Under the purple Jacaranda tree. A monkey in the uppermost branches is shaking the purple blossoms from their delicate hold, on the mother of all jacaranda trees. I have to cover my glass of chai, as it rains down purple flowers, damp with the morning dew. Each flower seems like a blessing as it strikes me and gets tangled up in who I am. I sit, bare feet amongst the flowers, on the stone wall under the purple Jacaranda tree; sipping my chai. Lal Baba sees me and immediately stops in his tracks, fumbling inside his jacket for a box of matches, to light the bidi hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Wha ... these schizer Indian match’s, f..king things break the moment you touch them” I watched him as he placed his glass of chai on the ground and looking up, scanned the tree for monkeys. He waved a threatening fist up into the tree, aimed at any monkey who might be thinking of sending down a flower or two while he lit his cigarette. “Hey Narayan, how are you my dear?” Lal baba said through the corner of his mouth, trying to puff alight his bidi. I could see Lal baba was about to get wound up, so I stopped him, holding my hand up. “Please ... I’m enjoying the morning and my chai” La baba looked at me over his mini spectacles, perched on a fine Germanic nose, saying nothing, he came over and sat on the wall beside me. At that moment, Janaki and Kalyani came laughing through the gate, holding on to each other while balancing glasses of chai, their Punjabi outfits as bright as their conversation, I sat and watched the little interplays between them and it amused me. Taking chai under the Jacaranda tree became a ritual each morning. I have a fond memory of sleeping by the duni in Chilianoula during one Navaratri in 1986. Taking my morning bath by the tap at the edge of the garden. I had almost gotten used to the fact, the sun rose over the Himalayas each morning. The warm glow of sunrise, sometimes bathed the snow covered peaks with a false sense of warmness. I’d been awake since three am and after my bath I sat on the large stone seat in the garden, looking at the havan kund and doing japa. A small path by my side led to the old cottage where Muniraji lived and along it, at a slow trot came Muniraj with a towel around his neck, a toothbrush and lota in his hands. Muniraji seemed surprised to see me but said nothing. He smiled and put his palms together in a blessing. I heard Muniraj gasp as the first lota of cold water poured over him. After that first splash Muniraj quietly sang as he took his morning bath. After his bath a few people would sit with Muniraj as he did his morning puja. I enjoyed being there in the pre dawn darkness, tucked away in the mountains, sitting on the soft natural clay and dung floors the sound of silent thoughts winding down and settling into a sea of calm. Magic is all around me, in this himalayan haven. My world seems made up of a whole lot of separate realities; colliding with each other. ************ My one and only trip to Varanasi was with Muniraj, during the twelve year Kumbh Mela, in 1986. We drove by taxi from Haldwani, Kharku and Muniraj in one taxi while we followed in another, our convoy stopping for chai at a roadside stall. We sat under a huge tree on rickety chairs. Muniraji sat smiling at us calm and serene and I soaked up his love and attention. Suddenly like a circus clown my chair broke and I fell sprawling in the dirt, chai everywhere. Everyone laughed as I dusted myself off; it wasn’t much of a fall ... losing some dignity singed my eyebrows a bit. Back on the road the vultures sat on trees in blinding sunshine, looking like dark hooded monks, sulking at being dragged out into the light. Mud brick villages and dusky buffalo, brightly colored women with baskets on their heads. My heart was dancing with joy, and life seemed overflowing, it oozed and bubbled up from the earth, disappearing, into a blue haze. Varanasi with its narrow streets, was filled to overflowing with a sea of humanity, the noise and the color spun my head around, I was lost forever in a world that felt like a circus, filled with holy clowns. With just a lungi on I plunged into the Ganges and came up spluttering, flower petals clung to my skin as I played and splashed amongst thousands of pilgrims. The rest of the journey was a blur of singing kirtan, meeting a blind begging elephant, camels and donkeys, snake charmers and monkeys, to me it seemed as if everyone were in fancy dress; including the animals. In the quiet of the night while all in the ashram were asleep, I sat on the flat roof, trying to make some sense of myself. Who I used to be was disappearing and I felt happy and terrified at the same time. My body wanted to run but my heart wanted to surrender and in the end my heart won out. When we got back to Haldwani it was late afternoon and I was exhausted, I put my bag in the back of Muniraj’s shop and sat with him while everyone else went to eat. Muniraj read the paper while I looked out into the street, after some time I spoke, “Muniraj” “Yes” He said as he placed his paper on the arm of the chair. “All this” I said pointing into the street, “Should feel extraordinary, there is nothing in my world to compare it to, yet somehow it all seems so ordinary and known; as if I’ve been here before” Muniraj smiled at me and with a lot of humor in his voice said, “Thats because you have spent many lifetimes in India” What could I say? I sat there thinking about what Muniraj had said. I knew I couldn’t work it out so I gave up and excepted he may be right. Muniraj said to me “Rest .... your’e tired!” offering me the bed against the wall. All I could think was “It’s impossible for me to sleep, I’m alone with my Guru, I’ve got to soak up every second, awake, defiantly not asleep ...! As soon as I lay down I fell fast asleep, after maybe an hour I opened my eyes and realised Muniraj was looking at me intently. “Whats your name?” Muniraj asked. Fearing this was some kind of quiz I didn’t want to get wrong I hesitated. “Your name” Muniraji said again quietly. I blurted out my name and Muniraji looked at me with a piercing eye to eye, I can see your soul look and said. “Naraian your name is Naraian”
Posted on: Fri, 11 Apr 2014 21:56:06 +0000
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