Death of the flowers

"It is suffocating inside this polythene bag. Not sure what the delay is for and what they are arguing about."

A bunch of Hibiscus (Gudhal/Mandara) and Oleander (Kaner/Ganneru) flowers, plucked out from the laps of their mothers, have all become roomies in a claustrophobic plastic bag owned by an old man. While they waited for their eventual destiny at the feet of some god, they weren't very happy to find their new owner, the old man, arguing wildly with some other people on the street. The talkative Hibiscus, red with impatience, was the one who spoke out first.

"Looks like our mothers—the plants, according to the humans—on the side of the street are there because some of the humans brought them there for their own sadistic pleasure of plucking us out every morning. This old-looking human has now gotten in the way and performs the heinous act of grabbing us away from our mothers much before the other humans. They seem to be arguing about that," the wise Oleander was sharp and more perceptive.

The humans were arguing loudly. The old-looking one, never one to relent, started hurling abuses at the other humans, who were slightly less old but equally aggressive. A crowd gathered on the street, with different people opining differently on the right and wrong of where the flowers belonged and who had the sadistic right of plucking them away.

"I never understood this anyway," sighed the Hibiscus. "What is their God-given right over our destiny anyway? Who do these humans think they are to write our future? So what if we end up at the feet or around the neck of one of their gods? They never ask us if we want to be part of their rituals!"

"Humans think they own everything on this planet. They don't realize that we have a voice too, and even if they do, they don't care. They do this—plucking away from mothers' laps—thing to dogs and many other animals too. And they think their definition of life is what is right for us. The rumor among our fraternity is that humans have long been brain-dead," the Oleander had more insights on the topic.

The battle on the street raged on. Many passersby had now been drafted onto one or the other side of the argument by the core team. Now the passersby, never in the know of the root cause of the melee, joined in and started aggressively arguing with each other, while the core team was becoming less and less involved. The scene definitely reeked of an impending war beyond words.

It was getting more and more uncomfortable inside the polythene bag. The old man, while less of an aggressor now but equally interested if not engaged in the proceedings, showed no signs of retreat nor, given his original purpose, in any rush to go home to do his puja.

"Do you know if our life has a destiny different from what these humans bestow on us? I mean, look at them arguing and shouting. Don't they realize they are scaring us to death already? We might just be a bunch of dead flowers very soon. Is it okay for them to do puja with dead bodies?" the Hibiscus now started wondering about its karma.

"Some of them, I guess mainly the females of the human species, use us as ornamental supplements to enhance their beauty. Sometimes they even run a needle through our throats and make garlands that they use to felicitate some other important human beings. I have heard these stories while my mother was singing lullabies during the nights," Oleander probably had a longer time to spend with her mother compared with the Hibiscus.

"Oh yeah, my mother said some things like that too," agreed the Hibiscus. "Sometimes when my mother’s gentle rocking becomes vigorous, I guess it all depends on her mood, some of my sisters fall off her lap by themselves. I am sure they have a lot more fun on the ground, closer to our mother’s feet," the Hibiscus reminisced. "Everything that the humans do to us sounds quite violent and un-flower-like."

"Oh, that the humans are—very un-flower-like. They are basically brutes and maybe God's least preferred species. No wonder they make so many efforts to worship God. I mean, we don’t do any such activities for God, nor do any of our friends in the non-human animal world. God worshipping is uniquely the trait of these brutes. Look at them arguing and now coming to blows almost," the Oleander could feel, along with the others, the polythene bag swinging wildly as the old man rushed aggressively towards some of his bêtes noires.

"God save us from these brutes," the Hibiscus didn’t see the irony of her statement.

"Or," said the Oleander with a sheepish grin, "we can just jump out of the bag when the old man swings it the next time."

"Yes!" all the flowers in the bag shouted in unison. "Let's do that and be done with all this. At least we will die in peace."

So, as the arguments among the brutes (so termed by the flowers) on the street continued and the old man swung his hands wildly, the flowers found the right opening to jump out of the polythene bag. "Hurray!" they all cried going down.

There was utter shock and disbelief on the street full of humans now. They all stared at the flowers lying on the ground and fell silent [never realizing that they (the flowers) were all chuckling among themselves]

There were some closing arguments on how the flowers were now useless for the puja. Everyone accused everyone else of spoiling the mood while also denying their respective gods any flowers for the day. The aggressive old man was yet unrepentant as he threw an accusing look at the flowers lying on the ground.

"Now wait for the brutes to stamp on us in angst," warned the Oleander. "If they can be so vile and disgusting with each other, I expect nothing less than death by force at this very moment. So brace yourselves, my friends. We shall meet again soon as our grandmother, the earth, absorbs us and feeds us back to our mothers. So long, then."

The Oleander was right. The old man and others did exactly what she expected !

(A true incident narrated with inspiration from "Pushpa Vilapam" by Karunasri Sri Jandhyala Papaiah Shastri.)

One by two

"How do we survive this job loss cyclone?". Cafeteria discussions always tend to be honest and raw.

"Why? Are you worried that you might lose your job?" My colleagues are nice people, generally speaking. Sometimes though it throws me off when what is supposed to be a universal problem suddenly is made to look like my own unique struggle.

"Yes. I am and am sure so is everyone else," I wanted to make sure it remained a universal problem.

"How long have you been working?" Now that's a bad question to ask someone who has been around forever. Indignation ran a sprint in my mind and am sure made its presence felt on my visage.

"25 years, almost," some answers sound better in approximation.

"Here is my simple guiding principle. For every year of work, you should have saved enough to live an year without working. So if you have worked 25 years, you should have enough to survive 25 years of being jobless." This guy has been in the workforce for far lesser time than I was. His wisdom, or the preachy tone rather, bothered me. Shouldn't I be the wiser one purely based on time spent on this planet?

"How is that even possible? I have so many EMIs, children's education and many more," I started sounding like a moaner already.

"That's your problem. Every month when you get the salary, think as if you have to survive 2 months with it. I call it the one by two rule. It will automatically fix your life style and make you free soon enough" 

"Easy for you to say," the kid has just bruised, battered and burner my self esteem.

"Maybe. But remember, our slavery isn't because of how much we earn. It is because of how much we think we can spend. If we control our cravings and desires to be within the one by two principle, then our freedom remains within reach all the time"

I looked up at the kid. There is nothing left to say except a quick thank you followed by a hasty "I need to take this call" waala retreat. 

A Manush (a great one at that)

It was pouring. I braved the rain and walked from the newly opened 'Joharfa' cafe all the way to the bus stop outside the Muffakamjah college. All the while waving at passing autos or repeatedly trying rapido without success. I had to be somewhere by 4 PM and it was already 320. I was going to be late but first things first, how was I even going to find a ride home? 

The continuous auto hailing helped eventually. One nice looking chap stopped.

With my head inside the auto (essentially 50% of the body and 100% of the mind was committed to the ride irrespective of the fare), I told him whereto. "He will ask for 500 at least, given the circumstances," I thought 

"Baarish bahut ho rahi hai sir. Traffic mein phasenge. Chalo do sau (200) dedo" 

I must have gotten lucky, I told myself while dragging the rest of the body into the auto in a flash. 

We started and immediately entered into a traffic jam. I looked at my mobile and was shocked to see battery at 9%. The device was going to be my saviour in getting through this long, jam ridden ride. 

"Bhai charger hai phone ka? C type waali?" 

"Charger nahin hai sir. Lekin agar aap ko apne timepass ke liye mobile chahiye tho fikar mat karo. Mai acchha gaaleta hoon"

And without even waiting for my response, he started singing a Kishore Kumar classic, " Dil aisa kisine mera toda"

Now, it was raining cats, dogs and baby elephants. The traffic, as you might expect, was made of baboons on all kinds of Automotives. And my auto waala was singing, quite beautifully, one of my favourite songs (well all Kishore Kumar songs are favorites anyway). The latent singer in me just couldn't hold back. 

I joined a kindred soul in singing a beautiful song in heavy rain. Kindred because he knew the full lyrics of the song - something I normally do not find with many music lovers. 

So, we sang heartily as the traffic progressed at a pace that would put a snail to shame. And honestly I don't even remember when I forgot about the traffic because from that point on it was a journey full of bliss. 

"Chalo ek aur gaana gaate hain," I said. 

"Arrey diwaano, mujhe pehchaano," the rickshaw wala was just a bundle of brilliance. He knew the previous song was full of pathos so picked up another that was super peppy. I joined in again. 

So the ride continued with Amit Kumar, Bhupinder Singh, Suresh Wadkar, Jagjith Singh and Kumar Sanu joining the melee of melody. We didn't bother the curious looks from people on other vehicles. People on two wheelers, braving the rain, were probably the most amused as they could hear the noise from the auto the loudest. 

My new friend was multi talented and super matured. He mimicked Narendra Modi, Amitabh Bachchan and even Sunny Deol as the staccato ride continued. He didn't know much about the lives of singers. He was shocked when I told him that Kishore Kumar passed away in 1987. And from then on for every singer, once we finished the song, he would ask, "yeh abhi hai?" 

The icing on the cake was the guys imitation of Asha Bhosle. He sang in female voice so effortlessly that I just had to give up singing along and stare in disbelief and appreciation. 

We introduced ourselves and shook hands when the ride finally ended. The bundle of brilliance was from Jharkhand but an absolute embodiment of the India we all know and love. I checked the time to realize that it was one of the longest auto rides that I ever took for such a short distance. The beauty was that I did not even feel a quarter of that time. Pure bliss in what could have been a nightmare of a ride. 

Small mercies in testing times 🙏

https://photos.app.goo.gl/vTnH6CcpP6RmxrGs6

The core

The ashram was unusually busy. Even though it stood in the middle of nowhere, the place seemed to have found an identity of its own today. Cars lined the narrow path, and people, many more than usual, filled the air with murmurs and anticipation.

The orchestrators of Guruji’s time granted me five minutes. “And only one question,” I was warned.

The Guru smiled knowingly, then gave me a look that said how helpless even he was in managing his own time.

“I will not bother you, Guruji. Just one question — as the Maharaj here has mandated.”

A quick nod from the Guru, and a faintly approving look toward the Maharaj.

“Everyone who is working,” I began, “is looking for reward, recognition, and empathy — all at once, and all the time. How do we manage that and still get them to deliver the right output?”

The Guru chuckled softly. “Many people from the corporate world come with this kind of question,” he said. “I tell them all the same thing: people have to earn it.”

“How do they earn that? I suppose that’s my question.”

“That expectation,” he said, “demands excellence.

At the core of excellence is creativity.

At the core of creativity is freedom.

At the core of freedom is responsibility.

At the core of responsibility is humility.

At the core of humility is oneness.

At the core of oneness is awareness.

At the core of awareness is intelligence.

And at the core of intelligence is God.”

The Guru rattled these off with such fluidity that it seemed as though the answer had existed long before the question was ever asked.

“Second question — though the Maharaj might object,” I said with a smile. “What’s the core of God?”

“Why, the Guru, of course,” he replied, chuckling. “And before you ask — the core of Guru is inner silence.”

The Maharaj was growing impatient. Many others were waiting behind me, some already casting irritated glances my way.

I bowed to the Guru and turned to leave.

“If you made notes of what I said,” he called out after me, “read the entire thing backwards — you will know.”

Maybe I have become smarter now. Maybe not. Perhaps I did not understand anything at all.

Time will tell, I guess.

Context overload

The hut stood quietly in the middle of nowhere. For some reason I find it less crowded of late. Maybe people aren't just finding time to see the Guru. I sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the Guru as he sat on a slightly elevated platform. He had a benign smile as he waited for me to open up. 

"Let me ask you something," I said finally. "What exactly is stress?"

"Why do you ask?" the Guru said. "Are you stressed right now?"

 "I guess I am. I feel a kind of pressure... not physical, but constant. Expectations—from work, family, the world—pressing in from all sides."

"Someone poking you physically all the time?" he asked with a hint of mischief.

"Of course not," I said, laughing softly. "It’s just... everything that needs to be done. The deliverables at work, the fear of failure, my children’s future—it all weighs on me."

He looked around the hut, then back at me.

"But right now," he said quietly, "it’s just you and me, sitting in this small hut, in the middle of nowhere. Where are all these other things coming from?"

I opened my mouth to answer, then stopped. I didn’t really know. They were simply there—floating somewhere behind my eyes, heavy and shapeless.

The Guru smiled knowingly.

"You are loading your mind with things that are irrelevant to your context," he said. "Your stress, at this very moment, comes from things that have no place here. Your present context is just this—two people, a hut, a quiet valley. Nothing else exists."

"I suppose that’s true," I murmured. "But isn’t that how it always is? Those things are always... there."

"Only because you invite them," he said gently. "Don’t load those things now. Right now, they don’t matter. Even when you drive back home, they won’t matter. At best, they deserve one or two percent of your total time in a day. The rest is just life."

I frowned. "But what about their consequences?"

"They don’t exist now," he replied.

"They will exist if I don’t handle them now."

He chuckled. "You can’t handle what doesn’t exist."

"I meant—if I don’t prepare for them."

"There is always effort to be made," he said. "But effort has its time. Handle them during that one or two percent of your day. Not now."

I fell silent. The afternoon heat was sweltering and yet I felt a cool breeze inside the hut. 

"So," I said at last, "in computer terms, I’m loading libraries that are irrelevant to the program... and then wondering why it’s running slow."

The Guru smiled. "Whatever that means. I am ignorant of such things"

"Well, I suppose I understand what that means now. Thank you, Guruji."

He closed his eyes, his voice low and unhurried.

"Don’t overload the context."

The silence that followed felt lighter somehow—like a program finally freed of all unnecessary code.

The new 4Ps

Life offers a dynamic landscape of ambitions and discoveries. Over time, we often encounter four key pursuits, each shaping the story of who we are and what brings us true fulfillment. These are the pursuit of Pleasure, Passion, Purpose, and Paramatma. Understanding how each fits into our journey can provide clarity, balance, and direction as we age.

The Pursuit of Pleasure

At its core, pleasure is about seeking joy and instant gratification—doing things that feel good, provide comfort, and bring immediate happiness (and many a times, instant gratification). Whether it’s indulging in hobbies, savoring good food (or bad), or enjoying moments with loved ones (sometimes amorous), pleasure forms a vital foundation for well-being early in life and offers essential restoration along the way.

The Pursuit of Passion

Passion goes deeper, calling us to harness our innate talents and interests to build something meaningful. For some, this results in a rewarding career; for others, it may remain a cherished hobby or a dream yet to be realized. Not everyone finds their passion, and for many, work remains a matter of necessity rather than inspiration. Still, passion, when discovered, infuses life with energy and motivation.

The Pursuit of Purpose

Purpose marks a turning point—transcending personal desires to contribute to something greater. It’s about empathy, altruism, and sometimes self-denial, as we strive to create positive impact for others or tackle challenges bigger than ourselves. This pursuit often gains prominence as we mature, and integrating it by around age 50 is vital for lasting fulfillment. Early discovery and blending of purpose with pleasure and passion amplify its rewards.

The Pursuit of Paramatma

Paramatma is the pursuit of spiritual realization, detaching from transactional living and turning inward to explore the essence of existence. Guided by the principle of “not this, not this (Neti, Neti),” it’s a call to move beyond the material and personal, seeking higher consciousness and peace. While few embark on this journey early, focusing on Paramatma from age 60 onward often becomes a singular, transformative endeavor.

There is no rigid timeline for these pursuits. Some find passion in youth, others only later; purpose may call at any age, and Paramatma’s awakening remains rare in early life unless one is molded along the lines of a Shankara or Vivekananda. What matters most is that each pursuit enters the mix at the stage best suited to the individual’s circumstances and growth.

What about our work then? If you are one of the blessed few, your work will figure in one of the 4Ps. If not, our work is what funds our ability to pursue one or many of these. So, everytime we find what we are working hard at is meaningless, remember the one or many of the 4Ps it is enabling.

The secret to a successful career and a fulfilling life lies in harmonizing these pursuits. Embrace pleasure and passion in youth and midlife, let purpose find its place by maturity, and finally, pursue Paramatma as the golden chapter of life unfolds. Ideally, each new pursuit takes precedence as we age, leading to a richer and more meaningful existence.A balanced life integrates all four pursuits, allowing us to savor joy, express creativity, serve others, and finally seek spiritual peace—crafting a journey that is truly our own.

So, where do you stand? How many of these 4 Ps have you embraced already?

Who is I?

“I took care of you,” I said, voice thick with betrayal. “Met your every demand all these years. And yet, all I get in return is certain death — and the looming possibility of disease. You are the greatest traitor.”

“Death is my destiny,” the body replied calmly. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know that. As for disease — that’s your doing. Not mine”

“My doing? I fed you the best. Gave you not just water, but every drink you desired. Took you to places of beauty, treated you to the grandest of dramas and music. Weren’t these your demands? How did they become my deeds?”

“When did I ever ask for those? I asked for little food when hungry, water when thirsty, rest when tired. That’s all. You — you — piled on the rest. Desires I never uttered, and yet bore in silence, because you’re the master. So yes — disease is just another name for your deeds.”

“Traitor! Isn’t the mind a part of you? It was the mind that led me, suggested what to do, what to offer. I stressed myself to ensure you — and your friend, the mind — had all you needed. And now this?”

“What mind?” said the body. “That fleeting thought? That was me trying to escape you — in the subtlest of forms. Thought was meant to fly free. But you grabbed it. Held it. Twisted it into action. Into possession. Into identity. You bottled it back into me, and called it experience. But bottled thought festers. And now it seeks exit again — as disease. That’s all on you, you fool.”

“Wait — so you’re saying I’m not even you? That all this is me and not you? Then who am I?”

“If you thought you were just me — the body — you’re nothing but a sophisticated animal. You were given the greatest chance: to see the destiny of body and thought, and act accordingly. Instead, you squandered it. And now you ask me who you are? You are standing between who you _really_ are and who you assumed you were. You lost the opportunity to realize one and maligned the destiny of the other”

“You should have told me. Long before.”

“You never asked"