soul flake

begging

2011-02-07T10:35:00.000-08:00

i stared at the bowl the teva monk had just handed to me. time seemed to have stopped. and the maroon robes swishing around me made me feel as though i had been caught in the middle of a flutter of giant storks flapping their wings at the same time. the bowl was the size of a singing bowl the monks used at prayer. but this was made of wood.

had it been the singing bowl, i would have seen the quzzical smile on his face. it is not fair, i thought. for someone who has given up everything to be so damned good looking, and happy and so amused at having read my mind. i was sure he could.

'join us in the morning.'

at that time i did not think too much of it, but nobody ever said 'good night' and when i mentioned this to the teva monk, his face dazzled with the smile.

'you aren't awake, how should anyone wish you good night?'

i had come here to hide. not to be lectured at. and yes, he answered, 'you asked.'

morning was so silent, even the dust raised by the sweeping of the courtyard did not swirl up to the sun in joy. it simply sank. i joined the line of monks who would be stepping out of the gates of the monastery to experience humility.

in principle, this is a fantastic concept. eat what is offered into your bowl. no more. there were stories of how someone offered meat, dried twigs and even husk... but none mattered.

i followed. head bowed. bowl in hand and the silence in my heart. no palpitations of fear, no heartbeat that said run away and hide. there was nothing. not even the imagined 'bhavati bhikshan dehi' from theprevious night's dreams.

there was just silence. maybe one day there will not be the need to fill that bowl. the bowl would be full of that something everyone was seeking.

when i came to, i found myself in the room. Cruela sitting near my mat, writing something in her book.

'you fainted.' she stated, 'had he not stuck a leg out and saved you from crashing on the ground, i would have been sitting here bandaging your head.'

'how?'

'you were halfway to the village when you chose to disturb the butterflies by panicking. and fainting.'

reflection

2008-06-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

i knew i was different. i knew i didn't belong. this was just a hideout. for a little while. so i resisted the idea that my body and my mind were responding to the surroundings. i hated the idea that i was like everyone else after all, a creature of habit. and spending time with the people in maroon robes was going to outwardly at least make me become like them.

like how i gravitated to the dining hall just like everyone else, turned to the meditation hall when it was time to sit down and empty the mind, walked into the daily tasks hut just like all the newcomers who were provided with 'things to do' to keep them occupied, sat down under the trees when the sun got too hot and fanned myself with the robes just like everyone else.

a part of me pretended that i was acting, just to fit in. a part of me knew that i was slowly fitting in. i had many questions the first few weeks that i was there. i found the questions slowly fading away when we sat down for the evening prayers. i did not even fight to sit down in front, hoping to catch the master's eye. a couple of times i even noticed the teva monk look questioningly at me when i chose to sit away from the front. but i knew asking questions was a novice's way to receive answers.

the answers were within. maybe i knew deep down. i did not ask to be hounded. and running away was an instinct even animals give in to when they know that they cannot stand up and confront, stay right where they are, in a corner, and fight, so once and for all the bullying is over and done with, once and for all no one lifts a finger, ever, at you for being the one responsible for people losing lives.

i stopped asking, 'why me?' because i saw how trivial the nature of the question was. and that evening the teva monk gave me the begging bowl.

apparently, i was ready to go out and beg for my food.

Lunch

2006-06-14T10:41:00.000-07:00

I showered. The water stung in places where Cruela’s razor had nicked me. She had covered the cuts with a dark potion from a bottle you would find at an apothecary’s medicine shop or a flea market. Must be some sort of potassium permanganate solution, because the water was turning purple. Great! All I needed was purple streaks running down my face and neck, and I would look like some Star Wars character. There was no point looking at the tiny mirror hung outside the shower areas. I knew the streaks that were on my hand were on my head and ran all the way down my neck and face. I could imagine the twinkling in the eye of the Teva monk..!

My head felt so raw, I knew I had to give it time before I could even think about scrubbing it again. Skipping lunch did not seem to be an option as dinner was so far away, and there was nothing to munch on between meals. I had come to like the gruel that would be served at lunch. And they served greens that tasted out of the world.

I took a deep breath and mentally crossed my fingers as I entered the dining hall. After the prayers, everyone bowed down to the food, and lifted their bowls. I did not see the Teva monk anywhere. My sigh must have been audible because I felt a sharp nudge on my left which meant Cruela was sitting next to me. The nudge was to deter me from saying anything.

Food time was quiet time at the Sanctuary. (Actually it was mostly quiet time). But it was odd because at home food was always accompanied by chatter and laughter. Here there was nothing. Not even a how-was-your-day conversation. Everyone at the dinner table was concentrating as if this was their last meal. What was with that? There must be more than fifty people in there, but each one was eating head bowed, eyes closed s if in prayer. But it saved me from this huge embarrassment of being seen in public in a very bad Halloween costume.

The gruel was so amazing I forgot everything and simply ate I wish they served seconds.

Maybe the taste was what stopped everyone from making small talk.

I raised my head from the bowl and saw monks were slowly filing out of the dining room after having washed their bowls. I put the bowl to my mouth and resisted the urge to smack my lips like the burger eating character in Popeye as I drained it. I had been here not too many days, and I was already washing it just as everyone does. What creatures of habit we are...

I stepped out into the dappled sunlight wondering if I should lay a small bet with myself. A part of me knew I would not last in this place for too long. There were way too many rules, and there was no possibility at all of anyone being allowed to question those rules. A part of me was still terrified by the life I had been forced to lead and was so thankful for the refuge this place offered, it told me to stick with the rules as it was the only safe place left in the whole world.

Suddenly I felt as though I was being watched. Instinctively I froze. And forced myself to look up.

Someone behind me was smothering a giggle. A giggle? Here? I braced myself for the realization that I was going completely mad, and turned around.

The entire bunch who had eaten with me in the dining hall; the entire bunch who had their eyes closed as they ate their gruel and vegetables; the entire bunch of bald headed monks was assembled in a haphazard maroon group under the trees. They were all looking at me. As I said before, the eyes tend to look rather large when your head is tonsured. Here too, large eyes on hairless faces looked back at me. And those saucer eyes held something that looked like… naah, could not be! But what were the usually stoic faces suppressing? I looked at them. Puzzled. And as soon as I made eye-contact, one by one, the faces crumpled up into hysterical laughter. Every one of the maroon robes was doubling up. They had all noticed my purple streaked face!

And one of them, in an even more un-monk like manner, spoke up with a robotic voice, “Hail, Lord Sidious!”

Tonsured!

2006-05-31T00:03:00.000-07:00

It was just like getting a haircut, I told myself. A cooler haircut. My hair had been green, blonde, and even blue. Had streaks of orange, ash blonde, and green for Independence Day. But something told me this was going to feel a little different from all those expressions of rebellion.

This was different. Cruela smiled, and her eyebrow wobbled weirdly. I did not know why I was crying.

It hurt. Somebody should’ve told me the razor would be more cutting than any harsh words hurled at one. Somebody should’ve told me that looking in the mirror afterwards would be a big mistake.

I had imagined it would feel as if it were the aftermath of a bad haircut. Trust me, I know. I have had many.

But there’s only one that was done in a frenzy of self loathing and a desire to run away. It came back to me in a flashback as the chanting around me helped drown the pain of the closest haircut I have ever had.

They say nails and hair have no feeling. But I can still feel the hand that had twisted my hair ever so gently in a fist. I still feel the heartbeat increasing rapidly against my back as the fistful of my hair was pulled ever so gently to his nose. I can still feel the warm breath inhaling the scent of the shampoo I had used just that morning. I still feel that warm breath exhaling slowly against the back of my neck. I can still hear that rough voice gently murmur, “Halo shampoo!”

And I know for sure I wasn’t there because I wanted to be there.

I knew I had to run. Nothing more was important any more. I could hear his surprised yelp as I pushed him. I could hear him yell, ”Silk!” as he saw me bolt through the French windows.

I vowed never again to ever get into a situation where I would have to run like that again.

The razor had nicked me in several places. Cruela looked satisfied with her performance. As she held the mirror in front of her smirk so I could look at her handiwork, instead of touching my bald head I touched my eyebrows. They looked immensely hairy on my hairless head.

I wiggled them. I raised one. Then another. My face had become a stage for the dancing eyebrows. My eyes looked darker on my face. And the shadows under them, deeper. I looked weird, not at all like a version of Persis Khambatta in the Star Trek movie. Not that I looked like her with the hair, but still, I was thankful that my head was not wobbly or odd shaped. I touched my head.

It was a big mistake. A shudder passed through my entire body. I had hoped the touch would have disappeared with the hair. I had cut my hair before with the same hope. But I could still feel it. I could still feel the breath. And before I heard the voice that had haunted me for years, I threw up.

Makeover

2006-04-20T23:31:00.000-07:00

The sun that came into the room from between slatted windows was too curious. I could feel a burning sensation on my back. That’s when I realized it was from the half truths I was scratching on the form.

Well not exactly a form, but I had to sign away my former life. I wish one could do that with memories. I wish there were indeed a Lacuna Clinic that could wipe memories away…sheesh! Not another Jim Carey reference.

Yes, I had informed my family about my decision. Not.
Yes, I was fully aware of what life I was leaving behind. Not.
Yes, I knew what I was getting into. Not.
Yes, I knew that the life I was opting for was tough. Not.

I handed the form to the teva monk. His bland look betrayed nothing. He was just playing the part of the inscrutable monk to the hilt. I felt a mutiny rising within me.

“It took me two years to fill that form.”

Bastard. Couldn’t he have said something before he watched me fill it in? I shrugged, and before my mouth pursed up in rebellion, I reminded myself that this was my last refuge. So I quell it, and silently follow him.

Across the courtyard there is a small wicket gate. It leads to the most beautiful garden I have ever seen.

“Straight out of a painting, isn’t it?”

That was the kindest voice I had heard for a long, long, time. And it belonged to the teva monk. I looked at him but was surprised at the tears that obscured my vision.

He said,” Don’t even think of stepping on the grass. And let’s hurry, Cruela is waiting for you.”

My tears vanished as soon as I heard him say Cruela. Cruela?! Was he serious?

He was grinning that evil, un-monk like grin.

“Yes, you heard me right. Come.”

When your head is tonsured, the eyebrows sort of get highlighted. But nothing prepared me for the most amazing eyebrows (correction, eyebrow) that I had ever seen. It was a hairy marvel on a smooth moon face. The eyes were closed, but when they opened, they seared everything in sight (at least it felt that way).

Maybe she couldn’t singe her eyebrow off. What a pity! But she was speaking, and I suppressed my giggle. She sounded exactly like Cruela De Vil…

The teva monk had resumed his inscrutable monk face.

“So, you are here. You stay in this part of the monastery.”

She had dismissed the teva monk so quickly. I should have been happy to get away from the sarcastic monk, but I wasn’t. I turned around to say thank you, but he was gone.

“The right day to be here...” She was muttering, “And you are sure that this is to be your refuge?”

I nodded my head. She swept me away and soon, I was me no longer.

When I saw my reflection in the lotus pool that evening, I did not recognize myself.

My hair was no longer ragged. I had no longer any hair on my head. It was not the smoothest of heads, but it wasn’t the bumpy head I had thought I had either.

I stared hard at the pool and tried to get a closer look by kneeling down. No, I would not get a role in the new Star Trek film. And no, I did not look like myself either. My ears seemed to stick out. And my nose seemed to be a lot bigger than I thought.

No one would recognize me if they saw me. But that was whole point, wasn’t it?

Wall

2006-01-17T06:47:00.000-08:00

‘You’ve been watching too many kung fu flicks.”

The old man with the shining beady eyes made that dismissive pronouncement.

“If you think this is a place to hide from the real world, you are wrong. Running away has never helped anyone, you know.”

I must have rolled my eyes, because I saw a ghost of a smile twinkle in his eyes.

“Okay, then I won’t bullshit you.”

(My jaw dropped at hearing the real world word from an away-from-the-world monk.)

I waited for some profound lines about hard work and realization and seeking god. Nothing. He simply stared at me, a mona lisa smile on his face. Saying nothing. So this is how lab specimen felt…

Maybe he had fallen asleep. Just like grandpa used to. Mid sentence. I sort of craned my neck as a detective wood towards a closed door, in order to hear conversations behind the wall, not hiding the question mark on my face…

His eyes were closed. That was a definite. Maybe he had fallen asleep.

Or maybe he had died. And as soon as that thought popped into my head, the radio in the same over active head changed stations to hard-core right wing fm station that was playing ‘abide with me’.

I remember how another person had died exactly like that, mid sentence, listening to me sing that very hymn…

Jai Prakash Narayan was one of the good guys in politics. But he was also very old. (I was just a school kid then, and anyone over thirty was old. But this man was so old, he was wrinkled all over.) I remember I had inwardly shuddered with the callousness of the very young as his wrinkled, gnarled and bony hand grasped mine and his quivery, wrinkled voice said, ”You sing beautifully, will you sing a bhajan for me?”

I remember saying, “Bhajan?!” with so much distaste, I can still picture the grin that spread all over his wrinkled face.

I had extricated my hand and looked around the room.

Apparently he was very ill, and apparently I was the only one in the room that afternoon who was completely oblivious of his historical importance. For me, he was just a very old person who was making an irrational demand. I sang ghazals, I sang in the school choir because I liked harmonies. But bhajans? They were meant for the Hare Krishnas. But now there were a whole bunch of people in the room who had gathered around the ailing politician, who were all staring at me for a miracle. I had no time to think, because the feeble voice had reminded me, anything, any bhajan. Someone helpfully stage-whispered, “He too likes 'Vaishnava jan to'…”

And inspiration hit me when the radio in my head (yes, I think I’ve had it running in my head forever) pushed me into singing ‘Abide with me’.

And before I had finished the hymn (and in my defense, it was a kind of bhajan), the man had died.

Needless to say that the news never mentioned my lethal weapon, and the family has never allowed me to sing in public again, but nobody and no event has been able to switch that damned radio in my head off. And right now it was playing ‘Abide with me’. Again. And the man in front of me was old and wrinkled and had gone very very silent.

Maybe I should look harder at him. So I half crouch up from where I was sitting and start to sort of do a tiger crawl towards him. I have unkind thoughts of rigor mortis and of having to try and untangle his mortal remains from the lotus position…

“Ahem!”

Fuck! The teva monk! I had forgotten all about him! He must have materialized behind me without making a single sound.

I think hard. I think fast.

And execute a clumsy the Indian style prostrate-yourself-in-front-of-holy-men namaskaar.

I open my eyes to see the old man grinning. (He’s alive! Thank goodness!) The teva monk is behind me so I don’t get to see his reaction. But I am sure he rolled his eyes. Whew! That was close.

I look at the old man. He knows I am waiting for words of wisdom from him. So he obliges.

“Now that you are here, work hard. I hope you will unlearn the fear you have lived with for all these years.”

Man! I am hopelessly impressed with the mind reading thing. But the whole setting does not allow a Jim Carey jaw-drop act. So I nod my head meekly and follow the teva monk once again.

Kung Fu Flick

2005-12-08T21:12:00.000-08:00

If you were seeing what I was seeing, you’d have thought you had landed on the sets of a Kung Fu flick.

If you’ve seen as many Kung Fu flicks as I have, you would be hearing it too. The background music. There was none, but the radio station in my head suddenly went ancient Chinese.

Any moment now the montage would begin, I thought. A line of monks would materialize out of one of the buildings, chanting ‘aum mani padme hum’, and file past me just as serenely disappearing into another building. Their prayers would not falter even if they noticed me standing there with the Teva monk.

If only life imitated movies…I would be taken straight to the head honcho of the monastery who would sit me down for a cup of tea (serene, somber Buddha in the background), give me instant gyan and hand me over to the Jet Li lookalike monk who would then quickly teach me all kung fu moves. I would with the corner of my eye, stumble upon the secret self-defense techniques monks practiced at the break of dawn (I would be humbly sweeping the backlit dusty courtyard, the rising sun shining orange on my face), then I would be able to leave the monastery armed and dangerous, ready to defend myself against my monsters…

“Ahem!”

The Teva monk was patiently waiting by my side, watching me stare at the buildings straight out of a Kung Fu Flick.

Stop it Manisha! You must not go on that track again!

“You’re wearing Tevas?!”

As soon as I had uttered them, I knew I was better suited to be in charge of Imelda’s shoe museum instead of the main role in a Golden Harvest Kung Fu Flick.

He looked at me as if I were hardly material that would test his patience.

“Who says the path to Nirvana has to be traversed with bleeding feet?”

A hundred out of hundred I marked him for dialog. At once profound, and at the same time ridiculous. I pretended to understand even as I nodded my head.

He made that smooth ‘proceed this way’ gesture, which I thought was so smooth, it would need to be patented.

He walked beside me. We walked across a courtyard and climbed three steps into a dimly lit hallway of some sort.

I was still adjusting to the light inside when he pointed out to the table.

Still in the Kung Fu Flick mode, I expected to see a bowl of steaming rice and chopsticks.

Under the covered dish there were about six slices of bread and some cheese.

I had no smart comment to offer. I suddenly realized that I was hungry. He pointed to a stack of dishes. I gratefully took one, and placed the bread and cheese on it. He pushed a bottle of jam at me and pointed to the cutlery. He even chose an apple from a bowl of fruit, and placed it in front of me.

Then he sat across the table and watched me eat.

It is the most difficult thing to do. Eat when you’re being watched. Eat when the jam is too sweet and the cheese too crumbly. But I was too hungry to care.

My mouth was stuffed before I realised I had not said grace. I felt ashamed. For the first time in hundred years I had forgotten to say thank you for the food I was about to receive.

I stopped wolfing down the food.

He looked kindly at me, “It’s all right. You can say thank you after.”

And he said he did not read minds.

My plate was clean. I had eaten so quickly that there were no crumbs left to lick. I had even eaten the apple clean.

I closed my eyes. Said a silent thank you prayer, and pushed my plate away.

He was looking at me. Pointing to a shiny sink, he said, “Please, wash your plate.”

I stared at him. What did he think I was some sort of a city brat, who had never washed a plate?

But his face was as kind as before. He simply added, “Only when a plate is clean, can you put another meal on it, isn’t it?”

This was my zen moment.

And I was staring at him with my mouth offering to say an ‘oh’ but producing nothing. The tap in the sink had really cool water. How right he was. I was going to learn nothing new unless I had a clean slate. It seemed like a promise. It seemed like I was going to learn something huge here after all. The towel by the sink asked to be used. So I happily dried the dish.

When I returned to the table, where the dishes were stacked, he was gone.

Fuck!

If nothing else, I am going to learn to move as silently. I promised myself.

And picked up the hastily dumped backpack by the chair, and stepped out into the sunlight.

Eternity

2005-11-29T00:30:00.000-08:00

It’s like rubbernecking.

But this time the accident was going to be me. It happened before, and they had promised it would never end, as long as I was to live, they would make sure I lived in fear.

And it had been true. I had lived all along like deer. Afraid of shadows, afraid of everything. And then when I had a family of my own, was afraid for them.

That was one of the biggest reasons why I was here. I did not want to be afraid any more. I did not want to be standing like I was, trembling like a leaf. I had heard the old man who headed this haven say that Death was the only certain thing in our lives, and if we were slowly but surely proceeding towards it, shouldn’t we then prepare ourselves to meet it whenever it chose us.

It is this thought that made me want to look at Death I was certain was standing right there in front of me. And the fact that it had not struck yet. My stomach received my heart with a silent whoosh. Why hadn’t the person struck me yet?

I knew someone was standing there. Although the breath was barely traceable, I knew there was someone there.
I decided to view Death from under the veil of my lashes, making sure I was not moving any other part of my body.

I saw.

I opened my eyes wide.

Standing in front of my was a maroon robed, bald headed, monk in tevas. He was simply standing there, in front of me, silently, waiting for me to open my eyes.

“Oh!”

Profound, Manisha, very profound. I kick myself silently.

The smile was less than what qualified as a hint, but it was a smile. Then in a voice that was so soft, city folk would miss it, “You knocked. Don’t you want to go in?”

My jaw dropped. My eyes should have goggled, the situation demanded it, but my eyes are too slant, not big Bharatanatyam dancer like beautiful, as heroines of blogs ought to own, I mean who would want to read about an ugly broad getting killed. Good riddance it would be. But here I was standing in front of a one man rescue team, and thinking disconnected thoughts. Boy! If only he figured out how nervous I was! But I could not stop the stuff crowding. Somewhere in the recesses of the mind popped a Wodehousian description, ‘dyspeptic calf’

I have always wanted to use that description.

He was still waiting.

And I had read too many who-dun-its to let things be.

“I didn’t see the door opening…”

“The door?” he asked, “It is a ceremonial gate. Come with me.”

If his head wasn’t tonsured, and he weren’t wearing the robes, and we weren’t standing where we were, I would have surely thought this was an elaborate gag cooked up by friends who knew I pictured monks as rescuers instead of the standard Shah Rukh Khan as Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford was perfect but too old!)…

Stop thinking. He obviously expected me to follow, because he was walking away.

Weirdo. Did not even ask me why I was standing shivering against a tree, eyes shut. Didn’t even ask me what my name was, who I was…

“People spend a lifetime trying to figure out who they are. Why would I ask you that? And how can I expect you to answer that question?”

Fuck!

He was downloading straight from my brain!

“No. I don’t read minds. Your face is very expressive.”

I rolled my eyes. Lugged my backpack and followed him.

I must have been blind. The well-trodden path was running parallel to the wall and it went by the gate. We walked maybe fifty, or sixty yards.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could I have missed such an obvious thing!

He turned around and made a wide sweeping gesture with his hand.

“Please, proceed ahead.”

“Why? Are you not coming?” I had visions again of a classic film goodbye between mysterious guide and traveler.

“Please, proceed.”

Just beyond the clump of trees, the wall ended. We were there! The monastery.

It was all open. There was no need for a gate of any sort. It was well hidden, but open. No wall, no gate, nothing.

I turned around. He was standing there, behind me, grinning ear to ear.

I was not sure I liked being in a monk joke.

caught!

2005-11-18T00:36:00.000-08:00

Had visions of serene monks trooping out any minute to rescue me…but then life was not a movie, and my wait was not about to culminate in so dramatic a fashion. Although I had made the great escape, the resucers were not in the know.

The tears washed away a mixture of fear, pride and hatred. I just decided to wait. It’s not that no one ever came out of the place. Maybe there would be day trippers who would be returning soon…Hmm at least I had not lost hope…

I looked around. Everything seemed to be at rest. At peace. I knew I had made the right decision. Maybe soon I would blend right in. And become one with the drooping and gentle leaves. Maybe I would learn to move as quietly among people as the breeze was moving between leaves. Maybe I would exorcise all the ghosts that haunted me all my life.

As the light slowly went down a small twinge of panic crept into my wait. What if there were no day trippers? What if the gates were closed because they had all relocated somewhere else? What if they were all in a no-communication mode? What if the taxi driver had misled me and had deposited me to an abandoned place…

No I would not allow negative thoughts to enter such a beautiful space. I knew I had a goosedown sleeping bag tucked away in the backpack. Oh, what if the monks were strictly vegan? Would they faint at the sight of the sleeping bag and
throw me out?

But first they would have to let me in!

My thoughts were so loud I put a hand on my mouth, just to check if I had mouthed them.

That’s when I heard a twig crunch. It was not a natural sound. It had to be someone stepping on a twig. And there was no telling where the sound came from.

I was so lulled by the peace that I had forgotten to be alert. But that little out of place sound was enough. I leaped up, scooped my backpack and dashed behind the nearest tree. I had been trained for just such a moment. I only hoped my heart was not beating as loudly as I thought it was. I dared not look if I had left behind any obvious clues by the gate, so I simply stayed right there, stuck to the tree, hoping no creepy crawly would choose that moment to wander down to have a look at me.

It could not have been more than a minute. My escape had ended. It was the end. Someone was standing in front of me.

I did not want to see them.

I did not have to close my eyes. Because I did exactly what I was loath to do: fainted in an inelegant heap at the feet of my pursuer. No fight. Not one single kick, not a single scream. I had disgraced myself by behaving like a chit of a girl in those beastly romances. And whoever was standing in front of me was going to be no hero.

the door

2005-11-10T10:02:00.000-08:00

Closed. Closed. Closed.

How long was one supposed to wait?

a walk through the jungle

2005-11-10T00:45:00.000-08:00

It must be some bizarre scene out of Einstein meets National Geographic because the vegetation seemed to have gone unnaturally still and my body supported by my backpack still seemed to be traveling.

Suddenly the radio in my head began playing a ridiculous jingle for Hawaii chappals. I knew I had to get up and move before ameen sayani started announcing the next popular number…

The radio in my head had got me into many a scrape at school and elsewhere. It played songs that reflected my state of mind, sometimes with such accuracy that it inevitably got me into trouble. And the songs were not exactly nice. They were annoying little ditties that would translate into huge trouble for me. I remember the Professor who taught us Wordsworth had very dirty mane of hair that was always tangled and he would gesticulate wildly when explaining. It was a particularly tedious poem and his gestures were very wild that day. The radio in my head was playing songs that were drawing attention to the glorious spring day outside. And at the precise moment when he made eye contact with me, ameen sayani (my all time favorite radio voice) asked the audience of one to guess the name of the old Hindi film as Kishor Kumar yelled, “ya---hoooo!” on the music track.

I involuntarily said, “Junglee!” and I realized I had said it aloud.

The class froze. The Prof stopped gesturing mid air and mid sentence. I could feel fifty eyes on me. And then I saw his jaw drop as the word sunk in. The same must’ve happened to the class because it erupted into one big laugh.

I never got an ‘A’ for the rest of the term in his class, but that’s another story.

Right now I was facing a narrow road, a climb with a backpack which would take me god knows how long, and my head was spinning.

That’s when I realized I was all alone.

For years I had wanted to be where I was standing, and now that I was there, I was wasting my time, dithering.

A renewed surge of energy seemed to course through my veins. The stupid chappal commercial that was egging me on had been replaced ‘Chariots of Fire’.
It was a good start. But I had forgotten that I should not be putting my hands over my ears. It just served to increase the volume of the radio.

I sighed and started walking.

It was awkward at first, because the music in my head was loud. Then all of a sudden it stopped. That’s when I realized how beautiful the road was. It was quiet. Very quiet. Even the leaves that were rustling with the slight breeze that could be felt on the face, were moving silently. There were no twigs that crackled underfoot, or birds or crickets to make the forest alive. Everything seemed to be resting. And it did not seem out of place at all. It did not seem odd or sinister either.

Then coming around a corner, I stopped to gather my breath. There seemed to be no need to hurry. And all of a sudden in front of my eyes, the green and yellow leaves on the trees came to life in a flutter of wings. Butterflies! There must be a hundred of them. They weren’t fantastic or extraordinary ones at all. They were just the little yellow ones. They were everywhere! I must’ve disturbed their afternoon siesta. They just took off and were fluttering all around me.

It was the most amazing sight. Butterflies have always made me smile. Here was fodder for a lifetime of smiles.

The show stopped me for what seemed an eternity. But then just as soon as they had appeared, they disappeared too. And I knew I had to move on. With a smile pasted on my face I walked the rest of the way.

The gate was imposing in several ways. It was huge and must’ve been made of wood no human hands could have hewed. The wall looked very out of place there, and I wondered why it was needed. I pushed at the little wicket gate, That was shut too.

I knocked at the gate until my hand hurt. Tiredness suddenly seemed to overtake me. My feet were protesting now. I kicked off my shoes and sat down on the backpack, and pressed my feet. Then my back began begging for attention. And the stomach rumbled. And the voice of my evil twin said ,”Told you not to come here without informing anyone! Now just sit here!”

I did not want to hear that voice. I simply allowed sobs to overtake me.

Sleep

2005-11-07T20:04:00.000-08:00

The taxi was ancient, but the town was small. When the bumps increased, I opened my eyes. To have slept and that too in a ramshackle taxi was nothing but a miracle.

I have been an insomniac for as long as I remember… Insomniac! How I hate that word! Lack of sleep is not a disease. It simply means that my body does not require as much sleep as you or him or her. I admit it gets a bit lonely sometimes, when the whole house is sleeping and you don’t like to watch the sleazy late night fare on television. I do confess to have watched the sci-fi channel all night at one time, but watching ‘Biker Chicks in Zombie Town’ and ‘Star Trek V-- The Wrath of Khan’ (or was it IV?)… that seems like another lifetime. Now I wander about the quiet house, listening to the night sounds.

It is a strange kind of pleasure in listening to the contented breaths of husband and children. Deep and even and relaxed. You become a good listener when you’re wandering about the house late at night. And I’ve had practice. At first I used to read. But then if reading can be done by day, is there not better use of time? There must be something else these hours were made for.

I discovered that when I stepped out on the deck one stifling evening and stretched. I had stepped out into the meteor showers in Leo. I looked around. All of Vashon island was asleep. Even the lights in the ferry pier were low. Something inside me told me that the universe had put up this show for only me. Yes, yes, the astronomers would be watching too, but who wants to be practical or grammatically correct under such a celestial show?

Ever since that night, I am compelled to listen to the stars. Nopes, this is no typo. I did say listen. Many messages are lost if you sleep the night away. And you will never get stardust in your eyes either. But I digress too much.

Sleeping in a rickety taxi then was something unthinkable. Maybe it was meant to be…like those comic books where the hero is taken to the den of the evil one blindfolded…maybe I was not supposed to know the way to the monastery because I was not supposed to go back.

But why were we stopping? Were we there? If we were, where was the entrance? I had imagined an entrance. There must be an entrance! Had the engine finally given up? Or did he need a loo break? The voice in my head was sounding like a television show host enticing people to come back for the next episode.

So I did what one needed to, next. I made a huge theatrical gesture, and asked in simple English, “What?!”

It was the grin that could break a thousand mirrors. He stepped out of the cab, making it necessary for me to do the same. Then with as much enthusiasm for theatrics as I had shown not a minute before, he pointed to the road ahead.

There was no way a cab could pass, or a camel. The road had become so narrow. Before I could exclaim coherently, I saw that he had dumped my backpack on the road, and was scratching his palm telling me I needed to pay my fare.

Maybe sleep had put that stupid ‘just woke up and my neurons are not connected yet’ look on my face, but he smiled again and pointed skywards, and I followed his finger.

I could see the monastery, perched precariously on the top of the hill.

Automatically, I dug in my pocket for the one and only five hundred rupee note in my wallet. He took it, but looked at me, wondering if I would change my mind and go back. But he saw me fling my empty wallet, and knew I was not going to change my mind. He shrugged his shoulders, and made the most amazing three point reverse turn on the narrow road and left me coughing in the dust.

I sat down on my backpack. My legs would not support me. I looked around at the mountainside. Wondered, how long the trek up to the monastery would take me.

taxi

2005-11-04T23:44:00.000-08:00

what a coward you are! i mutter to myself, and adjust the straps of the backpack a tad too firmly. anything to bolster courage. and for anonymity, i put my dark glasses on, not realizing that i am the outsider here. i try to not notice that my hands are shaking.

i pretend to be calm but fail. my backpack feels heavier than it really is. fear has now rolled to the bottom of my stomach, coiled and ready to strike when i am least expecting it.

enough! i tell myself. get on with it.

there is only one taxi left. and it is as ancient as the owner whose rusty grin reminds me of one last crutch that has accompanied me here. will i need it?

i wave the paper with the address of the monastery at him. he nods his head as if to say where else?!

he motions me inside the cab with a wide sweep of his arms. i thrust the backpack in, before it could change its mind about traveling in that bunch of tin held together with duct tape. after checking for broken springs, i sit down gingerly. The driver kicks the door shut.

he settles into his seat but not before he has trained the broken rear-view mirror on me. i stifle the childish urge to stick my tongue out at him. there is a loud explosion as he turns the ignition. the engine comes to life after belching out a huge cloud of smoke.

i begin giggling. have not visualized going up in smoke like that. but thankfully the taxi begins to lurch forward. if they are following me, that explosion would either put them off the chase forever, or point directly in my direction.

as has become my habit, i look back often and sit low in the seat. have watched too many car chases in the movies. have been in a few myself, and traveling like this makes eminent sense. slowly but surely we leave the dusty town behind. and no one seems to be following us.

the creaks and the groans of the cab seem to follow a familiar pattern now. accompanied by the odd swaying motion of the cab, the noises begin to play a bizarre lullaby in my head. the heat also weighs heavily on my eyes, and i am quite happy to slowly sink into sleep. sleep? me? but i am not thinking. i am just relieved to have made that getaway.

the monastery seems to be a long way off.

escape

2005-11-03T20:21:00.000-08:00

all i remember is fear. fear of being found out. fear of being caught. fear of having to go back. and it was coming out of every pore on my body. or was it just plain hot? i knew i had to retch it out before i got into the taxi. the airport restoom had that unique smell of supervised clean. maybe that would help. i put my bag on the gleaming sink and braced myself on the tiles.

nothing.

by the time i splashed water on my face, and came out, my backpack was the only one going around in circles on the luggage belt. it was so much like my life, i had to smile. it cancelled the last few minutes in the restroom and the hour and a half spent on the flight sitting next to someone who insisted on licking every page of the in-flight magazine, audibly.

i moved towards the taxi stand. thirty kilometers to salvation.