I don't know how but Madhuri took it in her head that we would start our northern travels with a visit to the Golden Temple, i.e., Har Mandir Sahib. After fiddling with the website of Indian Railways to the point of frustration, I took the name of the Guru and lo and behold, everything went through smoothly. We got our reservations done for the to and fro journeys and I even got the hotel reservations done from the website. Madhuri was surprised and sent me a special SMS, the kind I haven't received ever since we started on SMS.
The actual journey was comfortable and we got used to the free spirited behaviour of the Punjabis much faster than we had expected. Before the train started, a boy came with his mother to claim our seats. One look at the ticket in his hand and I could tell him that the coach and the seat numbers were right but the train was different. The surd sitting next to me appreciated my quick eye. We got talking. It turned out that he was a Vet Surgeon, head of the Dept and now a Registrar of the new Vet University at Ludhiana. He had done his Ph D from UK. He had several opportunities to move abroad to US and Canada, but had declined. He said all the comforts abroad could not substitute the feeling of NOT belonging there.
He talked of how his father, a non-believer, had uttered the name of God when his fever rose to a delirious level. He told us why he never took a dip in the Holy Waters of HMSahib. I enjoyed the conversation with him and wished him bon voyage for his impending US trip. The Shatabdi service was very good, they kept us feeding every now and then. It was quite a lot of food.
At Amritsar station, the hotel cabbie was waiting for us. That was a sign that things were going to be smooth. At the hotel counter, the boy told us that the best time to visit would be at 5 am. We could then see the lighting in the shrine. But that for us was an unearthly hour.
The next morning breakfast took a little long in coming. The fried egg wasn't any particular shape, while the parathas were perfect circles. The cabbie took us to HM Sahib. We loaded fresh batteries in our digicam. I bought a head scarf and wore it in the traditional style.
At the entrance we saw respectable people taking our footwear in their hands and keeping them on the shelves. The shallow in the pavement was used for washing the feet. We were directed by a young boy to start on the parikrama. It was getting hot under the blazing June sun. Crowds were coming into the precincts continuously. But there was no hustle and bustle. We dipped our feet at the appointed place and kept moving on. That's when a small sikh boy came and asked me, Which Country YOU? I was taken aback and said India. He vanished instanteneously. Madhuri could not control her laughter.
I realised we did look different from the rest of the crowd. Twice we were asked of the place we came from by friendly strangers. Slowly we made our way into the entry paths. There were no queues, but throngs of people awaited their turn in predetermined pathways, which were being opened alternately. So we made our way to the sanctum sanctorum, listening to the Gurubani being sung inside. The scorching sun, the heavy rush and the waiting lines did not bother us one bit. Such was the serenity and energy in the people and the place there.
Once a young girl in our part of the throng turned back and said something angrily to a man standing behind her. An elderly gentleman quickly asked the man to move away and he himself parked behing the girl. It happened swiftly. Nobody realised what had happened. I appreciated the wisdom of the old man. Men and women stood close together, but barring the peeve of the girl I didn't see anything remotely approaching indecent behaviour.
Volunteers kept coming with bowls of water for children and every time they said, water for children, they would end it by uttering the holy name, wahe guru. We finally reached the sanctum sanctorum, there was no ritual to be performed. People showed their reverence in their own ways. We did it by touching the ground with our forehead. On the way back we carried some prasad. We sat down in the promenade and ate it, savouring every bit of it.
As we made our way round, an elderly Sikh gentleman appeared from nowhere and asked me where I was from. He gave me a booklet describing Harmandirsahib and its history in brief. He said that this holy place is the best place in the world for him. He came there daily and at 85 was still hale and hearty, thanks to the practice of daily visiting HMSahib. He insisted that we must partake of Langar. We did that and then also bought the books that he suggested.
The Langar again was well organised. There were several dining halls which were being opened to the Jathas as they came. Makka di Roti - the Registrar informed us of machines making the roties - and some green dal were served in abundant quantity. The notice prominently displayed urged everyone to finish the food and not leave anything over in the plate. There were volunteers all around ending every sentence with Wahe Guru.
Outside in the shop selling the bracelets I realised I was duped. I quietly returned the bracelets and took back the money to buy them at half the price from another shop. That was the only jarring note. But it happens to all places of worship where crowds of devotees become gullible customers.
The lasting impressions though were of the openness, equal treatment to Sikhs and others, the spirit of service present in each one there and above all, no demand for money for any kind of rituals. One realises in actual experience the simple, direct and democratic nature of Sikhism and with it of the Bhakti movement which liberated the masses from the tyranny of the priestly classes. It is no wonder the Sikh gurus were seen as challengers of the rule by the emperors and persecuted. The Har Mandir Sahib has withstood countless assaults and has been built over and over again. Operation Blue Star (1984)was also seen as an assault of the same genre as those of the Mughals. Indira Gandhi perhaps failed to factor in the history of the Har Mandir Sahib. If she had, her approach could have been markedly different.
First written June 2006
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Gaining control to lose it
In the last few days I noticed that I remained calm under circumstances that earlier hassled me no end. Like misplacing articles of every day use - glasses, pens, papers. The other day I went for a meeting with my colleague who operates from another suburb, some 40 minutes away by car. The meeting was coming to a close after about 2 hours. I found the side compartment of my pouch open and so felt inside. My leather wallet wasn't there.
All my life I never used a wallet. Here was a pure leather one gifted by a girl student of mine as her farewell from the Institute. She insisted that I use it. I had felt a fatherly affection for her. Now most men in the fifties are not believable when they speak of the paternal streak. Let me confess I felt absolutely nurturant and affectionate, a pure feeling of joy, which one is fortunate to experience though but rarely in this mortal existence. So to honour her feelings, I started using the wallet at the age of 54. It became useful when I started travelling to Mumbai regularly on work the whole of last year. Like the black Parker pen, the wallet became my constant companion to work.
So the discovery of its absence unsettled me as my mind went over the contents of the wallet. Lata didn't figure in my mind at first. There were two credit cards and an ATM card. All the ugly faces of tricksters flashed past my eyes. My God, they could use the cards to dress me down to my bones! I must report immediately. The faceless, modern facades of the most modern banks made a brief appearance on my mind screen and soon faded away. I then went over all my motions right from starting off my room down the stairs into the car. Perhaps it was in the car that was parked downstairs. Come to think of it, I had engaged a taxi, since my car had been taken by my wife. If I had left it in the car, and the driver took it, would he now admit? Certainly not! I countered, why not? Honesty hasn't disappeared from the face of the earth.
By this time, the closing presentation had started. I tried keeping my mind focused on it. I recalled my lesson from Mind Training. If there is a problem, don't get stuck into it, by playing it over and cursing every time. Just say, I have a problem and I am going to deal with it. The presenter was talking about a software package which could produce reports that helped solve a lot of problems, reportedly. I repeated the mind training dictum to myself. I will check it on the way out, in the car and then back in my office. If it is not there, I would report the loss to the banks concerned asking them to stop entertaining the usage of the cards, three of them in all.
Having done this, I listened more attentively to the portly old man who seemed too pleased with his product. He kept saying it will help the top management to exercise control over operations. I kept thinking that was the surest way to blast away the road to implementation. I told my colleague what I felt. To me the software had to be sold also to the people who fed the data. If you told them, this would help management control things better, they would not get enthused. Rather that would alarm them. If they would find it easier to control things and keep the management off their back, there was a slender chance they would listen. The presentation came to an abrupt end when the Finance chap announced he had to leave to attend to the unfinished project report. I had a feeling his bladder was about to burst.
I realised this when mine was full, once I was inside the car on my way back. The driver immediately had denied having seen anything like a wallet. I didn't pursue the matter with him. On the way back I kept thinking about the damage control measures and the possible sites to relieve myself. A thought also kept coming back to my mind that the wallet had gone missing, possibly because I had tried to fend off Lata on my very recent visit to her city. She had insisted on meeting me, when I was desperately looking for transport to reach a resort on the outskirts of her city. Finally I did meet her, but the guilt of having tried to postpone meeting her kept coming back. Then I told myself that it was alright in a particular situation if you did not meet a person that you liked.
By this time, the car had got stuck in a traffic jam, not far from my office. The urge to relieve myself was getting stronger by the minute. I experienced the meaning of fantasy in those minutes. I could see myself running to the open areas on the side of the road, into the nooks and crannies under the flyover being built to eternity and also behind its pillars to relieve myself. The wallet had gone missing from my mind also. Then after an age of time, the traffic cleared and we were on our way to the office. I walked calmly from the parking lot to the office. I reached my room with the great expectation that the pure leather, shining brown wallet would be waiting on my desk. When I didn't see it there, I rushed to the toilet and lost myself completely in the vastly satisfying experience of emptying myself.
I had entertained the idea of calling up the two male Secretaries who sit outside my office. I gave it up on the ground that I had no right to disturb them for my folly. As I returned from the toilet, the thought crossed my mind again and on the same moral ground, I brushed it aside. I came into my room and looked around my desk. And there it was, lying on the ground, my very pretty dark brown pure leather wallet! I thanked my Inner Guide and immediately made plans to suitably felicitate him.
I recalled this was one of a continuing series of instances of my forgetfulness in the last few days. I hoped the series would now come to an end. I blamed it on my late nights spent watching World Cup Soccer. Alas, it doesn't seem to end. Now my glasses, I just left them here, didn't I?
All my life I never used a wallet. Here was a pure leather one gifted by a girl student of mine as her farewell from the Institute. She insisted that I use it. I had felt a fatherly affection for her. Now most men in the fifties are not believable when they speak of the paternal streak. Let me confess I felt absolutely nurturant and affectionate, a pure feeling of joy, which one is fortunate to experience though but rarely in this mortal existence. So to honour her feelings, I started using the wallet at the age of 54. It became useful when I started travelling to Mumbai regularly on work the whole of last year. Like the black Parker pen, the wallet became my constant companion to work.
So the discovery of its absence unsettled me as my mind went over the contents of the wallet. Lata didn't figure in my mind at first. There were two credit cards and an ATM card. All the ugly faces of tricksters flashed past my eyes. My God, they could use the cards to dress me down to my bones! I must report immediately. The faceless, modern facades of the most modern banks made a brief appearance on my mind screen and soon faded away. I then went over all my motions right from starting off my room down the stairs into the car. Perhaps it was in the car that was parked downstairs. Come to think of it, I had engaged a taxi, since my car had been taken by my wife. If I had left it in the car, and the driver took it, would he now admit? Certainly not! I countered, why not? Honesty hasn't disappeared from the face of the earth.
By this time, the closing presentation had started. I tried keeping my mind focused on it. I recalled my lesson from Mind Training. If there is a problem, don't get stuck into it, by playing it over and cursing every time. Just say, I have a problem and I am going to deal with it. The presenter was talking about a software package which could produce reports that helped solve a lot of problems, reportedly. I repeated the mind training dictum to myself. I will check it on the way out, in the car and then back in my office. If it is not there, I would report the loss to the banks concerned asking them to stop entertaining the usage of the cards, three of them in all.
Having done this, I listened more attentively to the portly old man who seemed too pleased with his product. He kept saying it will help the top management to exercise control over operations. I kept thinking that was the surest way to blast away the road to implementation. I told my colleague what I felt. To me the software had to be sold also to the people who fed the data. If you told them, this would help management control things better, they would not get enthused. Rather that would alarm them. If they would find it easier to control things and keep the management off their back, there was a slender chance they would listen. The presentation came to an abrupt end when the Finance chap announced he had to leave to attend to the unfinished project report. I had a feeling his bladder was about to burst.
I realised this when mine was full, once I was inside the car on my way back. The driver immediately had denied having seen anything like a wallet. I didn't pursue the matter with him. On the way back I kept thinking about the damage control measures and the possible sites to relieve myself. A thought also kept coming back to my mind that the wallet had gone missing, possibly because I had tried to fend off Lata on my very recent visit to her city. She had insisted on meeting me, when I was desperately looking for transport to reach a resort on the outskirts of her city. Finally I did meet her, but the guilt of having tried to postpone meeting her kept coming back. Then I told myself that it was alright in a particular situation if you did not meet a person that you liked.
By this time, the car had got stuck in a traffic jam, not far from my office. The urge to relieve myself was getting stronger by the minute. I experienced the meaning of fantasy in those minutes. I could see myself running to the open areas on the side of the road, into the nooks and crannies under the flyover being built to eternity and also behind its pillars to relieve myself. The wallet had gone missing from my mind also. Then after an age of time, the traffic cleared and we were on our way to the office. I walked calmly from the parking lot to the office. I reached my room with the great expectation that the pure leather, shining brown wallet would be waiting on my desk. When I didn't see it there, I rushed to the toilet and lost myself completely in the vastly satisfying experience of emptying myself.
I had entertained the idea of calling up the two male Secretaries who sit outside my office. I gave it up on the ground that I had no right to disturb them for my folly. As I returned from the toilet, the thought crossed my mind again and on the same moral ground, I brushed it aside. I came into my room and looked around my desk. And there it was, lying on the ground, my very pretty dark brown pure leather wallet! I thanked my Inner Guide and immediately made plans to suitably felicitate him.
I recalled this was one of a continuing series of instances of my forgetfulness in the last few days. I hoped the series would now come to an end. I blamed it on my late nights spent watching World Cup Soccer. Alas, it doesn't seem to end. Now my glasses, I just left them here, didn't I?
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