Loner's Tip No. 16 - A Monk's Tale

His heart rate was perilously low, his brain waves disoriented. The monk continued to think of 'standing' - as his master had asked. The frozen lake was taking its toll on monk's body. Standing waist deep, he could not feel his lower body. Cold moved inside his veins like tiny iced-needles, piercing him at will and without jurisdiction. He focused - with hands joined in prayer, eyes closed, he waited for Buddha. The master had finally given him the secret - all the monk had to do was to stand meditating in the frozen lake and Buddha would come; Nirvana would come.
      It was no easy task: meditating waist deep in freezing water. Between those focused moments, his mind would wander more than he wanted. It would think of the body that stood dangerously close to death. Sometime, it would flash the sights of the long, arduous journey he had taken to reach the Lake of Kali. Those gazing women of the villages he passed; the kings who welcomed him and his great master; the poor farmer offering them their only morsels of food. But all those were only minor distractions. Most, and often, his mind wandered to Buddha. The serenity in bronze, those elegantly elongated ear lobes, and the orderly curls of hairs tied together. It was the closed eyes he lingered on most. Inside the peaceful eye-lids, they hid secrets of existence and salvation, happiness and the true meaning of it, the illusions and torments of mortal life, and that road that was only for a chosen few to be revealed... The monk forced his mind back: the eyes were dangerous, his master had told him. He only had to think of standing. This was his last chance. If he didn't get Buddha now, he would never will.
                                                             *
"Have you ever seen Buddha?" his master had asked, after he had persuaded the monk to try one last time.
      "Years ago," the monk had replied. "He stood in front of me. His eyes were closed. His open palm faced me. We stood in a dark cave whose roof couldn't be seen. We stood atop pillars. Between them was a dark, unending abyss. I flew with Buddha, pillar to pillar. The cave never ended, until my mind came back to the present."
      "What did you do then?"
      "I sat meditating again. I forced my mind. But he didn’t come. It has been so many years. It feels like Buddha would never come to me again," the monk sighed. "Why did he do it? Why come to me once and leave me with this torment for the rest of my mortal life?"
      The answer, the master had said, lies in the Lake of Kali.
                                                             *
The monk had difficulty breathing now. His lungs felt encased in blocks of stone, which didn't let them expand. The monk didn't let his mind wander.
                                                             *
"What will the lake teach me, master?" the monk had asked, standing in front of the Lake of Kali, watching its vast ends disappear in moving walls of mist.
      "Nothing that you don't already know," the master said with a smile. "Remember, the only thought you can harbor is about standing there. Buddha will come to you."
      The monk had looked at his master's serene face incredulously. "You must trust your master. May The Creation be with you," the master had said and vanished.
                                                             *
As if his mind was frozen, the monk didn't think of anything but standing. A thin layer of ice covered him till his neck. Breathing was laborious. His body trembled, his finger tips frozen to a rock. Then he heard a white swan sing. His time had come. He thanked his master, took his last breath, and fell face down on the frozen lake.
      The cave appeared again. And in there, was Buddha with closed eyes. The monk stood, hands joined, body frozen, but the shiver was gone. Buddha smiled, opened his eyes to him. He looked in those eyes and took a deep breath; felt his lungs break that shackle of stone and expand as if he would've been living.
      When his eyes opened, he found himself sitting with the master. The master smiled. He knew.
      "But I have a questions?" the monk said. All his weariness had vanished. He felt reborn. He continued, "Why today?"
      "Because today you didn't want him," the master said. The monk didn't understand. The master continued, "Every time you meditated, you did it with the desire of Buddha, of Nirvana. You bound yourself to a desire, and asked for freedom. That is something that The Creation cannot grant you. In the lake, I asked you to stand and meditate in the frozen lake and to think only about standing - only about what you were doing. And not about Buddha, not about what you wanted. The result is simply not yours to control. It is only your action that you control."
      The monk interfered, "But we are monks. We are liberated from material desires of a common man. It is the search of Buddha that liberates us from there. Why can't I want him?"
      "Monk or mundane, our bodies crave a desire. The body is not needed if you don't desire anything. Be it Nirvana. Being a monk doesn't make us separate from a worldly man. And like a worldly man, when we attach our actions to the desire of a result, the result eludes us. It stops us from giving our best. It stops us from achieving what we wanted in the first place. And when that happens, our minds are trapped in an unavoidable sadness."
      "So that was my mistake - wanting to see Buddha each time I closed my eyes?"
      "Yes. Buddha is no destination. You don't leave this body the moment you achieve it. The body has to go on until destined. Nirvana, when achieved, becomes the driving force of this body for the rest of it’s time. Nirvana - freedom! It is the freedom from desire of a result. It is the fact that a man - worldly or monk - must focus on his actions, and true happiness would follow. Liberation would follow. Another master had said - a man must be like a good bonfire, one that completely burns the wood and leaves nothing but light, warmth and ashes. In his actions, a man must consume himself without thinking of anything else."
      The monk had one last question: "Does it mean that a monk meditating in the Himalayas is no different than a man sitting in an air-conditioned office?"
      The master answered, "The monk is no different to a worldly man. What applies to a monk, applies to a common man. But a worldly man is different to a monk. He does not know what a monk knows - the secret of Nirvana. The moment he finds the secret, the difference disappears without him having to leave his world like you and me did."
      The monk smiled and closed his eyes. The air smelled of arriving spring. He had his body to turn into a good bonfire.

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Loner's Tip No. 15 - Je t'aime Catherine

He hurried, a cigarette between his lips, hands in pocket, shoulders strained, a big black bag hanging on them. He stopped, momentarily, when he saw her – hairs dishevelled, skin of her Chinese face dry from the cold, skin flaking off her lower lip, an old, white fur coat covering her body, the fur on the cap of which made her look like a distressed, feathery bird. She sat on the park bench, a bottle of beer in her hand and a smile on her face that came when she saw him. She recognized him. He recognized her too – she was the waitress in a cafeteria he frequented.
      He had only started to walk when she called, “Excuse me surrr, can I have a cigarette, please?” He hesitated. Those were alien worlds – a different country, culture and language – and he had to a lot on him – cash in his wallet, three credit cards, a Rolex, an Oakley that he loved so much, a laptop, and a mobile phone costly enough to feed a family of eight for a month – all the reasons to be careful from all things pretending to be benign. She fumbled, from her pocket, pulled out a five dollar note and held in his face. “I'll pay,” she added. Her voice fumbled. He looked around. It was only evening. The park around him, in the middle of crossroads bustling with big cars and hasty humans, and there she drank without a care of time. Pigeons scampered around her purposelessly, an albatross guarded its nest by spreading its wings at the first sign of trouble, and behind her, an oversized, black squirrel chased another oversized chestnut squirrel. The sunlight was at those final brilliant moments that only grace the world below in the evenings, the kind that only lasts long enough to be observed before its replaced by twilight.
      He had only seen her a week ago, sitting in the same place, with another woman, who like her, would've been in her mid thirties. They sat on the same bench, at around the same time, drank out of one bottle, smoked cigarettes and laughed and shouted. They high-fived each other, embraced, abused, whispered, like they had all the time in the world. That is, before a police-car stopped by and took both of them on grounds of public consumption of alcohol and creating disturbance.
      There she was again, alone and completely different from the pretty, smiling girl he remembered her from his visits to the posh cafeteria. But she was no beggar, she offered money for the cigarette she asked for, so he pulled out one and gave to her, and declined the money. She shrugged her shoulders when he said no to the money and took another gulp. Somewhere inside him, a foolish pang of pity rose, the kind that often accompanies men in front of femmes in distress. “You must not drink in open,” he suggested. “Yeah,” she replied. He stood there. The ever-present feeling of a possible danger had lightened. “Your friend is not with you?” he asked, not knowing why he said that.”She dead,” she said casually, not bothering to look at him, her expressions not changing one bit. After a confused moment without words, he said, “I'm sorry.” “Oh don't be. Catherine was fun. She wouldn't be sad that she dead,” she looked at him with a serious face and guffawed. “Gotcha. Gotcha. Naah, kidding. But she was nice. She was...” Her face shrunk, she fought to keep tears inside. She gained control of herself, and quickly said, as if an alibi, “You're an Indian, aren't you. Have a seat. Have... have a seat,” she shifted around on the bench. “Oh no, no. I should be going,” he said defensively and stepped back a few steps. “Oh yeah, get running. Am gonna EAT YOU...,” she growled. He was stunned, a rogue thought told him that it must be her mensuration that swung her moods. He had to leave, he decided. Suddenly, she smiled, pointed her finger at him, and said, “Gotcha.” She guffawed again. “Come on, have a seat. What's the hurry?” He nervously took a seat, carefully maintaining distance from her. His feet wanted to run away, but his heart beat like it would come out. She offered him a gulp out of her bottle, he denied. “Am not gonna ask you money, have it,” she pushed the bottle closer to his mouth. He pulled back, said a nervous 'no', and then added, “I don't drink.” “Dont' drink? What are you, like, forty-five?” “Am only thirty-five,” he was offended. “Thirty-five? Noooo. You're kiddin' me. Only thirty-five and you've those big wrinkles on your forehead. Let me see,” without a warning she moved her palm to his face. He jerked back but her palm found his forehead. Her skin was... soothing, peaceful.. “Let those eyebrows drop. Feel the sun of the winter evening on your face. Listen to the birds around you...” she murmured.
      For a few moments, he didn't know how many, he felt he would fall asleep. He felt his eyebrows coming down and the wrinkles on his forehead – that he never knew were there – disappear. Like a burden had been taken off his head. He felt light. He heard the birds, as if for the first time. And every hurry drained out of him. It was peace he had never felt before, away from all the worries. Then he woke up, with a jerk, he removed her hand almost rudely, and stood up. She pulled her hand back, as if her senses had come back, she laid back on the bench, took another drag and said, “Oh yeah, yeah. Busy men. Big men. So much responsibilities. So much money to be earned. Big house, big cars, big money,” she smirked. He felt insulted. He was not going to take lessons of life from a woman who drunk in broad daylight. He shot back, “At least am better than you.”
      He stood up, put his bag on his shoulder and started to move. She said, without bothering if he listened or not, “Catherine knew she'd die. Cancer. Girl wanted to die out of the damned hospital.” He stopped. He didn't know why. “We sneaked out. And we drank. Partied. Like there was no tomorrow. Quiet bad the cops got us. But she laughed that out too. Said everything must be experienced, even jail,” she turned to look at him. “That day, I spent all the money I had. All that I had saved. Was gonna move to a better place, but all gone to drink and smoke and dance. Today I have nothin'. Nothin'. So, yeah, you're better than me. You've a lot a things I don't. I lost my money, my savins. I'll still live in a stink-hole of a place for a couple more months. But you know what? I have memories. Your money would dry up. My memories won't. And she died happily,” she took another gulp. The cigarette had reached its end, she threw it in disgust. “Go away,” she added. He came back, opened the pack in front her face. She pulled another cigarette without asking. “Sit down if you're not going,” she said. He obeyed. “Tell me, have you ever lost someone?” she asked. He remembered – yes, he did. Friends, who like him, lost in the race of acquiring that never ended. Family, whose only proof of existence remained a voice that he heard on his mobile phone. And those honest, belly-bursting laughs that used to be so much in abundance when he was a kid, that were taken for granted, now all gone. As if they were never there. “Have you ever lost someone?” she repeated. “No,” he lied. “Noooo. Liar. Everybody loses someone. Why should you be different?” she touched his nerve. It showed on his face for that one extra moment that she caught. “See, see,” she said with joy, almost like a child. “You're a good guy. Here take one. Its one me,” she offered him the bottle again. He took it. “Good boy. I knew you were a good guy. And you're hot too,” she winked and smiled. He hesitated, “Oh, am... am engaged.” “Oh of-course you are? Doesn't stop you from being hot, eh?” she winked again. He blushed. “Gotcha. Gotcha,” she guffawed again. “Thought I was hittin' on ya? Come on, lets drink one for Catherine,” she offered. He took a gulp, she took one. She kept one hand on his shoulders, held the one holding the bottle high, and said, almost shouted, “Je t'aime, Catherine.”
      The trees around him stood naked, devoid of all leaves. Soon the Canadian winter would be gone and leaves would spring out. The world would be colourful again. The air would have the fragrance again. The birds would sing. He had decided. He was done chasing money. It was the memories that he had to earn now. He decided, this time, he would hold it, hold everything and everyone that he had ignored for long, as long as he could. “Je t'aime, Catherine,” he whispered.

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Loner's Tip No. 14 - To Infinity And Beyond

The Eagle had been watching 'it'. 'It' had travelled long and far, stumbling, challenging, slow and silent. 'It' finally felt tired and came to a halt. 'It' sat down, silent, both eyes watching in opposite directions.

“It's cold out here,” 'It' said to itself. “Yes, it always is,” 'It' replied to itself.

The Eagle could wait no longer. It had been flying for hours, watching 'It' without blinking an eye. The Eagle landed on a rock in front of 'It'. “Hello,” the Eagle said.

“Hello,” 'It' replied with all the excitement.

“How are you?”

“Good. Good,” 'It' said. The Eagle watched 'It'. 'It' was one seamless being, looking much like a human – two eyes, one nose with two nostrils, one mouth, two ears, two hands and all that makes up a human, a man or a woman. “What are you?” the Eagle asked 'It'.

“I'm the Horizon,” 'It' replied.

The Eagle laughed. It was glad to be finally having a name to call 'It'. “So, how are you, Horizon?”

“We said it, we are good,” Horizon said, a little irritated.

“We?” Eagle asked, perplexed.

“Yes, can't you see? We are two – East and West, fused into one body,” Horizon replied with irritation.

“Yes, yes, indeed,” Eagle said. “But you, I mean, you both, you don't look good!”

“What makes you say that? We are... just tired”

“Yes, I can see that. You see I've been watching you all the way. So what brings you here?” Eagle asked.

“Here?” Horizon laughed. “We don't know where we are. We ...”

Eagle cut Horizon short, “You can't see. I know.” The Horizon watched it with amusement, a question floating in both its eyes. The Eagle continued, “This is the Land of Nowhere. People only reach here after they've lost their sight, their eyes,” the Eagle said casually.

“The Land of Nowhere?” Horizon asked. “Its strange. We didn't know a place like this exist,” Horizon laughed.

“It does. It lies between the Lands of Unfailing Love and the Land of Absolute Hatred,” Eagle explained.

The Horizon laughed, “Strange names. Who would live in places like these?”

“For starters, you, I mean, you both, have been coming from the Land of Unfailing Love,” Eagle said casually, watching its sharp claws, looking for any scraps of last meal's remains.

The Horizon watched perplexed. It didn't sat anything. The Eagle watched them with equal silence.

Eagle continued, “You see, you, both of you, have travelled long and far and relentlessly from the loving lands into the middle of nowhere. And no one who reaches here is good,” Eagle watched, an inquisitive look that was.

"How do you know?" Horizon asked.

"I am an eagle. I can fly high where none can go and from those heights, I can see far and wide. I saw you coming all the way," Eagle replied.

“Yes, we are not good,” Horizon said with a sigh.

“Tell me more, I have nothing else to do.”

Horizon started hesitantly, “You see, we don't like each other any more,” both hands pointed each other. “You see, we were one being, one body, but now, we... we just can't exist together.”

"Were you always like that?" Eagle asked thoughtfully.

"There was once a time, many years back, that we loved each other, cared for each other. You see, we enjoyed each other's company. Then one day, a wind blew, a blinding wind of sand and dust and heat. The sand filled our eyes and made us blind. Since then, we couldn't come to peace with each other," West-Horizon said sadly.

The Eagle listened patiently. “Why is that?”

“You see, the East just wants to bully me, always,” the West-Horizon said.

“Yes, I'm afraid. The West might feed me poison,” East-Horizon said, looking away from West-Horizon.

“Why would West feed you poison? I mean, are you both not one body? Any one feeding you poison would kill itself. Isn't it?” Eagle asked.

“West doesn't know what's poison and what's not. It can't tell,” East-Horizon said haughtily.

“Oh yes? I don't know? You're the only one who knows everything?” West-Horizon said arrogantly.

“Yes, I do. And I won't let you feed me poison,” East-Horizon declared.

“You keep asking me again and again, you keep doubting me again and again and one day I'll do it,” West-Horizon shouted.

East-Horizon was aghast, left without words.

The Eagle let the war go on. West-Horizon continued.

“Whatever I do, just whatever I try to feed us, it thinks that I'm going to poison it.”

“That's because you don't know what all can have poison. You need to be guided. I do nothing wrong,” East-Horizon declared.

“Then what wrong do I do?” West-Horizon responded crisply.

“Stop. Just stop. So East-Horizon, you think that West-Horizon can poison you and that's why you want to guide it? It frustrates you when West-Horizon ignores your warnings?” East-Horizon nodded.

“And West-Horizon, you are frustrated because East-Horizon distrusts you? It continues to check on you if you're feeding it right or not, no matter you'd never do such a thing?” Eagle asked West-Horizon.

“Yes,” West-Horizon declared.

“Are you both not saying the same thing but from different sides?” Eagle asked. It got no reply. “What weather is it?”

“Its warm,” both replied together.

“No its not. Its cold, is it not?”

“No. Its warm. We can feel it,” both replied together.

“Are you forgetting, I'm the one with eyes here. Try again. You are tired. You must have misjudged the weather,” Eagle asked. “Its cold. Like all the happiness has been sucked out.”

“Yes,” both said after a moment.

The Eagle smiled, it looked at the warm and protective sun light around its feathers. “OK. I've to go now. What about you both?” They said nothing. Eagle continued. “Let me tell you something. I fly far high above these lands and I know it well. From here, you can either go to the Land of Absolute Hatred, which is straight from here, at a day's journey. Or, you can go to the Land of Unfailing Love.” Horizon listened carefully. “However, there is a problem. To reach the land of love, you need to get your eye sight back. Without your eyes, you can't reach there.”

“And how can we get our eyes back?”

“Far from here, at three days journey through a burning desert, there is the Gate of Forgiveness. You need to pass it. It'll take you to the Gate of Forgetfulness. Once you pass through these two gates, at another five days of journey through dense, dangerous jungles, you'll reach the land of Unfailing Love,” Eagle finished with a smile.

“But why must we take the long route then? We can easily go to the Land of Absolute Hatred. That'd be quick and easy,” both said together.

“That you must decide. Some things are always difficult that the other. I need to go,” Eagle flew off leaving them.

The Eagle flew higher and higher until the earth dissolved into white mist. Then it found its friend, the Pigeon.

“You left them?” Pigeon said after greetings. “Does it not bother you that they might take the wrong way?”

“Yes they can. But you see, their choice is not in my hands,” Eagle replied casually.

“Then why waste time? In doing this, you ever believe, that you might have made their days more difficult?”

“Yes. I might have made their life difficult from here. But you see, that's the whole point of me being an eagle. I can see what they can't. And because of that, I'm the only one who can tell them what is and what isn't. Did you see how they believed when I said that the weather was cold when it wasn't? These, these two beings, though part of the same existence, want to move miles apart. They see problems in each other but they don't understand that they have been saying the same things in different ways. They have come to believe that they are better left without the other. And they'd continue to do so. They'd continue to blame the other for anything that went wrong, they'd continue to think that the other can't see its point of view when in reality both these, both parts of the same body are doing the same thing. Its pitiable, when life reaches such a point.” The Pigeon looked confused. “So you see, I've given them a fighting chance which otherwise they'd have never had. I've brought them to a point where they at least told each other what's causing the problem for them, whats threatening to tear them apart. They are done blaming , shouting and sulking. Now, from here, they might choose to hate or they might choose to love. Or worse, they'll continue walking blind to each others views, ignoring what they heard today all together. It'll be unfortunate if they choose to hate or if they choose nothing at all. But I can't help it. Its they who have to decide from here. I'm done.”

The Pigeon laughed. “You're something Eagle. You're something. Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Anything. Anything other than the usual. Something that might lift my mind.”

“I'll tell you a poem,” the Eagle said.

"Why poem?"

"Because its necessary."

“I didn't know you wrote poems,” Pigeon said.

“I do. But this one is not mine. Its from some bloke from the distant lands of white and green. I forget his name. But here it is:

To see the world in a grain of sand,

And heaven in a wild flower.

Hold the infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.”

“You must be a poet, not an eagle,” Pigeon said admirably.

“No one can be a poet without being an Eagle. Not without eyes that see beyond what the mind is prepared to believe,” the Eagle flew off. Pigeon looked at it with a confused face. The eagle flew. It hoped. It reached such a height that a tear it shed was swallowed by air before it could reach Horizon's unsuspecting shoulder. The victorious Eagle smiled. He had left at the right time. At just the right time.

Images and text are copyright of the author.

Loner's Tip No. 13 - Lesson From IPL Auctions

Reality shows are pathetic. If nothing more then they’re a simple disgrace to the little credible intelligence of the common man (AND woman) of this country. Never before, and nowhere else, we would see television trying to fool people into believing that in-serial relationships between women – over dressed, extra made up and who fully dress up while cooking lunch in kitchen as if they were going to a reception – persist on-stage during those televised, dramatized new-year bashes. Or… or… or… are they a true representation of how down have we, the citizens of this extra glorified country, let our intelligence and indulgence sink! Either ways, am no fan of TV that has stopped representing the mass of this country and has become a money spinning medium from those who have all the money to spend on things they don’t need, all the time they can’t spend with family which is thousands of miles away, and friends who don’t exist any more. However, last weekend, as I continued to peep into IPL auctions while doing something, I, for the first time, found a valuable lesson of life from a just-fully worthless waste of already scandalized electromagnetic spectrum.

      It was a sight of Dr. Mallaya sternly holding that betting stick in his hand as if it was a purposeful beacon to a sinking ship, an expression carved in stone on his face, and eyes firmly set on his targets. He stopped at no limits until he got his man. And price – a ridiculously high sum that could make a rickshaw valla jump in front of another rickshaw, hoping to commit suicide. Now, in that moment, I saw a businessman – a good businessman – making a huge spend on something he believed would reap him good returns. He made an investment, a really big investment when we consider things like GDP and BPL population. Call that a commitment and you won’t be wrong. Cricket is a funny game and I don’t know now, nor does he, whether it would pay off or not. But that habitual act of purposeful, unhindered spending told me his secret – if you believe something is good for ‘tomorrow’ make sure you invest good in it.
      Now enough of the economics, and am no businessman, but it made me think – to me, a middle class man, and many like me – one true wealth that we have are people – people who love us, care for us, punish us when we do something wrong, raise us on our shoulders when we do something good, those who feel proud in our victories, those who secretly wipe a tear when we lose after a sincere effort… If life is IPL then none of us, absolutely none, would move through the twenty overs without one or the other of these people walking by us and unless we invest in them, they won’t hang around long enough till we reach that 120th ball.
      Human beings are complicated, very, very complicated. They are good, they are bad and they are foolish. Everybody, absolutely everybody, without fail, is selfish to one extent or the other. But they are fun. They are a need of a man’s soul – that one, tiny fragment of each one of us that remains and honest and uncorrupted by unnecessary greed and useless fear. These people, they selfishly need their share of investments – time, togetherness, selflessness, protection, punishment along with joys, anger and all those emotions tightly weaved between the 206 bones of our feeble, mortal bodies. How many ‘best friends’ we haven’t met from decades after we landed up in a job and ‘just lost touch’? How many children secretly wish they were born in a friend’s family simply because their friend’s father has the time to play with them every weekend and read stories to them every night? How many loved ones we have stopped caring simply because they suddenly dropped in importance against that assignment or that ‘long term professional goal’? Any how many men, just how many of them – who found those long term goals, positions, bank balances, cars and bungalows that they yearned for all those years – feel satisfied and don’t need that ‘new and bigger’ goal to achieve?
      No offence to those who believe that there is nothing wrong in going after such things – because there simply is really nothing wrong. It’s purely a matter of choice of what we prioritize in life. For those who end up prioritizing people above cement, paper and steel that can be bought, time is the only investment that they have to make. Mere minutes could ensure togetherness for years. Lastly, for those, who have a price tag for their minutes, make sure you continue to find another ‘long term goal’ and that one more ‘important assignment’ as soon as you achieve one. A time will come when you’ll need them to survive just as we do oxygen. Or, find for yourself if it is really too hard to strike that little balance between the two worlds wide apart? Either ways, people won’t wait forever.

Images and text are copyright of the author.

Loner's Tip No. 12 - Like The Morning Sun

The sun was only beginning to come up the horizon when I took my last step up the hill. The air had a chill in it that I could smell through whatever remained of my semi frozen nostrils. I had trekked alone in the dark, fumbling, falling over stones, puddles and crevices that seemed no different than the innocuous jungle floor. As I sat on top of that hill, facing the rising sun, watching the morning sky change its colour to the infinite blue out of the pregnant night, the wind swept across my face and told me that I was free – free enough to see what can hold a man from the inside; free to love or hate, free to choose either.

      In front of me, as far as the wall of mountains standing like guards, was a wide valley blanketed with a thick layer of fog pierced here and there by trees that rose higher than the rest. Squatted on grass moist with dew, listening to the chirps of the birds that the cities have forgotten, basking in the slowly-growing halo of the sun, I smiled. I had understood the secret of that old woman who always smiled.
      I don't know her name. I don't even know if I'd ever meet her again but I'll recognise her smile in the middle of millions. Hers was one of the most magical smile that I had known to exist. A smile that could tell you the definition of honest truth – the unchangeable kind, the independent kind, yet the one that won't harm – like the sun or the moon who would come up every morning no matter who lived or died, smiled or cried, won or lost. Her husband died, she continued to smile. Her son left, she continued to smile. Lot more happened to her that can be safely qualified as misfortune, but she continued to smile the same true, infecting, heart-warming smile. After I had made sure that she was not mad, I finally had the courage to ask her what made her so happy? My question made me nervous, as if I was about to ask her figure.
      'I water the plants,' she said, without even looking at me. She was watering the plants then.
      'You water the plants? And that's what keeps you happy?' I asked, perplexed. She looked at me, that same smile playing on her face and she nodded. For a moment, she made me nervous. 'But you can't be doing that all the time, and you'd feel bored by it after some time. You can't be happy by such a thing forever?'      'When I'm bored with plants, I cook,' she said without blinking an eye and with such a calmness that made me feel like the numero-uno fool breathing over mother earth.
      I left. I had no more questions. In my mind I had decided that she was mad.
      I went back to life – a desk job in an air-conditioned office, a roof to shelter and hide me, lots of hours to spend finding reasons for missing that one harmless smile that in those days of childhood, was so much in abundance that it was easily taken for granted. Riddled days like that makes man realize the travesty and misconception of all those bonds that we once perceived as unconditional – parents on whose shoulder we could stand and look for our own dreams with covered eyes; that sibling we believed will always be our little, dear bunny; that best friend we believed will always be the best friend forever; that one true love that we hoped would walk with us hand in hand when the dawn of life dissolves into that last crimson evening; that child who when born, brought tears to our eyes – the kind that we only know once in life. One time or the other, for one reason or the other, with all those around, man watches all these seemingly unconditional bonds break into non-existence – no explanations provided – and with those, goes the right to that one true smile, that one mad laugh.
      That day, having trekked that slippery slope in the dark, having raced against the impending morning, and finally watching the sun rubbing his eyes to the world, I realized that the old woman who always smiled was not mad at all. She had just discovered the key to happiness – she had accepted the fact that no bond is unconditional. Every bond is only weakly shackled by those invisible limitations that define the comfort, survivability, desires and attachments of those involved. Men and bonds change when these limits change – and these limits change very often, without warning. Those who remain attached are left wondering and troubled.
      That woman, she had nothing on which she could depend. No living bonds that would give her the illusion of being unconditional. Even her hobbies that made her survive an otherwise boring, lonely life, would change. She saw, she knew and she accepted. She accepted that nothing was unconditional except 'Change'. She braced for it, prepared for it. There ended her struggle with herself, there ended her dependence on life and things, there began her journey to a happiness that would never end – like that fabled fountain of youth. I guessed, and quiet correctly that if I'd asked her if she felt any anger towards those who left their own ways, she'd have said, 'Why hate them? Why feel angry? Its not a crime to want happiness. We all need it. Don't we?'
      She was not mad after all. She'd known and accepted the truth about change. She was free now.
      The sky was a crimson carpet now. The clouds seemed like innocent, playful pieces of paper simmering at the edges. I was getting late.
      I got up. I had a mountain to climb down, a road to travel, and a day to smile. Unconditional, like the morning sun.

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Loner's Tip No. 11 - Twilight's Symphony

It's 7 am in my country, and I am in love. Before the world starts accusing me of cheating, let me add that the person I have fallen in love with is – Myself.

Having slept at 2 am last night, when I was woken up at 5 am to drive across half the city, I didn't know what was in store. As I drove through the city, through the same roads which are a mental torture to any sane man, I realized that something was different. The air had a lustful gentleness to it, the kind that is not polluted by man's blindness of mortal achievements, the roads were empty except a few stray dogs, who for a change did not bark or chase me which they usually do when man tries simple, innocuous things as driving back home, and the only sound in the air was the gentle murmur of the engine of my motorcycle, a playfully occasional grind of the road against an unloaded truck which passed by at surprisingly gentle speeds, and for once not intending to kill you simply because you dared to venture on the road. The gentle darkness slowly dissolved into varying shades of blue with such slow speed that you would wonder if you were a superman flying in outer space, watching the orb of the world rotating gently and breaking the bonds of the darkness which envelops half the world at any given moment.

If such peace existed before in this city, I never found out for I was always too busy hating it for what it doesn't let me have. But the morning changed everything. And just while I drove through, searing the air and the much wanted moments of loneliness, singing on top of my horible voice, I realized that something effused out of me – like a stream of water breaks the surface of hard and unrelenting earth – a happiness I had never known, a comfort I had never realized, a peace which I knew would never go out of me – and all this, I knew, only and only belonging to me. And I fell in love with me. Like many others, I had made my mistakes of wondering with a heavy heart as to why my troubles would not go away on their own, why couldn't I hide somewhere so they couldn't find me. But this morning, I realized that the only happiness that exists in this world is the friction of my breaths against my nostrils, the expansion of my chest a couple of times a minute that keeps me living – that I live. All else has no value. Never have a I felt so happy, never so much at peace.

So now, the loner who fell in love has this much to tell – give into a morning of your choice and let the city love you back, take you in her arms like a seductress waiting to please you and seduce your senses. Sometimes, you don't need to feel lonely to seek an escape.

Though unrelated slightly, just after I had dared to challenge millions of poets and writer who lived before me, and who said that romance and love thrive in the secluded darkness of the nights or the crimson skies that preceded those nights, I remembered this poem by William Wordsworth, which I believe he wrote one a similar morning of 3rd September 1802, gazing at the beautiful, legendary city of London, while standing at the Westminster Bridge. One of my favourites, no so much for the description of a legendary city in its true grandeur, but for the fact that the poem, and the city would have been incomplete without that effusive morning on which it was written:

Earth not hath anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This city now like a garment doth, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare
Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! The very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

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Loner's Tip No. 9 - Hope's Story

Not very long ago, in a beautiful and pristine village, far away from the greeds of humanity, lived a little girl named Hope. Her mother, a very beautiful woman, was Lily. Hope's father, James – a God-fearing, courageous, hard working and a honest man. Together, they formed the happiest family, so happy that others said that their smiles could turn someone's misfortune into good luck. One day, as fate would have it, the loving Lily died. Just before she closed her eyes, she made James promise that he would look after Hope.
A few years passed. All the while James, struggling with his loss and loneliness, tried all to take care of little Hope. After all, she was all that was left of Lily. Soon he found his loneliness overwhelming him. He married Desire, a beautiful woman, full of promises of love and togetherness. Little Hope's happiness knew no bounds for she had a mother again. No one knew, that Desire was not a human. She was a witch.
Soon, Desire's spells started working on James, who in turn started to believe that Hope was possessed by an evil spirit. He would not talk to Hope any more, would not listen to her, would stay away from her, and was rude to her. Hope, in turn, would sulk in silence, wondering what she did to annoy God. Soon James decided, with enough grief and helplessness, that it was in everyone's best interest that he and Desire run away from Hope. So one night, while the poor angel was asleep, dreaming of the good days when her father loved her, James and Desire eloped.
Just as they were running away, Hope woke up and caught the sight of them. She screamed of fear, she called for her. Hope ran behind him, all the while calling him, urging him to come back. Soon she reached a very dark forest, it was so dark that she could not see her own fingertips. There were sounds of wild animals and smell of a lonely winter in the air. James was nowhere to be seen. She was scared to her bones. She had only taken a few more steps when the ground below her melted and she fell into it. It was Mr. QuickSand. She struggled, cried and wailed, "Let me go, please. My father. I need to stop him." "No," came the loud voice from the molten ground. Mr. QuickSand's voice was like dark clouds thundering. He gave a demonic laugh, the most vile one she had ever heard. She shivered in fear and tried hard to free herself of that evil quicksand. The more she tried, the quicker she sank. Just when she was sunk till her shoulders, she cried, wished her mother as alive. And then, as if by magic, a ball of light appeared and started to hover over the pool of quicksand. Hope watched as the flying ball of light became a shape and Lily's spirit appeared.....
A flash of happiness ran through Hope, “Mommy,” she screamed, all the while trying hard to reach out to Lily. She sank 2 inches deeper in the quicksand. Mr. QuickSand laughed again.
“Calm down, sweetheart, calm down,” the spirit said.
Hope wanted that the spirit embrace her in her arms. The thought made her cry again. She wept so much that for a moment Mr. QuickSand thought that her tears would dissolve him. Hope tried to pull her hands out so that she could reach the spirit but she only sank more.
“Calm down, honey. Don't move. Mr. QuickSand won't hurt you if you be a good girl and stay still,” Lily's spirit looked at Mr QuickSand and smiled. He smiled back. Hope could not understand this acquaintance and kept weeping. Lily kept consoling her. Finally, after an hour, Hope wiped her face and nose.
“Daddy went away,” she said. Lily's spirit nodded.
“Desire took him,” Hope took a deep breath. Lily's spirit wondered if she would cry again.
“I want to go to Daddy," Hope started to cry again. Lily was patient.
“Why do you want to go to Daddy, sweetheart?” Lily asked after a while.
“Because I love him,” pleaded Hope.
“But you can still love him when he is away.”
“No,” Hope wailed again. “I want to be with him. I feel happy when he is around.”
“But you can still be happy without him.”
“How can I, Mommy? If I love Daddy and if he is not around, how can I be happy?”
Lily's spirit was thoughtful for a moment. That was a valid question. “Tell me sweetheart, do you believe that when you love someone, you should be happy as well?” Hope didn't understand the question. Mr. QuickSand on the other hand found the discussion curious and paid all his attention to the apparition. “Do you think that Love always comes with Happiness and never without it?” Lily asked after thinking for a while.
Hope was thoughtful for a while before she replied, “Yes, Mommy. I feel happy whenever Daddy is around. I love my friends as well and I feel happy when they are around. And they also feel the same. Those who love, they should always be happy, isn't it, Mommy?” Her innocence, momentarily, moved Mr. QuickSand.
“You're making a mistake sweetheart,” Lily's spirit said, “All of us, while we live, take it for granted that happiness will always go hand in hand with love.” Hope was still confused. Mr. QuickSand was all ears. Lily continued, “You see, child, we are all born with little gaps and holes in our hearts, which we try to fill all our lives. Love always begins when we, in the depths of our hearts and spirits, find someone whom we believe can fill those little gaps in us. Its just like children – not all children are friends with each other. You only make friends with someone you like. Isn't it?” Hope nodded, she was starting to understand.
Lily said, “And when we find that someone who can fill our gaps then the first thing we want is to have him or her fall in love with . We secretly harbour the desire to be loved back similarly as we love that person. And it hurts when we don't get loved in return.” After a momentary silence, Lily said, “Where I come from, there are people who only went there because they ended their lives when they were not loved back in return.”
Hope interrupted, “Mommy, are you talking about the kind of love you fell in with Daddy before you two were married?”
“No sweetheart, I am talking about all kinds of love that there is – between you and Daddy, between you and me, between me and Daddy, between you and your friends,” Lily explained. "And when you'll grow up, between you and the man you'll love."
Hope was lost again, “But Mommy, I have always loved you and Daddy. And you too have also loved me back always. I never had to want and wait for you to love me back. You two always loved me, isn't it?”
“And we will always do so, sweetheart. But when it comes to us, you see, even before you were born, we knew you would complete our little world, and we loved you even before you came to this world. And for you, as soon as you were born, we were around for you – loving you, taking care of you, protecting you, nurturing you – and you loved us back. So neither of us had a point in time when we waited for the other to love us, we were always there for each other. But now, when your Daddy is not there for you, your desire to be loved back is hurting you.” Lily looked at Mr. QuickSand. He nodded.
“But Mommy, I can't help but feel sad when Daddy is going away.”
“That's true, honey. That's what makes us human. But you see, in doing so, you depend entirely on your Daddy to be happy. You are wanting for a happiness whose presence depends on another person to love you back. What you should want is to be happy from inside – from inside yourself.”
“How can I do that – be happy from inside?” Hope asked inquisitively.
“First of all, by believing that it was only in your control to love someone. It is just not in your control to have that person love you back. Loving someone was your choice, being loved back is good fortune. Not being loved will hurt as it hurts all good and pure human beings like you, but that needs to be endured, for it will pass with time. Other than time, there is no other cure for it. If you try to fight it and try forcefully to get someone to love you back, it will hurt even more.”
It was then Hope understood how this pool of quicksand had suddenly appeared beneath her feet. Now she knew why she sank deeper each time she struggled to get out. Now she noticed that all the while, she had been listening to her mother peacefully, without fighting, she had not sunk any more.
Lily's spirit said, “Whenever someone tries to get love forcefully, Mr. QuickSand comes in their path and they fall into it. And from then, the more they struggle, the more they sink.”
Hope was silent. Lily understood what question swam in her daughter's innocent, deep black eyes. “Time, my child. Time is the only cure. You just need to stay still, let it hurt you as much as it can without you loosing your goodness, and then it will pass and someone you deserve, will pull you out. Just let it pass.”
Mr. QuickSand nodded with a smile mixed with a small part of pride which comes when someone explains how perfectly one works in his purpose.
“But why Daddy? All Daddy's love their daughters. Why doesn't my Daddy love me?” Hope was getting violent, she . It didn't help except that she sank two more inches, she said, “I don't want to live. I'll kill myself.” With this, the heart broken little girl pushed herself inside the pool of quicksand. Her head was just under the surface. She pushed hard to reach deeper, just then she felt her body fly out in the air and fall back in the pool of quicksand, sinking only as much as she was before she tried to force herself in.
Mr. QuickSand said, his thunderous voice mixed with calculated anger and purpose, like that of her school headmaster's, “It's a sin, my dear to try and end one's life. It's a sad thing that my entire existence depends upon the suffering of others but this is my role in this world and I play it well. It doesn't please me watching children, young and old struggle in my depths after having themselves enslaved to someone else for their peace of mind. Sometimes, I hate myself. But what should I do? Find a lake and dissolve myself into it? End my misery? No. I still do it for it is my very purpose. I find my happiness in the fact that my purpose is fulfilled, that my existence is justified and put to a lesson-teaching use. I can only help you realize the truth about your troubles, to make you strong enough to face your troubles, but I'll not help you end them like this.”
Hope's cries reduced to sobs and soon she was quiet. In the moments of silence that followed, Hope and Lily kept watching at each other, while Mr. QuickSand took a quick nap that one deserves after a long and hard working day.
Hope broke the silence finally, “I'm sorry Mr. QuickSand. I'm sorry, Mommy. I understood it all now.” Lily's spirit felt as if, within a moment, by some magic, her little girl had grown up. Hope continued, “I understand that I can only love someone but not have them love me back necessarily. That's not in my control, so no point being sad for that. It will hurt but it will pass if I endure it with peace and faith. Life will bring something new, even better, in some other form. If I keep worrying over what's been lost, I'll never be able to recognise when life gives it back to me in a disguise. I need to wait, enduring the pain, and it will pass. If I don't endure with patience, I'll fall into Mr. QuickSand again and the more I struggle there, the more I will sink.”
Mr. QuickSand gave a Santa Clause type laugh and said, “There you go child. There you go.”
Lily's spirit nodded. She could not cry for she was a spirit without body or else, she would have. She added, “Very true, my angel. And remember, this is true for all kinds of love...”
“Between Daddy and me, you and me, me and my friends, me and the man I'll love...,” Just then Hope realized what she had said more than she needed to. She looked at her mother and they both broke into giggles. Mr. QuickSand joined in.
Just then they heard some footsteps.
“Dadd...,” Hope was about to speak up when she saw Lily looking at her with contracted eye brows and a smile on her face. Hope understood. She would follow her lessons.
“Hide, quick,” Mr. QuickSand said.
Soon, an old, childless couple passing near by spotted Hope. They threw her a rope and hauled her out. "Where are your parents, child? What are you doing here?" the old woman asked.
"I am alone," Hope said.
“Oh my child,” said the old woman and held her in her arms. Tightly. “We do not have anybody of our own. Will you come with us, child? Will you be our little daughter?”
“Look at your age, Jasmine,” the smiling old man said, “We can only be grand parents.”
They all laughed. Hope started to walk with them. She sneaked a look back and found Lily's spirit waving at her with a smile on her face. Mr. QuickSand quickly wiped a tear from his eye and whispered, “Bless you, my child. May your story be told for generations to come. Those who have loved and lost, may they find peace and strength in your lessons and endurance tonight. And may the world see the true virtue of love.”

Images and text are copyright of the author.