Inner Pieces

People say that the path to salvation lies in your spiritual evolution. On the way, you attain such things as inner peace. I don't know about that.

The whole thing is pretty nerve-wracking, if you ask me. Once you assimilate the fact that the Universe is governed by this wacky law and that your thoughts and beliefs create your reality, there's no going back from that quicksand. Let me explain.

You know how sometimes people get asked what their favorite time of the day is, and they say that its when they wake up in the morning? I find that impressive. When I wake up, even before my consciousness fully kicks in, I involuntarily think, "Oh shit, not again." Then, as the booting up process completes, I realize that I just put a really negative thought out there and desperately try to undo it.  

"No, No, Universe, I didn't mean that. I meant, wow, another day of possibilities, I'm so grateful, yes, I am, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

It's a desperate and pathetic attempt. Most of the time, I'm sure the Universe only registered the first output and I'm going to fall dead. The Universe would go (in Morgan Freeman's voice) "So Ye Asked, So Ye Shall Receive!" and make a horrid pinching movement and down here, I'd croak. 

This is my morning ritual, and please note, I haven't even opened my eyes yet. Inner peace, my ass.

How can something that sucks the joy out of life, give me eternal joy? That's what I want to know. So the guy who cuts me off in traffic- I can't imagine his death in gruesome detail? It's not like I'm going to kidnap and kill him. Can't I just imagine it? NOOOOOOOOOO, says spirituality. You must bless him. I mean, come on!

When I was a little girl, times were simpler. We knew about this thing called Karma. Back then, it was pretty practical. An eye for an eye. Don't do bad stuff or bad stuff would happen to you. There was no talk about thoughts and feelings and beliefs. We were all free to nourish the utmost evil in the cesspools of our minds. Don't you yearn for simpler times like that? You released everything and lived carefree. 

Now, masters like Buddha have set us these bad examples we feel obliged to follow. Books have been published. You can't walk 10 feet without stumbling on someone who talks about inner engineering. It's all light, love, rainbows and unicorns. Makes me sick, sometimes. Rainbow colors. Black is also a respectable color, you know. I want to wear black, learn ten different types of martial arts and take down 20 people at the same time? Answer me honestly, wouldn't that be far more satisfying than 20 hours of meditation?

Meditation! Don't get me started on that! Lord in heaven. if there was ever a way to make you want to embrace the dark side, it's meditation. How many hours can you sit like that and not achieve a psychotic break?! Don't you have thighs that protest? Knees that creak? Brains that check out? I don't know.

All in all, what has spirituality done for me? I think I have become paranoid and life, more stressful. And inner peace? Please. Inner pieces is more like it. 

Bless you all!

From the ashes...

I've written before about Godmen. Except for a rare few genuine spiritual masters, there are many such who have read the literature, nailed the look and the accent, and have gone on to achieve success and fame. 

Nithyananda, perhaps, is the most notorious one in recent times. There is even a documentary now entitled 'My daughter joined a cult' in which they seem to systematically take down the image he has cultivated. 

Long before this, but after his infamous sex tape with Ranjitha, I learnt of his personal paradise Kailasa where he had hidden himself away. I was amused to learn he had his own channel live streaming day and night from this Kailasa.  

So, snacks in hand, I opened the website, sat back and smirked, ready to pooh and paah at this charlatan. That's when the Universe decided to teach me a lesson. I watched him do his daily discourse, which I think was called a satsang. That day's topic was about love. This Mister-I-smile-too-much opened his mouth and put forward the most wonderful and accurate and exact definition of love I have ever heard. He said, "Love is the highest vision you can have for someone. It has nothing to do with your feelings, or theirs, or desires or sacrifices or anything. It is simply the highest existence you can envision for them."

That's not verbatim, FYI. But I admit I was floored. I just sat there gaping and listened to the whole satsang. For many days after that, I tuned in, but I never heard anything that profound again. It was good spiritual literature, for the most part, but nothing remarkable. Of course, there was a lot of pompous posturing and self-gratifying statements. I never visited his virtual Kailasa after that.

The point of this, the lesson I learnt, may seem fairly simple. Don't be so smugly superior and so quick to dismiss and deride another person. I am not defending Nithyananda, of course. He has been accused of many vile things, which I think may be true. But like the proverbial rose blooming in the desert, I learnt that there is gold hidden in dirt, that there are diamonds to be found in ashes, that words precious and true may fall even from the lips of those who are called monsters. 

If nothing else, I learnt to better understand this thing that we call love. How unlikely a source, yet how beautiful this lesson!

Complete Frasier Transcripts!!!

 http://www.kacl780.net/frasier/transcripts/?fbclid=IwAR0B-DXqqPKNvFDYvXR1QNz0sS2-FXDi2NPy285qsonO0IkB8I2ljaxbqaw

Watch out!

I miss the good old days when all I did online was check my gmail account and occasionally post on Facebook. I felt smug that I was savvy enough, but then I went and changed it all. I started chatting on apps, subscribed to Youtube channels and joined Instagram. This past year, I've been at my peak. And I think it might be driving me insane. Let's go.

So, I saw this Youtube video. The guy in it said that we must always, ALWAYS bathe in cold water. He went on to list all the benefits; the heart, the blood, the blah, blah. These days it doesn't take much to convince me of anything. So I decided to go along. The first day, as that cold water hit me, I was transported to another time in my life.

It was the year 2000 and I was on a trek in  the Himalayas. This was back when my hips, knees, ankles co-operated with each other.  As thrilling as it was to walk along the edge of the cliffs, the only time I screamed like a little girl, was in the camp bathing stalls. It was like some sadist repeatedly plunged me into a hole in the ice on a frozen lake. Going oooooooooo and aaaaaaaaa over and over again, I sounded like an ambulance stuck in traffic. At one point, I remember scolding someone in the adjoining stall for bathing quietly. It just wasn't fair. "Have you no nerve endings, bitch?"

Anyway, coming back to social media, cold baths are just the tip of the iceberg. (hehe!) It's like I can't look away. I listen to everything. I watch it all. In short, I'm a sucker. 

If there's a Youtube video with the caption, "Know this secret and you will ...." then I must know that bloody secret. Even if I scroll past it in a pathetic attempt to be cool, in a few seconds, I'll frantically dig at my mouse, go up and click on it. It's terrible.

Do you know that I slap my armpits 49 times each? Why do I do this? Because a Chinese acupuncturist lady on Insta said that it detoxifies the liver. Why do I want to detoxify my liver, you ask? Because a spiritual guru on Youtube said that the liver is the seat of anger and the Lord knows that I am an angry person. How do I know the Lord knows everything, hmm? Because that Islamic intellectual preacher on Facebook said that He does. 

One day, one of you will visit me. And then you'll come back and put this post on Facebook- "I went to see Poorni today. She's comfortable, which is a blessing. The people in the psych ward take good care of her. Don't pity her for what she could have been, celebrate her for what she was."

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have seven hundred and twenty three saved videos I need to go watch. B'bye!

What's the prognosis?

 At the age of 39.5, I think I'm starting to show signs of adulthood. I'm not sure, and I hope I can nip the condition in the bud, but there's no denying the symptoms are there. Let's analyze:

1. Less is really more?

No, this isn't a life lesson. It has to do with ... Tang. I love Tang. Like really, really love it. For decades, I have terrorized people with it. If some unsuspecting innocent says yes to my offer of tang, it's a medical risk. Fill half the glass with the powder, fill the rest with water and, to add insult to injury, add a pinch of salt to heighten the sweetness. That's my death formula and I loved it. One sip, and people would usually choke, cough and then, as the sugar reached the vital organs, their eyes would roll back in their heads.

But now, I find myself putting in one measly teaspoon of Tang in the glass. I have even, at times, painfully transferred some of it back into the packet. No more salt. It's...worrying. Why has this happened to me?

2. I want...

A life partner. 'To share my joys and sorrows with?' you may ask. No. 'For those cold, lonely nights?', you say? No. I'm just thrilled with all that as it is, thank you. No. I have discovered the absolute back-breaking labor that goes into a particular chore. I just hate it. It's called 're-filling'. Refilling the various hand wash dispensers around the house, the oil dispensers, the soap box, and stuff like that. Does that happen to you? Every time you turn around, the damn hand wash dispenser is empty? Yeah, for me too. 

That's when the war begins. I fill it with a bit of water. That buys me a few more days. I pump it till it spits out air and cries out in agony. Then I try a bit more water. There are hardly any bubbles, but that's life. Then for a day or two, I avoid that sink. I will walk across the length of my house to the other sink. One day, that one will give out too. I'll use my aloe vera face wash once or twice to wash my hands and feel guilty about it.

Eventually, I realize that the breaking point has been reached. The war is lost. Out come the refill packet (which was a stone's throw away from the sink the whole time) and I go around the house re-filling. 

Throughout this journey, these days, I find myself muttering, "If I had one of those damn husband things, I would make it him do this." So there. You see, another symptom. 

3. Grey areas

This does not refer to my hair, although it would be accurate. I mean that the grey areas of life have expanded and encroached on all the black and white. I'm finding it a tad bit more difficult to be judgmental. That's troubling. If one cannot sit back and enjoy one's righteous anger, what else is there to life (apart from good food), I ask! 

I'm afraid that I will end up all nice and accepting one day in the distant future. That is a dangerous thing because it it encourages more people into your life. More People. Ugh. We can't have that, can we? My very reputation as a grouchy recluse is at stake!

     So you see, people, I have these symptoms and maybe a few more I haven't discovered yet. If any of you have discovered a cure for this, please get in touch. I will reward you handsomely, with as many glasses of Tang as you please. No salt.

Mr. Pathetic

 Dear Mr. Married Tinder man, 

My, what a despicable creature you are in my eyes. 

You know what really gets me. Invariably, each one of you loves your child or children unconditionally. You profess great love for your progeny. But the woman who gave birth to these apples of your eyes have become so redundant. She's a use and throw machine, a DNA replicator that unfortunately, you cannot throw. 

For the few minutes of unpleasant suffering she had to endure while you rolled on and off, for the nine months of physical hell she went through, for the hours of labor in which she rebirthed herself as she gave birth, this is her reward- she is an unwanted specimen. One that still takes care of you and your children's daily needs. 

And you come on Tinder and say you're in an unhappy marriage and want some fun. "Stress buster", some of you have the audacity to say. My God! Why is this woman with you? Have you ever thought about that? Your disgusting habits, your poor sexual performance, your childish immature existence- do you imagine these magnetic qualities are making her stay with you?! 

There should be droves of married women on tinder. That would make sense. This is just pathetic. Yucku. 

Epiphanies, not funny! (Blargh)

I had a series of epiphanies this morning when I was cooking breakfast. I had just checked the phone for the tenth time to see if my brother had replied. My ten year old niece did this wonderful painting of a night sky and I was so thrilled with the picture he sent to me on Whatsapp, that I declared that I would buy it. No response. I waited a day and asked again if I could buy it. No response.

The disappointment suddenly pushed me back to when I was 10 years old. The first time a poem of mine was published in a childrens’ magazine called Gokulam. It was about the rain. I don’t remember much about it, except that it had the word ‘lo’ in it, something that makes me cringe a little. Lol. But I was so proud of the fact that the postman brought a postal order of Rs.10 the next day, which was the magazine’s payment for my poem. I could hardly contain myself. My father bought me a brand new wallet to keep that ten rupee note. I did for a long time.

The next week, in school, my class teacher somehow found out and asked me about it in class. I told her the poem was about the rain. She told me to recite it. Now, I had been writing poems since I started writing words. I had a notebook scribbled with all sorts of nonsense. This poem was just one random piece that I sent to the magazine. No way did I memorize my poems. So I couldn’t recite it entirely. In front of the whole class, she asked me if I had really written it. Instantly, I was crushed. I couldn’t believe the implied accusation. Some of my classmates clearly believed I didn’t write the poem, judging by their skepticism after that class. My glorious achievement had become ‘dirty’ in my little mind.

Thinking back, as I allowed memory after memory to come to the forefront, I realized that this was a pattern in my life. My strict and fearsome father had made sure that I didn’t express myself freely even as a toddler. Every time I did, people tainted it. I was laughed at, mocked, teased, belittled, humiliated and discouraged so many times. It seemed like whenever I reared my head and peeked out of the wall I was slowly building around myself, I pulled myself back in almost immediately, saddened and embarrassed. I did have one or two wonderful people around, but I was too timid with them. To this day, I regret that as a teenager, I never really opened up to my English teacher, a woman I admired from a distance. I wanted to, as I felt like she was the one person in my lonely life who seemed to care. But I was too scared to ‘be me’ with anyone, even at 12 years old.

So, is this where all my problems stem from? My general dislike of being around people for too long, my inability to sustain relationships past a few years, my introverted existence? Was my entire childhood so deeply disturbing to me that I took away from it a general disappointment and lack of faith in people?

Being as shy and quiet as I was, there was one skill that I silently and quite unconsciously picked up- the art of reading people. Most of the time, I know when people lie to me or when they pretend. Be it family or friends, I can tell. I realize now, that every such instance of deceit only strengthened (and continues to strengthen) my reticence. I have always felt this deep hurt when I recognize the lie. It seems to convey a clear message- you are of so little value to this person, that winning/saving face is so much more important.

Ironically, every time I meet someone new, I start off with this complete childlike trust and wonder. But I’m looking. I’m looking and looking. I’m looking for the other shoe to drop. I’m waiting for the disappointment. Is it fair? No. Not in any universe is it fair to the other person. No one’s perfect. It IS unfair. But then, I am only dishing out what I got, what I learnt. Maybe if I had grown up with my siblings or cousins, I would have taken things lightly. Rough housing could have thickened my skin. As it is, I appear to have taken everything to heart and developed such a strong sense of shame and unnecessary guilt about being inadequate whenever I faced something unpleasant, that I grew up scarred.

Unfortunately, I remained so. I'm grateful for this series of epiphanies I’ve had today. Through the years, I have tried to heal, but there is nothing like understanding to speed up the process.

The one question that saddens me, though, is- have I done all this to myself? People are people. Everyone grows up around others. Should I, as a child, have known better? Was I prone to be sad? These are questions I cannot answer. Not without a time machine.

People privately ask me why I share so much publicly. A couple of reasons. The takeaway- we all learn from each other. Maybe someone who understands this will make sure that their child’s teasing isn’t taken too far in the name of humor. Maybe someone will realize that lying isn’t just about words. Second- I truly believe in vulnerability. I do pull away on one hand, but on the other, I am always willing to share who I am. A contradiction of sorts, I know. You see, there is a difference between believing people are good and that people are good to YOU. That is a powerful statement. Third- I don’t really think that anyone can harm me with what I share. What- is someone going to mock me about having been mocked? Lol. Vulnerability isn’t a weakness. Unawareness is.

That said, I've been sitting here with this, hesitating to hit the 'post' button. Is it too much? TMI? If it is, I apologize.

Going back to how all this began, all I wanted was my niece to feel the way that I felt when I got that ten rupee note. To know that someone recognized that something I had created had value. Real value. Perhaps I am being naive. Times have changed. That little girl is not me. She is probably way more secure and way too worldly to be ecstatic about my offer. Good.

Heavy stuff, all this. I hope you’ve read it, if you’ve gotten this far, as an interesting essay, and not something gloomy. Not all that is worth reading is bloomy. See, I am good at poetry!