Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Stories from the Mountains

 Hello dearest Reader,

By the time you’ll read this, I would have left my mountain perch and have gone back to my bustling sea side metropolis. I’m sure, all the stories that strangely crop up as you walk through the mountains, talking to locals there, will dissipate in the rush hour traffic and creepy crawling of emails hitting my work mailbox. So before I forget let me share it with you just like the first sip of piping hot Temi tea as you wake up to the Kanchendzonga.

As I was spending the first evening with my soul sister and her family sitting in their warm cosy drawing room, catching up on the stories from monasteries and her practice, the topic gently tumbled on to our pet dogs. She and her daughter who is my dearest heart niece (I fondly call her Baby D), had lost a slew of dogs one after the other. My heart niece was obviously heart broken. Loosing pets is no mean feat and her young heart must have been badly bruised as she faced such grief in such an age. 

One of the stories I heard is of a mixed breed named Gasa. He was a mix of Husky and Mountain breed which I conveniently forget. He supposedly lost his heart to a local female dog who was adopted by a neighbouring Bengali family. Initially all tried to keep these two apart but Gasa having more freedom than his human counterparts would cry his lung out forlornly every night when tied to his post. I don’t know what prompted aunty to have mercy on Gasa, whether she empathised with the love lorn creature or wanted to have soundless peaceful sleep, but finally the decision was taken to let Gasa go to his lady love. As they say, the streets of love are murky and never easy, Gasa’s love used to spend her nights in the bedroom of her adopted parents. So Gasa had to do with scratching the main door and breaking through their fence in pursuit of eternal love. 

A few days later the neighbouring family had planned a trip to their hometown for a month. They arranged for their pet to be taken care of by a family staying in the nearby village. It was agreed that on the day of their travel Gasa would not be allowed out as he could have follow his lady love to the village. As planned, Gasa was locked up for the day. The family departed and in the evening Gasa was let loose for his nightly walks. The next morning Gasa was found dead in front of the porch of the neighbour's with no telltale sign of any injury. It was a massive heart attack. And the one and some years Gasa died out of heartbreak. The local vet confirmed that such incidents do happen with dogs.

When I heard the story, I felt a bit shaken. I know how death feels dearer than life to a broken heart. A heartbreak manifests physically with excruciating pain. You can check around to see it in your world. Sure there are enough live stories lurking in the nooks and crannies of your lives. I wish Gasa had given himself another chance. 

Love does come in many forms and shapes and rarely can be bottled in one glass container. Spiritually Hinduism speaks about Samsara Dharma. Philosophical texts will tell you that Dharma is “ Jaha tomake dharan kore” meaning that which holds you. So Samsara Dharma is explained as a form of sacred responsibility for us who are born into the cycle of Samsara. What makes you a yogi is when you can fulfill your responsibilities with utmost sincerity, love and compassion without getting attached. It is a form of spirituality , a journey where you dedicate yourself to the service of your circle. 

Some love is complete in its existence. It defies logic built by current societal norms.Think Shree Radhika Yog. We get an essence of it in our music, folklore and Vaishnavite texts. Where love of Shree Radha is epitomised as a means of worshipping the eternal. Where you love with all your being, the one and only. Your love don't have to reach a culmination. You do not need to share a life path. You do not need to seek outside of you, who you love. You feel the presence of love in every mountain ledge when watching the glory of sunset. You are never alone as you splash on the gurgling stream.You are together in your prayers, wishing happiness and freedom from suffering. 

Strangely the biggest love story of our culture glorifies a love which was never fulfilled. As the story goes, Shree Radhika and Shree Krishna, went their ways, lived their lives, fought their battles and reared their families. Yet there was an eternal love between them which is revered. I wish Gasa knew about it. I wish Gasa didn’t give up. I wish someone taught him to move on. He had sacred responsibilities to fulfil towards his adopted family. But then some love stories do end like this.

We tend to use the often viled , rarely understood, wrongfully mystified term “Love” very loosely. I always felt “Connect” is a better word to express such luminescent emotions. I hope dear Reader,  you are living with the love of your life. If not, it’s good enough to love what you’re living. If you love someone this fiercely, then don’t give up on life. The definition of completion is different when you know how to connect. 

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Day of the Dakinis

 Dearest Reader,

It had been weeks of celebration in India.  I fondly call it the Autumn festivals for the Devine Feminine. I hail from the Eastern part of India and in my parts of the world Feminine is revered, loved and worshipped. We started off the slew of festivities with Durga Puja, worshipping the strength and power of feminine. Durga is all about getting rid of all that is evil. We follow it up with Lakshmi puja, which unlike the rest of India occurs on a full moon night in the Bengali calendar. It’s called the Kojagori Purnima, and the Goddess of wealth and well being is ushered into every home. There’s a saying “Chanchala Lakshmi” meaning the wealth has a fickle mind and doesn’t stick to any unless efforts are put to keep it within the threshold of our homes. Funnily during Lakshmi Puja, Bengalis don’t gong the bell The belief being the sound of bells will startle the Goddess and she might decide to leave the home concerned. We close the loop with praying to the wrathfull form of Feminine divinity by worshiping to Kali. The naked dark form with anger painting its being.  Beautiful Kali adorns a garland of human skulls with tongue protruded out. She is offered meat and alcohol amongst other things and is worshipped at midnight. She’s the destroyer of all the darkness we harbour inside of us. The ‘Tamasik’s of our existence is offered to her for annihilation.

Amidst these festivities I had planned a trip to the mountains with my son. This was a gift to us, where the mystic in him was to be brought to life amidst the fold of the mountains. As he took his first steps to embrace the calling of the wild, I saw the enraptured lost eyes of my boy. And when I say wild, I mean all that is not urban, not bound by reason, unstructured, unfathomable magic of the universe. Once you taste it, everything else falls apart. 

On such a journey to a small village called Bikshthang in the western folds of the Mountain state Sikkim, nestles a Farmhouse I call my own. I feel rooted to this land with eons of Karmic connection. I never knew the family or the place but chanced upon it on a stray Google search in 2014. Since then this place have become home and the family has adopted me as their own. I return every year to connect with my roots and offer my gratitude for being blessed with having at least one wee corner of the earth where I belong.

These Sikkimese family following Tibetan Buddhism (which I drown myself in as a seeker) taught me many of their customs and rituals. The sound of Gong from their prayer alter, the chants of the monks and curling smoke of the dried pines all seems familiar, too familiar. Today being the 25th Day in the Tibetan Lunar calendar, is dedicated to the Dakinis. The Dakinis symbolise the female energy of enlightenment and are inspiration to yogis. It is believed that on Dakini Day the feminine energy is in its peak. I prayed in the family alter for well being of all sentient beings. I prayed for the sacred power of the Dakini to bless all unions where the feminine and masculine energy unites to creates the truest form of balance. The primordial static uniting with the universal motion - for every Shakti let there be Shiva, for every Radha, let there be Krishna, for every Tara let there be AmoghaSidhdhi. 

I wonder if there was a ludicrous coincidence playing truants when I was being named after I was born. My name means a feminine divine form which roams the sky. In other words my name is a Sanskrit synonym to the Tibetan Dakini. My grandma from my mother’s side fondly called me Krishnapriya, which means the love of Krishna or Sri Radhika. And then I was let loose in this world to play the role of a seeker. To love in its tangible and intangible forms with a ferocity of Dakini and live impermanence in a material world as every Seeker does. Such love can be showered on the folds of the mountains and the whispers of the wind, on the dancing of the rivers and flutters of butterflies. Such love can be harboured for one and many, for all and for none, for known and for unknown, for past and for future.

So dear Reader on this auspicious Dakini Day, I send you prayers for you and yours. May the love that holds you, hold true to you till you breathe your last.

Always yours,

Pocket full of Life