BOOK REVIEW - COLOURS OF LIFE by Inderjit Kaur

BOOK REVIEW - COLOURS OF LIFE by Inderjit Kaur

Inderjit Kaur is no preacher though all her three books under her ‘A Living Series’ stress on encountering all the trials, tribulations and vicissitudes that life throws at us on our journey. The focal point of all her writings is that one has to face life with a positive attitude; a belief in one’s own inner strength and that life is valuable and has to be lived to realize one’s full potential. In this context I liked her quote from my favorite author and influencer Albert Camus’ – ‘In the midst of winter, I found there was within me an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, there’s something stronger – something better pushing it right back’; that about sums up her life also.

In her own words in Part B Section 8 of her book, ‘Colours of Life’ she says, ‘I experienced high and ebb tides in my life. The legal cases accompanied by a broken marriage and the divorce that ensued had driven me towards unending episodes of severe migraines that would not leave me until I injected painkillers.” She had come to a point where she felt that ‘All life is meaningless.’ She continues “During those struggling days of more than two and a half years of the legal fight (domestic violence), I engaged myself in writing during the early mornings. I drenched myself in music even while performing my household chores, making sure not to leave myself alone in desolation, loneliness and sufferings.”

Inderjit has been a traveller, this book like her previous ones exudes a positivism that is infectious and by the time one comes to the end you feel that there is after all hope and we need not be overtaken by the disappointments and the miseries that we subject ourselves to in the process of living our life.

‘Colours of Life’ is organized in two sections – Part A consisting of seven sections corresponding to the seven colors of the rainbow, each color being attributed to a positive characteristic that should see us through our darkest hours. Whether it is Violet which ‘inspires positivity, culminating in achieving the pinnacle of spiritual enlightenment’, or Orange the color of compassion or Red ‘exuding a strong and a very powerful energy and associating will to stand courageously to survive’, she traces the entire gamut of emotions and qualities required to make our living authentic and thus meaningful. While the method of reaching out with her message through anecdotal stories/encounters is interesting, the chapter on Red appealed to me most as it is autobiographical and traces the roots of her courage to come through the struggles she faced in her life, to her father who inspired her with his message – ‘Adjust, adapt and keep moving with a smile” Inderjit says that it is the smile that she received as a gift from her father who had stood strong in all adversities in is life.

Part B forms a major portion of the book consisting of multiple sections where she underscores the importance of commitment and responsibility in achieving our dreams of leading a wonderful life. She says that life can be looked upon as a series of choices, a beautiful challenge and a collage. Drawing largely from her own understanding of life’s experiences, she shares what she feels would contribute to a fulfilled life.

In summing up I shall quote from her last page in the book – “We can’t live in illusions, we have to focus on and give our hundred percent doing justice to whatever we are doing no matter how much difficult or mundane it may appear we must make sure that we remain disciplined and determined.”

While I marvel at the stream of positive thoughts in this book, I pause to wonder whether this unending positivity is possible in our lives. Frankly no, but this is precisely why this book becomes relevant, for beyond the darkness that seems to envelop us there is the hope of light with the dawn of a new morrow.

This is a book that falls under the self-help category and helpful it will definitely be to have it with you to browse through and reassure yourself. 

WHAT’S HAPPENING?

WHAT’S HAPPENING?

It was one of those sultry afternoons when I found myself at the end of my tether waiting for the electricity to come back, the inverter having given its last gasp with that peculiar hoot as if the whole damn building was on fire. I ran around trying to switch off all the electrical points which were under its control. To no avail, for the last hoot ended the way it started. Now it was dead and I would have to wait for the power to come back and recharge it back to its reincarnation. Oh yes! I thought that if an inverter could be back brought back to life by having the battery recharged then why not we reincarnate by having electrodes shoved up or placed at certain strategic places on our body. Random thoughts, that’s what happens when you are beyond boredom; like I said, at the end of your tether. You may wonder why I used the word ‘tether’ twice (this time included thrice actually). Well I liked that word; I had picked it up from a friend (actually not really a friend) of mine who had used it to describe his existence after thirty five years of married life. Don’t get me wrong I am not ascribing it to my state of existence. In all fairness I have been given a long rope and would never find myself ‘at the end of my tether’, to wander about unrestricted within the many walls of my domain. Like I told you I liked the word and liked it even better when I looked up the dictionary for the meaning – ‘tie (an animal) with a rope or chain so as to restrict its movement like a "the horse had been tethered to a post". What appealed to me was the word in the brackets though I felt more like the poorer cousin of the animal within the quotes.

By now you may be wondering why I sound so incoherent. That’s what happens in the height of a Chennai summer. You get all heated up, bark like a dog and sweat like a pig. Though I have heard a dog bark, I have never seen a pig sweat. May be sweat like a hippo and stink like a pig. That’s possible though if you ask me whether I have seen a hippo sweat, well no, but it does sound nice. Stink like a pig, well yes.

This afternoon I was a hippo as well as a pig, but I couldn’t bark for I was simmering inside. I was in for a heat stroke. That was when there was a knock on the door (remember the electricity was having its day out) and when I opened it there was this guy who I had met a couple of times, enough for him to call me his friend though I did not nurture the slightest inclination to include him in my list. The couple of times I had met him were enough to convince me that he had been let loose on the streets like the strays (though the strays may have a strong objection to my reference). I stood at the door not having fully opened it to prevent his unwanted (unwarranted) entry into my already oven hot apartment, he would only add to the already excruciating existence in which I found myself.

He said “Hello, thought I would look you up. It’s been some time since we met and today being a holiday, I thought of dropping in to find out how you are doing” and squeezed himself through. I had no option but let him in.

“Doing what?” I asked, exasperation seeping over and above the perspiration that ran down my bald pate.

“Nothing; just like that. I can see there is a power shutdown in this area. Don’t you have an inverter?” He asked.

“I have, but it is dead now” I said.

“Sorry, that’s sad” he said, puzzled. “How did it happen?” he continued, not really knowing whether to offer his condolences or offer his shoulders for me to cry.

“Just like that, like it happens to all inverters when they run dry.” I replied.

“That’s tough I know, what with all this heat you must be feeling like a pig” he said.

I could have murdered him that instant.

“Well old chap you should get over your procrastinations and get on with what’s to be done” he said

“Pray, what must that be? I asked.

“For a change, are you aware of what’s happening around you?”

“Why should I? I have enough problems feeling like a pig, mind you those are your words” I replied.

“Exactly that’s why you should know what is happening around you” he replied.

“Well, you tell me what’s happening?” I asked.

“Fogg is happening” he said nonchalantly.

“You must be mad; the heat has got on to you. Whoever heard of fog happening in the middle of all this heat! If it has it must be in your mind. I can see you are suffering from delusions, a definite sign of a heat stroke on its way. Why don’t you see a doctor? Ha, ha, a fog is it?” I laughed.

For a moment he was perturbed and then said “No, no, it is not fog, it is Fogg.”

“Why do you keep repeating the same words? Better go right now” I said, getting up from my chair, finding at last an opportunity to push him out. The heat and sweat were bad enough, but this guy was the pits.

He didn’t get up and continued staring at me as if I was the one who had lost it.

“You got me all wrong, it is F-O-G-G and not F-O-G” he said spelling out the words.

“Oh no! If it is Fogg as you say how can he still be happening? The only Fogg I know is a guy called Phileas Fogg who was supposed to have gone around the world in eighty days. Well he must be dead and gone now, a hundred years ago at least. Don’t tell me he has reincarnated?” I said; hope building up and curious to know if he had any electrodes inserted.

Now he was at the edge of his seat and I knew he was reaching the end of his ‘tether’.

“You can’t understand you dumb ass. Don’t you ever watch the television? It is all over the news; it even prevented a skirmish on our border with Pakistan, all because Fogg is happening. Such an important event and you are still not aware of it you ignoramus. If you had known you would not have been stinking like a pig” he said and stormed out of the apartment.

Though I had succeeded in getting him out of my apartment, I was left flummoxed. Was this a secret weapon that somehow left the Pakis scrambling for cover? I couldn’t even switch on the television as I was still powerless.

But now at least I knew that something called Fogg was happening.

In case you are also still wondering what Fogg is, please switch on the television. I did it when the power came on and now I am enlightened man.    

A CELEBRATION OF LIFE - MY 200TH POST

A CELEBRATION OF LIFE - MY 200^TH POST

It is exactly three years ago that I wrote my 100^th post on my blog. I considered it a milestone in my journey as a writer. It had taken me two years to reach that since I started becoming active on my blog. It has taken me a further three years to reach my 200^th post. A slowing down, perhaps? Not really. This journey has taken me through a hundred more posts and my first published work ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ and the completion of my second book ‘Darkness and Beyond – A Medley of Many Lives’, though I am taking my time before publishing it. The last few months I have been catching up on my reading which had earlier been relegated to the background due to my preoccupation with writing. Two amazing books have stayed with me – ‘On Writing’ by Stephen King and ‘Fallen Leaves’ by Will Durant.

In his book Stephen King says “If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things that I’m aware of, no shortcut. Good writing teaches the learning writer about style, graceful narration, plot development, the creation of believable characters, and truth telling.

We read to experience the mediocre and the outright rotten; such experience helps us to recognize those things when they begin to creep into our own work, and to steer clear of them. We also read in order to measure ourselves against the good and the great, to get a sense of all that can be done. And we read in order to experience different styles.”

I now read because I want to be a better writer.

Will Durant from the infinite wisdom which he had gathered during the course of his life writes about Life, Love, War and God. Fallen Leaves is considered as his most personal book and the last, presenting his own opinions on the major problems of life, politics, religion, and society. In the Preface to the book he writes-

“Vanity increases with age. Here I am, going on ninety five; by this time I should have learned the art of silence, and should realize that every educated reader has already heard all opinions and their opposites; yet here I set out, fearful and rash, to tell the world – or one hundred millionth of it – just what I think on everything. It is all the more ridiculous since at my age, a man is deeply rooted in the ways or views of his youth, and is almost constitutionally incapable of understanding the changing world that assails him, and from which he tends to flee into the grooves of the past or the safety of his home.”

When I wrote my 100^th post I called it ‘A Celebration of My 100^th Posting’. Yes, it indeed was a celebration for it was a milestone in my journey as a writer. It is important setting a goal for oneself, for that is what makes you move forward. It is on the way, on that journey, that we start seeing and experiencing things which we have never really understood before. You see things with a new perspective, a perspective that has been sharpened by the experiences on the way.

Now, when I am on the verge of reaching the next milestone on my journey, I pause to reflect on what I have seen and experienced and what I have understood of life and what it means to live. I ask myself the question whether it is vanity that forces me to write. Maybe it is there in some measure but to be truthful I have found that my writing is a mirror I hold in front to understand the lessons that life has taught me. It has taught me that each day is a celebration. As you wake up to see the sun streaming through the windows and you stretch your limbs re-enacting the very process of being born again and to live one more day, it is a celebration.

My second book has as its theme that beyond the darkness that seems to envelop you as night falls there is the hope of light with the dawn of a new day. . It is not only the process of aging and the acceptance of the final exit from this phase of existence that this book is concerned. It touches all those who have passed through the darkness of living and found the light of fulfillment, giving an authenticity to their existence. In that sense every day is a celebration of life. That I thought should be title of this post – A Celebration of Life

“In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.” ― Robert Frost

Each day is a little life; every waking and rising, a little birth; every fresh morning a little youth; every going to rest and sleep a little death. - Arthur Schopenhauer

I cannot but resist the temptation of ending this post by quoting from Will Durant in his book ‘Fallen Leaves’ –

“Life is that which can hold a purpose for three thousand years and never yield. The individual fails, but life succeeds. The individual is foolish, but life holds in its blood and seed the wisdom of generations. The individual dies, but life, tireless and undiscourageable, goes on, wondering, longing, planning, trying, mounting, longing.”

“Here are children; what is it that makes them so joyous, running madly over the dew-wet grass, laughing, calling, pursing, eluding, panting for breath, inexhaustible? What energy, what spirit and happiness! What do they care about death? They will learn and grow and love and struggle and create, and lift life up one little notch, perhaps, before they die. And when they pass they will cheat death with their children, with parental care that will make their children a little finer than themselves.

Life wins.”

SECRETS OF THE SOUL- 6 BUDDHA AND THE LONE PINE

Buddha and the Lone Pine

I seek the secrets of the soul,

From the dewdrop on the lotus leaf,

Now precariously perched on the edge,

Waiting for the fall, to merge once again,

As the vastness below waits to embrace,

I stand a lone pine amidst this white spread,

Oblivious to the enveloping stillness,

And the chill wind that batters and bruises,

The Buddha sits as still as the stillness around,

Eyes closed, a faint smile betrays

The submerging of the tremors within,

The ghost in silence moves away.

SECRETS OF THE SOUL 5 - DUSTBINS

SECRETS OF THE SOUL 5 - DUSTBINS

Dustbins

I seek the secrets of the soul,

From the dustbins of my mind,

As the beggar continues to rummage

Through the garbage cans, groping,

His hands searching for the valuables,

Cardboard, tins and plastic bags,

And some left over eatables;

As the dogs circle eagerly for the morsels,

The stench from leftover sins pervade

Dig deep and torment the hapless soul

As it tries to purge itself of past indiscretion,

The ghost really does not go away.

SECRETS OF THE SOUL 4 - CAULDRON

Secrets of the Soul 4 - Cauldron

I seek the secrets of the soul,

That once touched and stirred

The cauldron deep within the burrows,

Of an inconsequential existence,

To be pulled out and made to stand

The allure of an everlasting passion,

To be consumed in the fire of her embrace,

To wither away and crumple down,

Amongst the ruins, amidst the great walls,

That once stood guard against the hordes

Of intruding marauders and scavengers,

Now, only the ghost remains, a witness.

For those of my friends who have not read the first three poems of 'SECRETS OF THE SOUL' I am reproducing them below -

In ‘Secrets of the Soul’ my inner world of dreams and awareness mingle with the happenings in the external world of things and events in a bid to correlate and seek answers to the turmoil going on within the self. It took me a long time to write down my thoughts, in bits and pieces, and it has been one long journey, but the secrets that I seek to understand never really end, that is why this will remain an incomplete exploration.

These are a set of seventeen poems or you may call them stanzas if you will. The only structure that I have adhered to is that each of them consists of twelve lines. They depict a snapshot of my own emotions and experiences and the resultant imagery. I attempt to tell a story and leave it to the readers to interpret and correlate with their own.

Gulmohars

I seek the secrets of the soul,

That speak of dampened pavements,

Drenched by the teardrops of the moon,

The touch of cool fingers,

Tracing patterns on the ridges

Of my scarred face and aquiline nose,

As the gulmohars lay strewn across,

Last night’s relentless fury had abated.

But the scars stayed waiting,

For another day, another night,

To open up those festering wounds,

To revel and roll in the mud again.

Song of the Wind

I seek the secrets of the soul,

That sang the song of the wind

As it blew its way through the holes                                                    

In the bamboo shoots, whistling,

Sometimes moaning, a soulful tune,

And the wayfarer stops to listen and search

For the melancholic maiden

Among the gently swaying tall grass,

You drift away with the wind,

An apparition, a distant dream,

Beckoning me to your folds,

As I stand enraptured and alone.

Shadows

I seek the secrets of the soul,

That beat the drums of destiny,

The shadows that shrivel and stretch,

Shiver as they dance around

The dying embers of the fading years,

As they turn to ashes and the dust,

They disappear as the darkness descends,

Leaving only the footprints,

To be blown away to oblivion,

And beyond to a another world,

Another day, another night, once again.

Only the ghost remains unbound and free.

SWAMI - THE SAINT OF GNANACHERI - A TRIBUTE

SWAMI - THE SAINT OF GNANACHERI

A TRIBUTE

Today a great soul passed away. SWAMI who had been a beacon of hope and succor to multitudes is no more; in the process leaving a huge void in the lives of all those who had enshrined him in their hearts. He was one of those persons who had a profound impact on a skeptic like I am. Not because he had worked miracles for me and made every wish come true but because of his immense compassion which embraced everyone who came to him whether he was a theist, an atheist or an agnostic. One could never leave his presence without feeling touched by the unbounded love that seemed to emanate from his eyes.

I have heard it said that great souls suffer in their physical bodies as they take on the miseries of all those who come to them seeking deliverance. We need not look too far down the years for such instances. Those that come to my mind immediately are Ramana Maharishi and Ramakrishna Parmahamsa both of whom suffered physically before shedding their physical bodies. So was it with Swami. Having merged with the Absolute, like them, Swami will continue to shower his blessings and guidance on all those who come to him.

In Section 29 of Chapter 1 in my book ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ I have written about the profound impact that Swami had on me. I am reproducing excerpts from that section of the book for those who have not read it -

‘Swami literally means an ascetic or a holy man but Swami has been God to all his followers for he had brought hope into the lives of hundreds of them. A few of them have been with him from his earliest days and for whom he is more a friend than a God. Yes, a God that is what he is to those gathered around him. There is no splendor, pomp or exhibition of partiality, for all present are equal. Swami is said to have performed miracles in his earlier days which are vouched for by those close to him. For the others hope in him has given them the will to survive and to prosper. I have seen this happening. People I knew have moved up in the scale of life not only in their material status but also in the way they looked at the world. A semblance of peace and discipline has happened in their lives. This I consider a miracle though I am not a great believer in miracles. Like I have said earlier, I believe miracles happen only if they are destined to happen. 

I sat there among the crowd of devotees and listened to those few who came up to the podium to relate their experiences of Swami and how much he had meant to them and helped them overcome the difficulties they had faced in the course of their lives. It was only because of him that a transformation had occurred within them and had taken them to a higher plane of awareness. All the while Swami sat in his chair with that benign look on his face and it seemed that his gaze was directed at each and everyone in the crowd. One could feel the fervor with which each person spoke; an indication of the total faith reposed in him by them. As for me I was there neither as a believer nor a non-believer. I was there because I liked Swami.

I first came into contact with Swami thirty six years ago in 1977 at the time of my marriage. I remember that a day before the marriage I was down with high fever. In a lighter vein you could call it marital jitters but a definite cause for concern. My father-in-law came to see me. He had brought with him some vibhuti (holy ash) given to him by Swami, applied it on my forehead and left saying that everything would be fine. By evening my fever had subsided. At that time I did not give much importance to it and thought that it was due to the medicines I was taking. Only later, as the years passed by I started understanding the significance of the event. We can always pass of such incidents as something coincidental, but for a man of faith this was a miracle. And now when I think of it, I ask myself why not.

Swami was there at the wedding. In the wedding reception photograph he can be seen standing along with us, a simple man in a white cotton dhoti and a white shirt. The years may have passed but he is still the same simple person only thirty six years older now and in the process having become a beacon of hope to multitudes.

It is not that I accepted Swami as the divine person that I was introduced to; it took me years to realize the genuine human being full of love and compassion that he is and worthy of the highest reverence possible. The softness of his features and the everlasting soothing smile on his face was something that attracted me to him and made me bow my head in reverence to a great soul.

I have never seen or heard of people coming out of his chamber disappointed. One could see the sense of relief on their faces, having unburdened their miseries to him and with the renewed hope that he will take care of them. He listens to them patiently and tells them that he is there. Sometimes his voice is so soft that you really cannot hear him, but the look in his eyes and his smile are enough assurance that you have been heard. I have had experiences when I have gone inside his room with my wife to pour out our problems with the hope that a miracle would happen. At such times I have found myself choked with no words coming out of my mouth but tears streaming out of my eyes. Though I would end up asking for his blessings to lift me to a higher state of awareness, my wife would narrate our problems. We would come away with the assurance that he is always with us and will take care. But the miracles never happened. It never has happened the way or in the time frame we wanted. But over course of time some things have got sorted out and others we believe will also go that way; after all time is a great healer and destiny has to play its part. Though he knows that this is the truth, Swami discharges his karmic duties as a teacher and a healer of minds.’

I have not seen him as a miracle worker but as an extraordinary being I have learnt to like and respect. His erudition and rendering of the scriptures and the teachings of the great saints is astounding. His discourses are simple and the language reaches the common people who form the bulk of his followers.”

Swami, I believe was here to take us to a higher state of awareness and not to perform miracles but to lead us towards truth and the acceptance of destiny with fortitude.

Tonight as I sit here writing all this I do feel that deep sense of loss of a dear one, but I know that this will in course of time turn into acceptance and though his physical presence will be missed he will continue to shower his benevolence from above on all those he has left behind.