Visiting the family deity

 It's been a while since I wrote here. I was busy expressing my political views on a website which I do not own anymore. It has been a rough ride trying to regularly bring out content for an audience that really cares about what I have to share. But I gave up. It was taking a toll on my mental health.

So, apart from sharing my opinions occasionally on twitter, I do not get involved in collecting information through news channels that I can share.

That brings me to my current situation. I have been living with my parents for quite sometime and I am working for an IT company remotely.

I used to be an atheist when I was in college convinced by one of my close friends that there is no God. I believed him and made up my mind that there is no God. I also read the book by Richard Dawkins, The Greatest Show on Earth which explains how creatures have not been created but have evolved through millions of years.

Through the years, I have learned that religion is something that helps reduce the burden in people's lives. No matter what religion you follow, prayer has power. Prayers are answered if you have faith.

I was not interested in following any particular religion until one day, one of my paternal grandfathers advised me to pray to the family deity (kula deivam in Tamil) twice everyday, when I wake up and when I am about to go to sleep. The family deity is someone who is worshipped only by the family members and there is a temple dedicated to the deity. It's a sort of made up God for the family members.

After marriage, my father's family deity became my mother's family deity.

I have visited the family deity temple several times now. It's a place where I pray for me and my parent's well being. I also enjoy the trip to the temple with my parents.

I used to go to temples despite being an atheist to appreciate the architecture. But now, I can say that I am a believer. I go to temples to pray to God. Although I know that the form of God is made up by human beings, the act of prayer to a sentient being definitely has an effect.

The Indefinite Stay

Long year in Mauritius, back in Chennai

I used to live in the same house. It harbors so many memories from the time I used to spend my time thinking about inventions. I had people who liked me and supported me. Took care of me.

We went on a wonderful trip to the mountains. We were all jammed together in a tiny vehicle which wound round and round up the hill. I cannot believe I am still thinking about Him.

We rode horses. I had never ridden one before.

It’s funny how everything is so different in such a short span of time. 

It seemed like it could have been this way forever, until I expected the unexpected. 

Giving up everything and starting again. 

I didn’t care. I had done it with my life so many times before, I would do it. I would do it for Him, despite the doubts, despite the fear. 

I would go wherever He went. 

Sometimes I felt so transparent. I let them see every emotion of mine. I cried sometimes even. 

I couldn’t even hide my feelings. 

He understood what I was going through. 

There is no language that one needs when the hearts are talking. 

They couldn’t care less though. They were ruthless. They were so cold. 

There was some problem and I was being pulled into being part of their problem.

I had never cared about it since I got to stay with Him. Things could only move forward. 

I was in the most beautiful place on planet earth, the sun shining, the gardens blooming and the people smiling. 

I was never so happy to be isolated from the rest of the world. 

But it turns out, as these stories always do, there is always a catch when you feel happy for no reason. 

It usually means that happiness is going to be taken away from you real soon. 

And so the time flied away as I fantasized and lived believing in what I knew was not going to happen. 

It’s a dangerous pursuit. The pursuit of chasing my fantasies, I ended up in a ditch. 

I was blinded the illusion. The possibility so minuscule yet vibrant. 

There was no one to console me now, but this one girl, who saw how desolate I had become, waiting for an impossible desire. 

Like two lovers coming together, becoming friends in conversation and getting married after living for so long in each other’s affection, reality felt like a fairytale. 

Getting married was the easy part. But having kids is another thing. 

That’s when she realized that it was not appropriate for her to be with me. 

And took me to all sorts of religious ceremonies. 

Like it was going to change me and make me celibate. 

Hah! I got more desperate. 

I surely enjoyed the walks to her place, visits to the supermarket where I spoke with her sister, and even asked her to forget about her previous lover and accept me wholeheartedly. 

At which point she took me see her new husband. 

That’s going to be my new lover, she said and left me no choice, but to dig a deep grave and lie in there for days and days. 

I was beginning to decompose as the maggots started eating my flesh and my body became dry of blood and my heart slowing down to an indefinite halt. 

There was no life left for me as my karmic Mother came to my rescue, revived me from the dirt and took me for a long drive around the oceanic landscapes.
She knew how I’d felt. She had been there before. She had been with many men before and her heart was big. 

She kissed her new husband in the front seat as sat at the back, happy to be breathing air again and felt loved, in the presence of someone, someone who cared. 

I liked these car rides. 

They took me around to amazing places, stopped at odd places, sometimes even took me to their houses and where we cooked together. 

Things were looking real good, for everyone. 

Even He found a girl on some mobile application. 

How weird, I thought. 

They surprisingly got along really well and started seeing each other often. 

I got along well with them. In fact I loved to be among these couples now. Free rides, free beers and not a single day goes by without fooling around and having fun. 

They said it was now time to find my girl and complete the story. 

I said yes, I totally would. 

I really wanted to. 

I ran after a couple of women. 

Asked their phone numbers. 

One of them even told me we could be friends, hang out and stuff. 

I never bothered to call her. 

I don’t know what I was looking for. Because if I wanted to be loved and needed someone to spend some time with, then here I was, with all the people I’ve ever wanted to be with, these lovely couples, loving and connected. With me like a puppy dog in their house. 

***

I met an African woman. She was the friend of a friend who game me her number. For some strange reason, he encouraged me to talk to her, checked up on me even, asking if I’d been getting along with this woman.

I had texted her. 

She had replied. 

We got on the whatsapp and texted some more. 

Then we texted more. 

And more, and more. 

It got exiting, asking all the details about each other, while having no idea how the other looked like. 

This was my Tindr. 

We went out to uninteresting places and had amazing conversations.
I took the bus from my town to the next. 

It was wonderful. 

She lived near a spinach farm. 

And spoke in an accent. 

She was very particular about teaching me how to respect women, about how one should treat her right. 

The most important aspect was about how a man should let the woman do her hair. No matter how long it took. 

It is apparently important for an African woman, to have her hair well groomed, all the time. 

As a matter of fact, it also happens to be the most elegant way of bonding between her girl-friends. 

Her hair looked beautiful. 

She had amazing huge eyes and dark black skin. 

She was an angel. 

It was beautiful the way she talked. 

I enjoyed the bus rides back home, thinking about her. 

We sometimes caught up in between our busy lives. 

It was always funny when we did. 

It’s hilarious when an Indian man tries to interact with an African woman, especially when he knows nothing about where she came from, her language or her way of living. 

She loved how stupid I was, despite being a smart-ass computational scientist. 

I soon got busy with my work as there was so much chaos at the office. 

Figuring out what was happening itself became a huge challenge and we were trying to advance in our work as a team. 

There was a new member at the office who was very different from the others. 

He was much older than the rest of us. 

We became good friends. 

The African guy was fun too. 

The three of us had to work on some really important stuff that would help us reduce the chaos in our lives and become sane again. 

There were disagreements, there was confusion, there was hard work, there was sheer exhaustion, but we were pushing through. 

We went on and on and came to a point where we were about to finish. 

I hadn’t met a soul outside the office for over a month. 

The only trip I had was from the office to home and from home to office.
I took a week’s vacation after the whole mess was over. 

I traveled to the mountains in the south and consumed a lot of psychedelic drugs. 

I was lost. I was tripping in the forest, with some strangers and made fires every night. 

It was an extremely misguided journey. 

I never took the time to meet that girl again. 

We never even spoke after that. 

I had a dream one night where three of my colleagues were working in an office that was on a train. 

I figured it was like a metaphor where the train was the common journey we were taking, moving together in unison. 

I went to see my parents perfunctorily and soon took the latest flight back to Mauritius Island... 

And boy, everything had changed. 

The team of the three got broken as the new guy had left and the African guy got fired. 

No clue about what had happened. 

I thought we had just worked through most of the chaos. 

I was welcomed by my bosses, but things were still unclear why my teammates were gone. 

Things were not making sense and I had promised to a Chinese man on the plane that I would try the Indian meditation technique that he had learned in an Ashram in Bangalore and witnessed his whole life change before him.
I thought why not. 

There was an ashram a little far away from where I lived and I decided to try it. 

I was wondering if I could figure out what was happening in my life and why all the people I meet were getting blocked from my life, in some weird way. 

It was some self fulfilling thing. 

Nothing really happened. 

I wasn’t finding any answers. 

I was only listening to some elderly guy preach away. 

And I took part in all of the activities from serving food to doing yoga postures and even all the mopping and cleaning. 

The only lesson I learned there was that the people who were happy here were the ones who faked it. 

The ones miserable, like me were the ones just trying to figure out what was going on and how it happened and blah blah blah. 

And all those who faked the supernatural effect of the guru upon them got uplifted and were in fact very satisfied with the whole experience. 

I played along for a while, trying to blend in, until it was over. 

I was working from nine to five. 

There was enough faking that I was doing anyway. 

Day of perspective

It's been a while since I have been working in Mauritius island.

Tomorrow being the day I am leaving for India on a vacation, it has been quite tense and restless.

Although I woke up in a not so spirited mood, I got around to enjoying the day soon enough.

I am living at the place of Aunty. She is the only one in Mauritius who actually cares about what's happening to me.

I am really grateful to live a life in the house she has allowed me to stay in. And I am more than grateful that I get to spend some time with her family.

I took my bicycle out for a small ride.

I went to the food court where all sorts of Indian food are sold. And where all the food sold are affordable by the poor.

I paid a visit to the market. The Sunday market for clothes.

The most wonderful thing about the clothes market here is that there are so many beautiful almost designer-like clothes sold.

After the wandering, came back home and began feeling like nothing.

That's when I remembered that I had so much packing to do, got so busy with it and didn't realize how my afternoon went ticking away.

I was searching for the letter from the Immigration office that would let me go to India and come back.

I looked pretty much everywhere, sorted all the things in the house as a result, still couldn't find it.

That's when I started reading the book by Osho I had been reading for a while, "Vedanta, the art of dying".

There was something really interesting that I read in the book, about how one needs to keep putting in effort, leave no stone unturned, so that the unconscious mind can come up with a solution for the problem one is looking for; that only when the conscious mind is completely exhausted with finding  the solution for a problem, will the unconscious mind kick in.

As much as this theory sounded relevant, I decided to put it into action.

I continued sorting through all the stuff in the house, collecting all the things I wanted to carry to India.

I was so exhausted, I went to say hi to Aunty downstairs; came back upstairs then cooked an egg.

Finished it with some bread, made some tea and sat down to watch TV.

Now that I was completely relaxed, I walked to the pile of paper I had sorted out and would have just as well thrown it in the trash if it didn't have all the invoices of things I have bought.

And finally!

There it was!

I had chosen quite a careless place to keep the letter from the immigration office.

What an amazing way it was to find it!

It has been a wonderful to be in Mauritius the last eight months, despite the ups and downs, the intense situations and the culture shock.

I look forward to my journey to India with hopes of making a better life when I come back with a lot more zest.

On an Island (Mauritius)

The last time I blogged here was about 5000kms from here when I was at the Indian capital. I have moved on in so many ways since then and here I am now on this island in the Indian Ocean not too far away from the African island country Madagascar.

Ways have been difficult, but what I've found here has been happiness.

It's been the reversal of the climates here since it's the southern Hemisphere. It's winter here in the month of June when it usually rains heavily in Kerala, where I was born.

Now, in the first site, Mauritius looks very similar to a quite village in Goa. A lot of people here are racially Indians and follow Hinduism and celebrate almost all Hindu festivals (both north Indian and south Indian).

The food is quite interesting too. There is curry and rotis like in India, although not so spicy. I am also totally in love with the signature dish you can find in a local restaurant called bol reversé. Rice with a soup of vegetables and chicken (or fish) served on the plate reversing the bowl with its contents.

Although officially, English is the language of Mauritius, almost everybody speaks French or Kreole (a colloquial version of french). So I had to make sure I knew the greetings and trivialities in French in order to move through daily life.

There are also a lot of people who speak Hindi and Bhojpuri and it always makes a wonderful conversation when I meet a Mauritian Indian who speaks either of these languages.

Apart from the struggles of being an expat living alone, Mauritius has given me a very peaceful and quite life.

The traffic is way better than in India, with proper roads and sidewalks everywhere and the vehicles actually stopping for pedestrians to cross the road, which is barely the case in India.

Mauritius is also a place with so much green wilderness everywhere; in the cities and places inhabited by people there are so many trees and gardens that are part of houses, lined along the roads of just part of the urban landscape everywhere.

Where was I again? (Delhi Metro Blues)

There were not many people there on the platform waiting for the train. The sun  had not risen yet and the sky was only starting to become deep blue, hinting the presence of a sun somewhere. I was waiting for the station to open outside the huge gate which was locked to ensure no one entered the station in the middle of the night when no trains came or went. I was sitting outside on the stairs. It was cold. The wind was punishing. The only sound was that of the occasional car that went hissing past on the highway next to the station. I was tired. But I couldn't sleep.

I walked through the stairs leading to the inside of the station, following the people hoping they were all going to get tickets before getting on a train. I managed to find the ticket counter and bought a ticket to New Delhi.

The image of a clean vehicle appeared far ahead as it came racing forward on the tracks towards the people eagerly waiting to reach the warmth of their destination. Everyone rushed into the air conditioned and well lit metal container once it welcomed them by opening its doors.

There were not many people inside the metal container. I managed to find a seat. I still didn't know what was happening to me. Not right now, not anytime in the future. A female voice kept announcing which station I was about to reach. I looked at the red dot on the map above the door move as the train progressed.

A man sitting next to me was intently reading a book. I looked at him for a while. I felt sort of offended. What is it that he could be reading with so much interest? Why would it be so important? What kind of pleasure did he get from it? As my mind was overflowing with such questions, I spoke out, "What is it that you are reading?" I words sounded so far away, to myself, spoken with so much effort. I was really tired.

The man looked at me.

He was reading about some of India's policies and he told me about how he needs to updated about the country's affairs since he was a reporter. He explained to me about how the country's trade and foreign policies affect the living of the people to a large extent. He told me about the kind of responsibility he has to assess the situation of the country and make sure the people receive that knowledge. He told me everything about what he has to do as part of his job.

He asked me what I wanted to be, what I wanted to do with my life and when I told him about my dreams of becoming a film maker and someone who would protect the environment, he appreciated the attitude.

When I mentioned the fact about creating a sustainable living for the next generations, he reminded me how bad the current situation is and how the present generation itself needs saving.

Soon the conversation had to come to an end as the train slowed down as it approached the platform of a station where this companion was about to get down.

He stood up, I asked him which station he was getting down at. He said it was the one where the train had just stopped and walked out.

It seemed to hard to see a really useful conversation to end. It's not like you meet such people everyday and talk about things that matter.

In another one of these travels through the city in a metro, I had met another interesting character.

I was trying to read the book Animal Farm for a while. After reading 1984, I really wanted to read more of George Orwell's work. For about two or three times, whenever I took the book out, I just ended up staring at the graphics on the cover and never opened the book and read a word out of it.

In the metro again, just as took the book out and looked at the cover, a voice beside me asked, "Is that a horror story? Because the cover looks quite scary." I said, "yes, it does look quite scary but this is not a horror story." I told him about what the Animal Farm was about and he asked me where I came from, where I worked and how I was in Delhi. When I mentioned that I had come to Delhi for a friend's marriage, he showed the two bags he was carrying among which one of them was had a suit and told me that he had also come to Delhi for a friend's wedding. When I asked him where he was from, he told me that he was from UK and I was thinking if he had just visited United Kingdom and he went on to explain that he was from the state of Uttrakhand, which people have started calling UK. He also told me about how a sardarji once made the same mistake of thinking that he was from the United Kingdom.

Every pleasant conversation has to end. It was like two brothers catching up after a long time. He was a good companion. But I had to get down at the New Delhi metro station.

It is surprising that strangers could leave so much impression.

In another one of these journeys in a metro, a bearded guy saw the guitar I was carrying and asked me if I was a musician. I told him that I could sing and play some songs on the guitar. He was intrigued. He explained how passionate he was about music and how very few people have the voice that could sound good. I tried to argue that it wasn't the case and that any voice could sing given enough training. He disagreed. He asked me if the songs I sing were sad. I was quite surprised. Because most of the songs I sing are extremely sad and I feel that sad songs are the ones that have most feel. He told me how it is that it is only through the sad songs that great singers could express themselves. I was grateful he said that. But then he also started asking me some disturbing questions. He asked me if had tried to do something about becoming a professional musician, like take part in reality shows and if I ever tried to be a part of the music industry. I couldn't really explain to him that I wanted to be in a band, be an independent musician. But then I also felt bad that I was still not doing anything about becoming a real musician, like recording albums and stuff. This conversation really got me thinking.

I almost forgot to get down at the station where I had to and had to run towards the door pushing people aside and pulling my guitar through the crowd as I finally made it out on to the platform through the open doors.

I walked up the stairs, reading the signs that directed me towards the exit. There was a thin person standing sincerely at the exit of the station holding a tin container with a slit cut on the top and a label stuck on it that read "Donate for cancer patients". It looked legit to me and after thinking about it for a moment, I took a ten rupee note out of my pocket, folded it twice and stuffed into into the slit of the donation box with some effort. The person murmured some words. I assumed that he was thanking me and moved on. 

The Floating Bus Across Town

After a long time, I returned to Kochi.

It was a very unsettling part of my life when I went there, with hopes and wishes to settle there, in Kochi.

During my stay in Kochi, it was rich in experience in the form of a continous flow of childhood memories; I got to be in the past again at my grandmother's place.

It's good to just exist sometimes.

Not trying to change the world, not trying to deliberately make things happen.

Sometimes it's good to leave some of the details to nature and let it show us all the wonders that were never expected.

One such magical journey was the local boat ride I took, about twice. Just for the heck of it.
I make it a point to do this whenever I am in Kochi.

Go to nearest boat jetty, get on a boat and travel to the other side of the town through the backwaters covered with floating hydrilla plants, among the cargo ships arriving and leaving, among the islands visible in the distance, covered with vegetation almost overflowing into the sea, not to forget the one or two stops the boat takes at the land masses it encounters and the people rushing in and out, some with bicycles, some going to work, some tourists and maybe some like me, wondering where else can a bus be floating across the water rocking with the waves when it's tied to a wooden pillar when it's stopping at a jetty, and you rocking along with the waves and waiting for the joy ride to begin, the conductor issuing tickets to all the passengers for a mere five or seven rupees and signalling the driver seated like a captain on top of the boat with a bell in a sound coded message for on your mark, get, set and go!

The occasional ship from a far away land might pass very close to the boat making you feel so insignificant and makes you wonder how man could even make such humungous metal vessels that float on water and even move like some giant swimming tortoise.

I usually reached the end the of my journey and sat in a park to look at the backwaters all the way till the ocean.

It's something I would keep staring at and never know what time it was or what I had to do next.
The feeling of wind on my face and the reflections of the sun on the seas.

The huge machinery moving the containers and the little fishing boats, even smaller than the bus boats!
When I felt like I was saturated by the feelings this place could give me, it was time to go back home, at least for now, at least because I could come back here again.

And then, when I traced my route back to where I came from, the boat ride takes a different mood, with the sky changed in color, the ocean a little calmer, or maybe rougher at places, with the bigger motor driven fishing boats going back and forth and the people returning from work patiently wainting to get back home again.