took a  trip to nearest beach that was 15 kms away to watch the locally famed sunset.The beach is clean and the sun set dramatically as a  delicious orange candy within a wink of the eye.Like signal most of the shops -eateries closed and nearly all the visitors emptied the the sands walking towards their parked vehicles!
The beach reminded me of Elliot's beach as it was a couple of decades back, forlorn and empty.Now one has to jostle for even an inch of space ,especially after sun down!

The auto driver was bent on pointing out the manufacturing units like that of fertilisers, cement, iron and it companies  lining the way to our bleary eyes begging for sleep  from the tiring, long train journey.

I noticed earlier in the day that  a lot of women  were on the street on their own from middle class .I found a kindred spirit with all those carrying a parasol --many of them as a protection from the heat to their fair and sensitive skins.
Side by side with tip to toe black bhurka clad gils a sizable number are those In jeans , 3/4 th leggings  and mini shorts!

 Earlier we could not have darshan of Sri Venkataramana since a local holi festival  as  a part of Rath yatra was in full swing with crowds of youth and kids  milling around having a whale of a time splashing water and smearing colours.But had  a peaceful darshan of Mangala devi the deity of an ancient temple from whom the city derives its name. 

T he beach near Mangalore.

Thirupavai--3

The following hymn composed by Andal the woman vaishnavaite saint of 9 th cent AD is sung on the third day of Margahzhi month viz December to January.This gem out of the total of other equally precious gems of 3o hymns sung by her is specially noted for its poetic excellence in its description of nature and this nation's wealth.

Vongi ulagalanda uthaman perpadi nangul nam pavaikku satri neeradinaal,
Theengu indri nadellam thingall mummari peidhu vongu perun sen neloodu kayalkhalapa
poongkuvallai podhil porivandu kanndu pathengadhe pukkirundhu seerthu mulai patri
vaanga kudam niraikkum vallal perum pasukkal neengadha selvam niraindhe lorempavai

Meaning:  In pursuance of our penance if we sing the names of the self sacrificing superior one--Purushotaman ,who measured this entire world by stretching himself effortlessly,
Without fail , the entire country will be blessed with rains, thrice a month!
Fishes will play amidst towering and vast expanse of fields of ripened red grains,
And spotted bees ,after having their fill of heady nectar will drowse peacefully ,with eyes closed on soft and downy beds [fit for princes] of the petals of flowers blooming in profusion,
And the indestructible wealth of this land , the generous and gentle cows, will grow steadily in numbers , ready to be milked,
And the milking vessels will overflow , flooding the country.!

This poem is a testimony to this country's limitless wealth as well as Andal's inexhaustible literary wealth.

Moon rise.

The moon rose like a thin rind that glowed with the dull but sacred luminosity of the much polished silver vessels found in the dim interiors of the sanctum of temples over puffs of slate grey clouds that sailed gently in the huge  blue canvas that was stroked casually and yet masterfully at the horizon with pink and mauve ,by the spurts of rays sent out by the sun,  reluctantly setting ,with its stubborn signature for the day, invading my inner space with a bewitchment that chased the shadows cast within me, as  a wisp of smoke ,dissolved and carried away by the whispering winds.

Is it possible to conjure up this scintillating painting that no human ,how so ever rich and powerful could commission , whenever i slip into dark recesses ,and make me catch my breath once again at my own as well as others insignificance , around me, when elements and forces show the  face of real power .No , that beauty though occurring eternally is but momentary. It cannot be memorised or stored or retrieved. It has to be experienced ,once again all over again.