Last year on a bus journey I met a woman- an unkempt, illiterate villager. And I remember her for what she told me as we neared our destination: “Your hands are so beautiful. As for mine, I have to work at home.”
Those wistful words lingered in my mind. Maybe what she will never understand is that her hands-rough, callused and dirty as they were are in fact the MOST beautiful. I can’t compare my own pair to hers neither can I draw a parallel to it in the softest, fairest, most expensively manicured hands.
I look at my hands- they are diminutive, fair and smooth enough, no done up nails but clipped and clean. Occasionally, I slather on moisturizer just to maintain their decent appearance.
I have seen other girls’ hands far better looking than mine- perfect nails, perfect skin….but somehow the village woman’s hands keep flashing before my eyes.
Why do they seem to surpass the insurmountable beauty of lovely, well kept hands?
I see a connection- my bus companion’s hands were connected to her heart, in more ways than one.
And her heart was as beautiful as her hands. The combination was lethal.
I never asked her but I know what she does back at home.
Work- House chores. Farm work.
From the crack of dawn till night falls, she is engaged not in frivolous pursuits but in back-breaking labour.
The water, the wind, the earth, the rocks, the wood, the tools- everything she handles tear at the skin of her hands, dehydrates them, roughens them. Her nails fill with dirt; they chip, wear out or simply thicken with age….but her heart can’t protest against the abuse her hands undergo.
She has to survive. Her family, kith and kin have to survive.
She has to slog. She has no choice. But I daresay she never complains.
She has accepted her obscure fate, her life as it is. She knows she has to work and she does. Willingly, if not cheerfully.
She does not complain about bad hair-dos, pimples and pigmentation.
Her life is too important for such petty matters.
I look at my own hands again- are they really as beautiful as she said?
Have I ever done a good deed with my hands?
A comforting squeeze on the shoulder of a despairing friend?
A gentle, loving caress on a dear one’s face?
A light touch accompanying a wink to convey a funny message?
A slight brush on the face of a weeping child to wipe away her tears?
A gift handed without hope of returns or without a feeling of condescension?
I think.
I do remember a few such moments.
When I have dared to stretch out my hands and enhance their beauty.
But I also remember all those lost opportunities and moments when I could have listened to my heart and made my hands follow their commands.
The village woman paid me a wonderful compliment without realizing how much weight her simple but wise words carried.
Her compliment was one of the most genuine and precious compliments any one has ever given me.
I smile and tell myself I will try to make my hands live up to her words.
Friday, July 2, 2010
JUST IN PASSING
I once sat on the top of the world. I watched what was going on below me. I could see and hear everything but I was deaf to the little voice inside me that was whispering, trying to gain my attention. It spoke softly but its very gentleness struck me with force.
I don’t know if this is wrong, or the situation is wrong. All I know is there is a rising surge of joy in me. A tenderness fills my heart, I have grown mellower. My words are calm yet firm. My steps are slow but steady. I walk the path everyone has to one day, but I can grasp the wonder of what is happening.
I am seeing beauty with new eyes, my heart sings like a lark yet tears of joy and wistfulness drop from my eyes. I hear a symphony…it is neither Bach nor Beethoven…it is a melody more lucid and yet the more touching for its simplicity.
I observe the hustle and bustle, people coming and going. I hear the words they speak as if I were a separate entity. I float above the world yet I am so much a part of it. The skies, the oceans, the vast meadows and the great mountains along with all the wonderful living creatures awaken in me feelings I had grown to suppress.
My soul feels like crystal-purified of all stains…clear, sparkling and I face the world with a new vision. I fear this phase is transitory but I also know that if you fear, you won’t know and if you don’t know you will never learn.
Learned I have, yes…Once I was alone, isolated…I feigned everything was alright, I pretended I was happy…but then I was deceiving not only others but myself. I questioned God. I questioned myself but little did I know the answer was in me…so simple I had failed to see it. Now, I know. And my heart is hopeful, freed of the tediousness and tenacity daily living brings.
The growth of a human soul is beautiful…pain is a part of it but even pain imparts a maturity, a wisdom that is timeless. A fire suffuses through my being- new courage, new zest, renewed hopes…spreads its hold over my being.
I learn to take one day at a time, live at the moment. I feel in tune with the cosmic universe, connected with the web which links everything and everyone….yet I am detached and can observe the workings of my heart, my soul’s pursuits.
I find my place in the Master-Plan.
I don’t know if this is wrong, or the situation is wrong. All I know is there is a rising surge of joy in me. A tenderness fills my heart, I have grown mellower. My words are calm yet firm. My steps are slow but steady. I walk the path everyone has to one day, but I can grasp the wonder of what is happening.
I am seeing beauty with new eyes, my heart sings like a lark yet tears of joy and wistfulness drop from my eyes. I hear a symphony…it is neither Bach nor Beethoven…it is a melody more lucid and yet the more touching for its simplicity.
I observe the hustle and bustle, people coming and going. I hear the words they speak as if I were a separate entity. I float above the world yet I am so much a part of it. The skies, the oceans, the vast meadows and the great mountains along with all the wonderful living creatures awaken in me feelings I had grown to suppress.
My soul feels like crystal-purified of all stains…clear, sparkling and I face the world with a new vision. I fear this phase is transitory but I also know that if you fear, you won’t know and if you don’t know you will never learn.
Learned I have, yes…Once I was alone, isolated…I feigned everything was alright, I pretended I was happy…but then I was deceiving not only others but myself. I questioned God. I questioned myself but little did I know the answer was in me…so simple I had failed to see it. Now, I know. And my heart is hopeful, freed of the tediousness and tenacity daily living brings.
The growth of a human soul is beautiful…pain is a part of it but even pain imparts a maturity, a wisdom that is timeless. A fire suffuses through my being- new courage, new zest, renewed hopes…spreads its hold over my being.
I learn to take one day at a time, live at the moment. I feel in tune with the cosmic universe, connected with the web which links everything and everyone….yet I am detached and can observe the workings of my heart, my soul’s pursuits.
I find my place in the Master-Plan.
CHANGE
Change- a single, immobile word that conveys momentum, motion, rush against time or flowing with the tide.
Change- dynamism and growth or regression and devolution.
Change- Either you fight against it and suffer stagnation or you dare to let it happen and risk the implications.
The universe is in a state of constant motion, the galaxies dance to the rhythm of time and space, the moon waxes during particular phases, the wind and water carves, sculpts and polishes the landscape into visual wonders, the tiny seed germinates prompted by the life force into a strong, green tree and at the centre, the focus of everything lies MAN- the being.
The man changes, too.
Within the man is a force, a power to change and bring about changes.
To suppress it, is to let the well spring of life die. Or is it? The word ‘death’ is subjective.
Change constitutes life. But human life is a mockery of evolution.
I have changed. And my eyes take in the changes change brings with a growing wonder, curiosity and apprehension.
Every new day and situation is an eye-opener, an experience. Vulnerability and youth giving way to toughness and tenacity, even bordering on aggressive obstinacy. Pure innocence replaced by an awareness of human failures and foibles. Childish contentment turning to resignation and cynicism. Trust and goodness tainted by skepticism and doubts. Love relegated to lust.
Am I a pessimist? I don’t know. Whatever is pure, good, worthy of value seem to have deteriorated into an object of wile, hypocrisy and debasement.
Ideals? Trash! Principles? Hah! Morality? Old fashioned!
I don’t want to cry.
I am forced to.
I am changing. My world is changing.
What dark powers lurk within and about me? What unseen shadows?
Inner battles, tempestuous! Stormy waters beneath the calm surface!
I grieve. Is this what I was destined for? Is this what I prayed for?
Change that stunts me is death. I can’t grow, am not growing.
The life force within me is drying up. Every day I suffer. A slow death.
Excruciating pain. I choke. I suffocate. I gasp for breath.
Had I known I would die when I strove to live, I would not change.
But the process carries me, swiftly in its currents, the eddies swirl around me. I am thrown into the back lash of white waters, helpless. The rapids engulf me, my soul is consumed.
Is there a glimmer of hope? The light is wane but it flickers in the distance.
I have to get there. I have to feel the warmth spread through my numb, entreating fingers into my frozen being. My heart is cold within me, trembling and fearful but there must be a sign of life somewhere- the sole goal of my pursuit.
When I reach there some day, when I can feel change within me without it tearing me apart, or causing me to question the authenticity of my identity and existence, I will listen to the cosmic language that pervades everything and everyone, smile and cease shedding tears that mourn life and death evoked by the universal music of change.
Change- dynamism and growth or regression and devolution.
Change- Either you fight against it and suffer stagnation or you dare to let it happen and risk the implications.
The universe is in a state of constant motion, the galaxies dance to the rhythm of time and space, the moon waxes during particular phases, the wind and water carves, sculpts and polishes the landscape into visual wonders, the tiny seed germinates prompted by the life force into a strong, green tree and at the centre, the focus of everything lies MAN- the being.
The man changes, too.
Within the man is a force, a power to change and bring about changes.
To suppress it, is to let the well spring of life die. Or is it? The word ‘death’ is subjective.
Change constitutes life. But human life is a mockery of evolution.
I have changed. And my eyes take in the changes change brings with a growing wonder, curiosity and apprehension.
Every new day and situation is an eye-opener, an experience. Vulnerability and youth giving way to toughness and tenacity, even bordering on aggressive obstinacy. Pure innocence replaced by an awareness of human failures and foibles. Childish contentment turning to resignation and cynicism. Trust and goodness tainted by skepticism and doubts. Love relegated to lust.
Am I a pessimist? I don’t know. Whatever is pure, good, worthy of value seem to have deteriorated into an object of wile, hypocrisy and debasement.
Ideals? Trash! Principles? Hah! Morality? Old fashioned!
I don’t want to cry.
I am forced to.
I am changing. My world is changing.
What dark powers lurk within and about me? What unseen shadows?
Inner battles, tempestuous! Stormy waters beneath the calm surface!
I grieve. Is this what I was destined for? Is this what I prayed for?
Change that stunts me is death. I can’t grow, am not growing.
The life force within me is drying up. Every day I suffer. A slow death.
Excruciating pain. I choke. I suffocate. I gasp for breath.
Had I known I would die when I strove to live, I would not change.
But the process carries me, swiftly in its currents, the eddies swirl around me. I am thrown into the back lash of white waters, helpless. The rapids engulf me, my soul is consumed.
Is there a glimmer of hope? The light is wane but it flickers in the distance.
I have to get there. I have to feel the warmth spread through my numb, entreating fingers into my frozen being. My heart is cold within me, trembling and fearful but there must be a sign of life somewhere- the sole goal of my pursuit.
When I reach there some day, when I can feel change within me without it tearing me apart, or causing me to question the authenticity of my identity and existence, I will listen to the cosmic language that pervades everything and everyone, smile and cease shedding tears that mourn life and death evoked by the universal music of change.
BEAUTY, DON'T LET IT DIE
Beauty is a force to reckon with.
A powerful, and to many an irresistible force, maybe even a miracle- the way it works. It transforms brutes into men, refines those who already have the capacity to feel and of course it turns the lover of art and women into a hopeless romantic.
Recently while travelling via Wangdue, I saw a group of tourists peering through binoculars at the landscape below the road. What were they gazing at so intently? I turned my own eyes to their direction. What did I see? Vast stretches of golden fields. On the slopes of varying shades of green, the millet was ripe for harvest- bright yellow, a rich burst of mellow sunshine in sharp contrast to the green surrounding it. Nothing spectacular for the Bhutanese people but for these people from a foreign land it was an amazing sight. Magical.
Beauty of form- one of the tangible manifestations of a wondrous phenomenon can be found abundantly in common-place things. We only need to see and feel it. Forgive me for sounding hedonistic but I feel that the enjoyment of beauty is one of life’s greatest pleasures, more so because it comes free. You only need to develop an aesthetic awareness and grasp each opportunity to enjoy it- as it comes.
But this, I feel, we have forgotten to do. We are so caught up with our lives and daily pursuits that we have become oblivious to the beauty we can find around us, vainly searching to fill a void which only a keen perception of it can bring.
Fortunately we are born in a country where Nature’s beauty abounds. Just a stroll by the road, a journey on a bus, and you will come across sights which will overwhelm you and elevate your soul to spiritual heights which hitherto you never could reach because you were blind and deaf to beauty- surrounding you, smiling at you, beckoning you into its warm generous embrace.
Join me on a mid- October ride now, from Gezamchu, just before approaching the mountainous pass of Thrumsingla to the rolling slopes of Lingmethang - let us keep our eyes open and together explore the colourful canvas set before us to experience the joys its beauty offers.
The road winds up over dangerous looking ravines. The car I am travelling in is not exactly gliding but the ride is smooth enough and I roll down the window to breathe in the crisp chilly mountain air, letting the surroundings seep into my senses, transporting me to the land where the Muses sang and of which poets dreamt.
Do you see it? Beauty, where I do? Come, look through my eyes.
I see beauty in the warm sunlight lighting up little brown cones hanging from cypress branches with their golden and green needles.
I see beauty in the dry brown fern leaves curled up by the roadside.
I see beauty in the stately fir trees with sea-green feathery lichen swaying from their branches.
I see beauty in the bare pointed tree trunks rising up from the cliffs into the sky, sombre and still as if in prayer.
I see beauty in the weather- beaten culverts and the yellow capped milestones, lonely and desolate.
I see beauty in the roughly cut rocks and dry dust enveloping them, the shiny particles comprising them catching the sunlight and glistening like minute mirrors.
I see beauty in a solitary prayer flag with its worn out prayer cloth fluttering at the slightest hint of breeze.
I see beauty in a little crystal stream of water trickling down a flat plank of wood- an improvised water source for villagers and weary travelers to take a sip from.
I see beauty in a lone red sign board with yellow letters nailed to a tree, obscure, forgotten except when glanced at occasionally by a passerby.
I see beauty in the sudden glimpse of the red-tipped feathers of a wild fowl disappearing beneath a canopy of bushes.
I see beauty in the numerous brick-red, dark-blue and bright yellow “tormas” secretly peeping out from rock crevices, an offering to the deities of yore.
I see beauty in the dull moss covered rocks, a cluster of lively blue flowers- enough to revive fallen spirits, and plants with fleshy white stalks forming a snowy carpet by the slopes.
I see beauty in sturdy trees lined up on the mountain tops like a battalion of soldiers gearing up for the call of conquest.
The ride has come to an end. You see, now? Beauty is a spiritual retreat. You come out of it feeling revitalized, rejuvenated and it tunes you to the cosmic language- the song of Creation. Ecstatic abandon.
Beauty is a soul-to-soul connection between you and your Creator. You are closest to Him when you are to Beauty. Join me in celebrating this bond. Don’t let Beauty die.
A powerful, and to many an irresistible force, maybe even a miracle- the way it works. It transforms brutes into men, refines those who already have the capacity to feel and of course it turns the lover of art and women into a hopeless romantic.
Recently while travelling via Wangdue, I saw a group of tourists peering through binoculars at the landscape below the road. What were they gazing at so intently? I turned my own eyes to their direction. What did I see? Vast stretches of golden fields. On the slopes of varying shades of green, the millet was ripe for harvest- bright yellow, a rich burst of mellow sunshine in sharp contrast to the green surrounding it. Nothing spectacular for the Bhutanese people but for these people from a foreign land it was an amazing sight. Magical.
Beauty of form- one of the tangible manifestations of a wondrous phenomenon can be found abundantly in common-place things. We only need to see and feel it. Forgive me for sounding hedonistic but I feel that the enjoyment of beauty is one of life’s greatest pleasures, more so because it comes free. You only need to develop an aesthetic awareness and grasp each opportunity to enjoy it- as it comes.
But this, I feel, we have forgotten to do. We are so caught up with our lives and daily pursuits that we have become oblivious to the beauty we can find around us, vainly searching to fill a void which only a keen perception of it can bring.
Fortunately we are born in a country where Nature’s beauty abounds. Just a stroll by the road, a journey on a bus, and you will come across sights which will overwhelm you and elevate your soul to spiritual heights which hitherto you never could reach because you were blind and deaf to beauty- surrounding you, smiling at you, beckoning you into its warm generous embrace.
Join me on a mid- October ride now, from Gezamchu, just before approaching the mountainous pass of Thrumsingla to the rolling slopes of Lingmethang - let us keep our eyes open and together explore the colourful canvas set before us to experience the joys its beauty offers.
The road winds up over dangerous looking ravines. The car I am travelling in is not exactly gliding but the ride is smooth enough and I roll down the window to breathe in the crisp chilly mountain air, letting the surroundings seep into my senses, transporting me to the land where the Muses sang and of which poets dreamt.
Do you see it? Beauty, where I do? Come, look through my eyes.
I see beauty in the warm sunlight lighting up little brown cones hanging from cypress branches with their golden and green needles.
I see beauty in the dry brown fern leaves curled up by the roadside.
I see beauty in the stately fir trees with sea-green feathery lichen swaying from their branches.
I see beauty in the bare pointed tree trunks rising up from the cliffs into the sky, sombre and still as if in prayer.
I see beauty in the weather- beaten culverts and the yellow capped milestones, lonely and desolate.
I see beauty in the roughly cut rocks and dry dust enveloping them, the shiny particles comprising them catching the sunlight and glistening like minute mirrors.
I see beauty in a solitary prayer flag with its worn out prayer cloth fluttering at the slightest hint of breeze.
I see beauty in a little crystal stream of water trickling down a flat plank of wood- an improvised water source for villagers and weary travelers to take a sip from.
I see beauty in a lone red sign board with yellow letters nailed to a tree, obscure, forgotten except when glanced at occasionally by a passerby.
I see beauty in the sudden glimpse of the red-tipped feathers of a wild fowl disappearing beneath a canopy of bushes.
I see beauty in the numerous brick-red, dark-blue and bright yellow “tormas” secretly peeping out from rock crevices, an offering to the deities of yore.
I see beauty in the dull moss covered rocks, a cluster of lively blue flowers- enough to revive fallen spirits, and plants with fleshy white stalks forming a snowy carpet by the slopes.
I see beauty in sturdy trees lined up on the mountain tops like a battalion of soldiers gearing up for the call of conquest.
The ride has come to an end. You see, now? Beauty is a spiritual retreat. You come out of it feeling revitalized, rejuvenated and it tunes you to the cosmic language- the song of Creation. Ecstatic abandon.
Beauty is a soul-to-soul connection between you and your Creator. You are closest to Him when you are to Beauty. Join me in celebrating this bond. Don’t let Beauty die.
WHO AM I?
Who am I?
To the world I am a 26-year old female, reporter for a private paper and an independent career woman.
To my family and close ones, I am a dutiful (hopefully) daughter, an easy going friend and companion.
To me?
I can't say....I am still on a journey of self discovery. But from whatever I have deduced from quiet moments of introspection, I know I am someone who is more in her world than outside.
I love being alone.
I love reading while listening to soft music.
I love to feel the breeze on my face on a solitary evening walk.
I love to wake up, clean up my place, take a refreshing shower and settle down in my room with a steaming cup of tea.
I love watching a sunset and penning down a line.
I like to believe I am a strong believer of God and the Divine.
I like to go through my diary notes and smile.
I cry easily but I laugh as easily.
I believe in ideals but I feel scared sometimes that I won't be strong enough to hold on.
I enjoy company but I don't need it.
I have few close friends.
I admire my dad.
I constantly strive to be a better human being.
Sometimes I can be harsh on myself.
Every new day I anticipate with a mixed feeling of hope and dread. But I always place myself in God's hands because I believe in divine providence. A few say I am stupid. Others say I am immature. I don't know. I am happy when I do the things I love most. I am happy when I am what I am. And I am most happy when I think I have done my best.
To the world I am a 26-year old female, reporter for a private paper and an independent career woman.
To my family and close ones, I am a dutiful (hopefully) daughter, an easy going friend and companion.
To me?
I can't say....I am still on a journey of self discovery. But from whatever I have deduced from quiet moments of introspection, I know I am someone who is more in her world than outside.
I love being alone.
I love reading while listening to soft music.
I love to feel the breeze on my face on a solitary evening walk.
I love to wake up, clean up my place, take a refreshing shower and settle down in my room with a steaming cup of tea.
I love watching a sunset and penning down a line.
I like to believe I am a strong believer of God and the Divine.
I like to go through my diary notes and smile.
I cry easily but I laugh as easily.
I believe in ideals but I feel scared sometimes that I won't be strong enough to hold on.
I enjoy company but I don't need it.
I have few close friends.
I admire my dad.
I constantly strive to be a better human being.
Sometimes I can be harsh on myself.
Every new day I anticipate with a mixed feeling of hope and dread. But I always place myself in God's hands because I believe in divine providence. A few say I am stupid. Others say I am immature. I don't know. I am happy when I do the things I love most. I am happy when I am what I am. And I am most happy when I think I have done my best.
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