At Home

I walked into my home that night and felt totally at ease- everything was exactly as I had left it a year ago. It seemed like a dream scene- my father and my in-laws were sitting there and I eagerly held their hands and felt their presence with every cell in my being. I was glad to feel the firm mattress and the old familiar pillow under my head as I drifted off to sleep. The jet lag caused me to wake up at 3:00 am and I waited for the first light of dawn to see the world that was removed from my vision a year ago. We hit the jogger’s park and someone mentioned that they are seeing us after a long time- we just smiled and continued walking.

Later we went off to the vegetable market to soak in the steaming sunshine. We argued with the vendors and shaved of a few rupees- we tested to check if our negotiating skills were still intact. The Auto rickshaws passed inches away from our chappals and we did not cringe. The deaf and dumb vegetable vendor opposite the Oswal Grain store was at his place, the old man who sells garlic, the coconut seller, the old Muslim selling leather goods on the pavement were all there at their corners. I’m taking in these old familiar sights and mention this to my wife and she says that we sound as if we were dead and viewing things from a higher disembodied plane – everyone is still there , only we have been missing from the scene! Perhaps this is how our dead see us?!

It was wonderful to be back at Tirupati, my dad and a friend from New Jersey joined on the trip. It was a Saturday and the deity was dressed simply and the decorations were minimal. Even the sacred trident mark on the forehead was much smaller, thus allowing for a full view of the Lord’s eyes, which is considered auspicious.

Dad and I then travelled to the Ashram of Ramana Maharshi. An uncle from Bangalore joined us there. Early next morning I woke up to the call of peacocks. I reached the meditation hall by 5:00 am. In the dimly lit room, I could barely see the other devotees deep in meditation. As my eyes adjusted to the light I saw a life-size portrait of Maharishi placed on a couch he used to sit on. A wick lamp was burning in the corner. I grabbed a cushion and sat with my back to the wall. The mind was effortlessly absent. The peacocks were calling and a grey light slowly entered the room and the dark stone floor of the room became visible. Someone came in with a handful of flowers, place it near the Maharishi’s portrait and sat down. Later, an ashram attendant came in quietly with Sambrani incense and room was gently covered in smoke and fragrance and in the faint light of dawn it was a surreal sight.

On the second day, when I was sitting outside the Matrubhuteshwar Temple inside the ashram, looking at two peacocks dancing with their awesome feather trains opened to display their regal colours; a sadhu approached me and asked if he could drink some water from my bottle. I readily agreed. He told me that he was living on the Arunachala Hill and was visiting some 2000 temples in the State. He pulled out, from a cloth bag hung over his shoulder, a picture of Maharishi sitting on a rock with a beatific look. It was not a picture that was sold at the Ashram store and I was intrigued. I looked discretely into my pockets for some small rupee notes and saw only 100s and 500s and so let him go. As he moved away, I had a closer look and saw a 20 rupee note. I called him back and gave it to him. He accepted it and produced a Rudraksha bead from his bag and gave it to me. I refused it but he pressed it back into my hands saying it was from the Pashupatinath temple in Nepal. I asked him if I need to pay him for this but he declined and walked away. Strangely, when I was viewing the pictures I took at the ashram, I noticed one of it had a human figure and on zooming in I was amazed to see him there!

Back at Mumbai, It was time to help dad pack and leave for New Zealand. So I spent that day with him and assuaging his apprehensions. I gave him a bear hug before we left our home to the airport. Earlier I had good look at the small shrine my mother used to pray at. I even opened the old table drawers and spotted the pair of scissors mother used when she practiced her tailoring skills.

And, closer to my departure date, I visited the office where I worked for 13 years. The Asoka trees lining the main walkway were a heartwarming sight. I took the opportunity to meet everyone. The workmen in the Shipping department were delighted to see me. One of them told me that he has not met a better person. I was touched but checked myself internally for any pride that might arise- nothing came up. He said his wish was that I would like to treat me to Bengali food at his home- cooked with his own hands. I promised to do that the next time I visited Mumbai. My close friends took care of my comfort and we went to the dining room together for breakfast and lunch and the afternoon tea. A friend even brought out the Bourbon Biscuits and potato wafers that were our staple diet during the afternoon tea break! In the evening we drove off to a Club in Bandra for dinner.. I cannot remember what we talked – I can only remember the emotional moments when I felt completely one with the mood of friendship and togetherness. I came home that night knowing that as my life flows its pre-destined course, my friends will remain an integral part of my existence.

Finally, it was time to bid goodbye to Mumbai. As I sat at the new Balaji temple that day waiting for the shrine to open, I saw the young priests doing their daily chores. People do things to fill their waking time, I thought to myself. Some one was bringing in banana leaves. Some people were asking a priest when the sanctum would be opened. It was a working day and many were eager to get a glimpse of the Lord before launching into their daily activities. I noticed a thought go through my mind: Those priests inside, who were decorating the Lord before the door opens, were taking too much time – we do not want any intermediaries between us and the Lord but that is the way our religion has been structured. Rituals, Poojas, decorations, priest…all paraphernalia that has no meaning if one is connected directly to the One.

That night, at the airport, I saw a white middle-aged couple with three children of Indian origin standing in the Immigration line. The lady was consoling a 3 year old boy and the man was asking “Neha”, a girl of around 7 years, not to stray. It dawned on me that these were Indian children they had adopted. I felt a lump in my throat and my heart filled up. The same One who creates destitute children and crooked politicians who exhort one community to exterminate another also creates this couple with a broad outlook that brings them to a third world country so that they can share their love of humanity with some of its most unfortunate and neglected human beings- abandoned children, its orphans.