December has arrived and is in the house.

 It’s exactly the midnight hour. Now 12:01, and sucks that I got carried away. On what else, but..not even going to say it. Was hoping to write everyday in December. 

While the day was overcast, it wasn’t too bad, as it was t too cold. That’s as far as weather goes. On a personal level, had a a solid 3 hours or so of work. As in studying the Five Elements theory. Will need to put in more effort, though have more clarity than before. 

Someone had come over for the boiler and he’s quite the traveler! His wife and him, after 6 plus years in Egypt went to Malaysia and then spent time in Borneo. Sounds lovely. They also went North in the region where tea grows. Came up because I made him tea, and told him I’m very picky about it- about how I like a clearer liquid, semi transparent, and not over brewed. He was the same, a little milk and no sugar. Such an interesting chap. I’m using Yorkshire for hard water. Does make a difference, but have to be careful to not brew it too long. 

Talked about food, and asked him if had found a good Laksa place here. Told him how one of us makes it at home. Not me. Did not say we discovered it in Australia, would have been unnecessary TMI. 

In the morning, had a chat with someone who’s had a great Safari experience. While I’ve been to the West Coast and the Canary Islands, it seems the good sights are in Kenya and Tanzania. Maybe..

Reconnected with someone after almost 15 years, around that. 

Every thing has its breaking point, or plateau or whatever we call our plateau. Mine is to do with the warm clothing. Have reached a point, where I’m tired of warning them! Can’t wear too many clothes, layers are not my style. Plus do not feel comfortable with the weight of a coat around my neck. Tired of jeans and have been donning dresses last couple of days, with thermal leggings. 

Not too bad, it’s 12:16 am. So while I can officially write the date as the 2nd, the night is still young. Not that I feel that way.  I think I’ll call it a day/night/ or just goodnight! 

Veenu Banga

12:18 am

Night of the 2nd, and December the 3rd 

:

Don't look now, we're changing!

  Sat and wrote this in the dark last night, and on my phone. Thought I had published it. Published without rereading so wanted to check now. Also had thought it was December 1st. Obviously not, to both. Not posted, not December 1st, which is today. 

Many a time, I’ve been thinking something, and the internet Gods show me advertisements for the very stuff. Bizarre. Or maybe not. In this current space and state of affairs, anything is possible. Proves my theory, that we are going further and further away from creation, from our selves, from that which is at our core. That which comprised our core physical, mental and spiritual. 

It’s not all bad, and it doesn’t have to be. It’s just that the serious and universally beneficial use of technology has bled into areas of entertainment. Bleeding further and further and deeper and deeper where its roots are entangled with our spiritual growth, disconnecting us from our environments and suffocating us earlier and earlier in our stages of development. Catching them young with games and so called educational experiences. 

Educational experiences? Within closed environments? What about getting our hands dirty. The joys of feeling rain and dirtying muck and hearing the birds and smelling the sea? Tasting the salt in the particles in the air, watching the horizon with the clouds moving across the sky, playing games with the sun trying to out shine and hide, and then watching the sun scale the south going home west, at least in the northern hemisphere.

There’s magic if we only seek it- a new story written every day, and it’s not saved on any drive. You see it, or you don’t, it’s lost in the ether- and why do they call what they call Ether-net? Where does that come from? 

Anyway, 10:40 pm and December 1st is today. I had forgotten to write the date last night, wanting to get to bed at an earthly hour. Also gives me an opportunity to go over the below, or not, but the title Undressing in December refers to the below, written last night. 

Miss the good old days of writing letters, even to my friends living locally but not nearby. I’ve long thought I need a penpal! Again. It will save the USPS, the Royal Mail, Australia Post, and all the Postal other organizations of the world from becoming defunct, if we could bring back the joys of letter writing! To the post, ahoy! 

~~~~~~~

Undressing in December. 

Today was not the first time I noticed them, but it was the first time I felt this way. A little sad, maybe not a little, more than a little. Today I felt them. Really ‘felt’ them. Rows and rows of them, along the sides of the country lanes. Alone in a field of undulating ground, even the farmland looked lonely. But it was the trees I felt, and felt for. 

Standing naked and stark, their branches dried and still. I wished I could put a blanket over them. Now that they’re bare, even the birds do not visit. 

I wonder what they feel about the birch trees, some still have their drying foliage of gold medallions clinging to them. They’re among the last to shed, the silver birch. Oh! and what of the firs? Their leaves are all intact. In the tree kingdom I’m sure there’s no jealousy or envy. Do the roots talk beneath the ground? 

The trees stand so patiently and seem to say, “We’re just changing, don’t look now..give us some weeks and we will be wearing our pubescent green, which will soon be a full fledged canopy.” But I don’t listen, I look. And the feeling overwhelms me again. I know that intellectually, but can’t shake the feeling of wanting to embrace them somehow and reassure them about something they already know. That’s their cycle of growth, it’s my own ignorance, not theirs. I also know that with the lushness will come the birds, the flowers and the fruits. I foolishly mortal meanwhile indulging in a self importance of sorts. 

Thoughts of the bare trees occupy me and I feel them in my body, as though I was in the nude, in my bare bones exposed, not just physically. Some of the trees may face the axe to be kindled and collected for firewood. They stand stoic and undeterred. Always giving, dear precious trees. Why can’t we human beings learn from Nature? 

December comes quietly for nature, not much activity, but yes, more hibernation. We humans do the exact opposite. Instead of turning inwards and undressing and discarding our wounds and vices long past and no longer serving us, we do the exact opposite. Party. 

We could take cue from Nature and slow down, focus on discarding what will soon be old, instead, we go shopping, go crazy in the frenzy of the acquiring the material. Instead of purging and detoxing, starting with our minds. I personally need to do that, after some dark days, pun intended, with sunset at 4:30 pm. 

Perhaps I will reflect on the year gone by already. Where was I and what was I doing in January? And so on. Two new places under my belt. Bologna and Stockholm and surrounds. Also the many local trips often repeat, such as the Cotswolds. First time to Glastonbury, something I had been wanting as have not made it to Sedona. Fascinating town of Cheddar, down deep in the Gorge. Plus more. Got to save some for later. 

Meetings strangers who became friends. Çiğdem in Strasbourg and Alia in a Stockholm suburb. The Moroccan girl in the restaurant near our hotel in Frankfurt, who flies home to Morocco every weekend. I admired her fragrance. She wears Musc by Narcisco Rodriguez. I like it so much I buy one at the airport on way out- can’t remember the last time I have purchased perfume for myself. Its been a long time. I have so many already. Beautiful people and we had some lovely long conversations, 

Was looking at old photos from 12 years ago, and in many seeing the cobblestones of the places my feet trod upon. Humbling and inspiring. Grateful. Only one trip to Amsterdam this year. Eventful and with two magical encounters. Eating at my first Michelin star at K and A’s insistence, because they had loved SINNE on a previous visit. The word means ‘senses’ in Swedish. Yea, it does no disappoint! Serendipitously, Sweden has held a special appeal this year, and we got to see it in all its moods. Almost all, just not the bitterest winters. 

And the magical rainy weekend in AMS, meeting the most interesting Michelin chef on a Sunday night, he was very much part of the magical weekend. Actually I had gotten talking to him, outside a famous ice cream shop as I noticed he was eating the same flavors I chose. Pistachios and pistachio for my two scoops! 

Forgot meeting with Emma and her hubby in Bologna, a lovely couple from the UK. 

Veenu Banga

December 1, 2024

11:27 pm. 

Live. Live Your Best Life.

  Live Your Best Life

Writing the play was the easy part. Writing to tell you about it, not so much. 

I really want to say that I miss you very much and cherish our time together, but I will not say that. You came into my life and made me realize that I still have a life. I’m not sure I can say that either. Maybe I can say that, but I’m not sure. There are no gray areas, are there? So what can I say? Anything I say has to be devoid of even a whiff or a trace of Attachment. And I will be lying if- and I do not want to lie to you. Ever. I do not want to lie, period. Not even in my thoughts. 

So Samanijis, I will say Many Happy Returns of the Day, Samaniji Kshanti Pragya ji, your 10th Deeksha Diwas. Happy Anniversary, and many more to come. May all your Tapasya be richly rewarded as you reach dazzling heights in your Spiritual Life. May the blessings of Gurudev, and all the Acharyas and Siddhas, Tirthankars, and Lord Mahavir, be with you, as you shine as the brightest Star of the Terapanth which you are.

I remember your hard work in transforming my worldview, the sustained efforts you put into my education, and your patience and persistence in helping me learn all the difficult Hindi words and ensuring I pronounce them correctly. 

At that time, I did not realize it, but in hindsight, I know that between Samaniji Jin Pragya ji and Samaniji Kshanti Pragyaji, you played good cop and bad cop, and yes, it worked. Even I am proud of myself—well, almost. 

Please forgive me for not keeping my promise of writing a story a day. However, I am finding old stories that I had even forgotten I wrote. They’re fun to rediscover. 

The best part is that the Play “ Live Your Best Life,” which was started while you were here and languished at the last 5%, was finally completed about a couple of weeks ago, with the help of K and A. They nudged me through my writer's block as I aimed to meet your Deeksha Diwas and Diwali deadlines. I think you would like it, and I pray that somehow I am able to send it to India soon so that you can read it. 

Adarniya Samanijis, do consider that the Gopis adored their Krishna, which was an attachment to the Lord. In Kandahar Anoobhuti, the poet Saint Arunagurinathur of Thiruannamalai is quite candid about his adoration and extols the spiritual union he feels with his beloved Skanda. He is pretty daring in expressing the easy familiarity and attachment he feels in his heart for his Skanda. Saint Arunagirinather boldly refers to Valli, Skanda’s holy consort, and tries all kinds of persuasion, from flattery to begging for his Skanda’s attention and benevolence. He flaunts his feels in ecstatic poetry. 

Such is the adoration of those who have found their anchor, as I have found mine. I want to say more, but I am not saying it. All I am saying, Adarniya Samanijis, is that my thoughts have been with you these last several days as I eagerly awaited to celebrate your 10th holy Deeksha Diwas. It was the path you chose that brought the Mercy and Grace of God into my life. 

My gratitude comes from deep within my heart. I really want to say that your faces live in my mind's eye and have a permanent chamber to reside in my heart. However, I am not saying that. I want to say that whenever I contemplate our time together, gladness and an unbounded joy fill my consciousness. I hope I am allowed to say that. 

Happy Deeksha Diwas to you, Samaniji!

Your obedient and sincere shravak,

Veenu Banga 

10/28/2024

11:42 pm. 

Guru Poornima

 For seven decades of my life, Guru Poornima day has come and gone. Every year, ever since I became aware of Guru Poornima, a new perspective and a different lesson was learned. However, this year I learned that, 1) we are our own gurus, and 2) our mistakes are our gurus also. 

Who is a guru, other than our mistakes and ourselves? There are always external forces that have the effect of containing us, when we are falling apart. I think that’s my definition of a guru. At different times in our lives, there are different people, with different levels of wisdom and knowledge. At times, I think there are also guru angels, for lack of a better word to describe those people, who casually cross our path and briefly influence our thought perspective, and we may or may not continue to have them in our lives. 

Then there are some people, who when we meet them, do not come into our lives as a guru, but have a profound influence on our thinking. Sometimes, they go beyond that, and just by being in our lives, they ‘contain’ us, as we are adrift on doubts and distrust, due to past circumstances. 

One of these persons was a woman who I met late in life, but at a very crucial juncture. She was ardently devoted to her guru and her cause, and instilled that love in all who crossed her path. Every July, the month of her special day, her memory seems more than that- it brings her closer. Her religion and mine, did not see eye to eye, because those who practiced the temple going, had rejected me and disavowed me from what they felt was their exclusive domain. I was in and out of religions, practicing in the privacy from my home and sometimes my heart, when she became a very powerful influence. 

“She brought me home to Hinduism” reads one entry about her in my journal. I think a return to religion was her greatest gift to me. Later, because of that, I was able to embrace what the Samanijis had to offer. Without them, I would still be adrift and lost. The Samanijis incorporated my broken trust turning it into faith. 

 “Hame kisse ko judge nahin karma chahiye,” I hear her her voice telling this to a group of the mission ladies. What a waste of her time and talents, addressing the pettiness and politics of oversize egos. 

We were supposed to go and meet her Gurudev’s guru bhai together. While that did not happen, I honored her memory by honoring her Gurudev’s guru bhai. In the process I was ‘brought home’ to Hinduism once again. It was not something that I expected or came looking for. I feel such an affinity with his teachings. More so because his own guru is who my dear beloved grandfather followed. It’s like coming full circle. 

Tomorrow I will think of my Samanijis and celebrate their teachings. For today, I will honor myself, because my soul is divine, and my guru lives within me. The challenge is to learn this lesson, and be drenched in that feeling that I do not forget it. It was so lovingly and beautifully brought home to me today. 

Every person on this planet experiences the world differently, or words to that effect. Everyone is special. I know for a fact that this universe is special. The birds, the animals, the trees, the flowers, the bees, the butterflies, the clouds, the stars, the sun and the moon, and the wind and the fire, all of which I come from and to which we will all return. If that is do, and that is where we come from, we really and truly, must all be special. Including me.

Happy Guru Poornima day to all the gurus in the world. Thank you for shining the light. 

Veenu Banga

07/ 20-21/2024

1:27 am

Gratitude Streak?

 

Gratitude Steak? 

 Good Lord, had no idea that on my last birthday post, I was already thinking of the Gratitude steak I had what seems like yesterday, but is already a couple of years ago.

The steak stuff came up because of Duo Lingo. He’s such a cutie, trying so beard to please me. Had been rewarding me for my 5 day streak and now shows up all hurt and sad face, saying, “Looks like you’re ignoring me, so I will not trouble you for now,” or words to that end.

However, a couple of nights ago, I seriously, genuinely, in all earnestness was thinking about gratitude, when there was the stubborn weather to complain about. Weather is such a big deal, amongst us foolish mere mortals. I have not even visited my blog at say, “Hi!”

Anyway, here I was in be, with the Dyson heating on, grumbling how cold it was despite peak summer. Even Sweden was warmer this time, much much warmer! A glorious 15 full days, in a summer of endless days and reluctant and reclusive nights. Sunrise was around 3:00 am when we arrived, and sunset was 10:36 pm. Then after the solstice, it changed with sunset happening earlier, and sunrise a little late. However, not one night did I see any starts, not even when I woke up at night to go..well, you know, women’s bladders never disappoint. I did not have to set the alarm to wake up in the middle of the ‘night’, to see the stars. 

And I was not alone. The poor birds were also quite confused. They were up all almost night blabbering and chirping away, except the pigeons, OMG- there long cooing admonishments went on and in and on.

I must be a Master of Digression. I was talking about being in bed and gratitude. Well, with the Dyson on, it became warm pretty quickly and I wanted to remove my socks using just my toes. Nope! Did not happen. I had to use my hands, as there’s no Pratima in my life here, to spoil me, with her nighttime winter massages with moisturizing creme on my arms and hands and feet. Then she put on the socks on my feet and tucked me into bed. Again, I digress! Ha! Does that make me an MD, Haha, Master of Digression! 😁

Okay, I was trying to remove my socks with my toes! Nope. Couldn’t even pull then down a cm (ahem, me using metric! ) That’s when I realized I was wearing my REI purchased socks. Big gratitude for those small pieces of foot clothing. It’s the best investment. They’re all so good. Farm to feet have to be my favorite. Green gray, which I’m wearing today, are also good. No holes, despite my wearing them pretty rough. So that’s what I’m grateful for today, this week rather. 

For the thinner socks, it has to be DKNY. (Donna Karan New York) are pretty good. Nice firm grip without being tight, and no holes, which showed up on my go;d toes and all that crap. I have so many socks with just a small hole in on of the pair. Has to be the male ? I don’t want to wear them, and can’t bring myse;f to throw them because of it pretty good condition. 

I know there’ll be errors. Will fox in the morning. Trying to get my blogging steak started. Gratitude rather. Forgive me for the errors, the typos, the grammar. But I’m back, dear blog, thank you for waiting. Eyes closing, and headed to bed and sweet slumber. He, grateful for that too! 

Veenu Banga

July 4th, 2024

11:55pm.

The Happiest Birthday of my Life!

 What a glorious day! I think the location had a lot to do with it. Also, the love of friends, old and new. The pleasant surprise of all the love I was shown. Unexpected, welcome, and one that drew me in. Thank you God. 

Woke to an unexpected dream, and then the thoughts, how unexpected too- the memory retains instances in all their colors. The color of trauma when it happened, anger when it was a few years gone. Grief, sadness and a strong sense of injustice when one puts distance that time creates, into the equation. And now, just a blip in the miles and miles that have taken me further and further away from it. 

Living in the moment, it’s all good but it’s not without cost. It wreaks havoc on decision making. Living in the moment means rewarding good behavior with forgiveness. It also means ‘forgetting’ or rather allowing bad behavior to go unpunished, or in my case, tolerating beyond tolerance. 

We choose life, or we choose to live life, one day at a time. Thankfully, my constants are my life’s greatest blessings. They are my greatest wealth, and the rewards of all the unthinkable I have lived through. Suddenly, life reminds me to focus in gratitude, and I’m listening. In the past, not so much. But then, then, it would not have been right either. That’s the sign of being Alive. 

Veenu Banga

05/27/2024

11:39pm. 

Music: a short story

This is a very old short story that I was reminded of today, and I sat and read it again. Also did some minor editing to it. 

Veenu

MONDAY, JANUARY 28, 2019

Music

Music: A short story

 

In her urgency to put the tape into the cassette player, she fumbled clumsily and dropped the plastic box of cassettes onto the floor. This created an unwanted problem of what must seem epic proportions at this most inopportune moment. Still flustered, she just let them lay scattered around. Randomly picking out one, she hurriedly shoved it into the deck, hitting the 'Play' button hard. 

Rushing to the window, she eagerly but cautiously peeped out. Moving the thin muslin curtains ever so slightly, her neck leaning low and to the right, she checked to see if the cause of her joyful excitement was still there. He was! 

Her heart beat excitedly, and an unconscious smile lit up her youthful face. She succumbed to a euphoric sense of nostalgia. The familiarity of this total stranger gave her a feeling of kinship with him, and she felt a wave of reminiscence envelop her. She did not want to take her eyes off him and continued staring out into the street at the object of her fascination while he sat unawares in his cab, oblivious to the excitement he had generated. 

The notes of the music opened too softly, too slowly, for her intention. Impatiently, she turned up the volume, hoping HE could hear it. She adjusted her position behind the curtain to keep up with his movement as he shifted in the driver's seat of the taxi. 

Finally, the traditional sound of the harmonium picked up pace, stirring the stillness of the small ground-floor room in their old Bombay building. "Oh please, please, please, start singing now," she begged, looking imploringly at the tape deck. As if on cue, the vocals accompanied the music, and she increased the volume some more and looked out again to see if he was still there. He was! A loud sigh of relief escaped her, and she held her glance with eyes sometimes squinting to get a better look. 

 

He seemed oblivious to the loud music coming from the ground floor room, with its door and windows wide open. She was separated from his taxi cab, wherein he sat, by just a five-foot wide balcony and another six feet of sidewalk pavement between them. Up went the volume again until it was nearly full blast on her SONY deck, which was quite fancy for the 1980s, she noted with pride. 

She so desperately wanted him to hear the music. She kept gazing at him in complete abandon, knowing by just looking at him that he would like the music.

Desperate times call for desperate action, so she surmised and boldly went out to the front balcony, shielding herself behind some tall potted plants, every sense alert to his presence. She saw his head shake a little, and he opened the door to get out of his cab. He now stood leaning against the door on the driver's side with his back towards her. 

It was early morning, and the sun, still low, had not hit the pavement as yet. It was hidden behind the tall buildings on the other side of the road. She became conscious of the coming and going on the street: people headed to work, children off to their school, old women going to the temple with offerings of flowers and fruits cupped in half-folded hands, and some retired men returning from their morning meet up in Shivaji Park. Uneasily, she realized someone might stop to say hello and strike up a conversation. She did not want him to notice her, she thought almost shyly, embarrassed at her forwardness. She did not want him to associate her with the unreasonably loud music. 

 

Abandoning the plants, she hurried in and again took up position standing behind the window, where she might get a better view yet remain hidden by the thin curtains and wide mesh of the wrought iron grill, the wide balcony, and the sidewalk maintaining a convenient distance between them. 

The song had picked up pace now, and even though the loud volume created static in the room, he seemed totally unaware of its playing. Another sigh escaped her, and she resigned herself to look and keep looking. Humming along and enjoying the music, she moved in rhythm with the tune, softly clapping the fingers of her folded palms. 

It was a happy start to her morning in a mundane life, where no day is the same, yet each day comes and goes, swallowing a part of her life and of herself. Life in this place, with no personal family or friends, was changing who she was, and she no longer recognized herself. (Something not uncommon amongst married women in middle-class India of the 80's and earlier.) Seeing him had brought back a sense of happy familiarity.

 

She saw him looking up at the tall building across the street where his passenger must have disappeared. She watched his posture change, probably with the anxiety of any waiting cabbie who must keep a tab on truant passengers. 

She turned up the music some more, desperate for his reaction. He was broad-shouldered with a strong back, and she could see the slight rise of his shoulder blades beneath the full-sleeved nondescript cotton shirt as he stood with his arms probably folded in front of him, yet the shoulders upright, accentuating his strong back. He had good posture, she thought, and was probably over six feet tall, with a robustness that was the hallmark of most Sikh men. His light-colored turban gave him a relaxed, casual air.

 

She felt an uncommon attraction when she saw him pull up in the black and yellow Bombay cab as she was waving the kids off to school this morning. Finding an unusual comfort in his overall appearance, which she could not define because of the perfunctory glance, she had giggled briefly, wondering if he too slurped when drinking his tea or if his mustache got wet. Since then, she had been distracted and behaving very oddly, she admitted to herself, but she couldn't help herself. 

She liked looking at him, or his back, because that was the most she had seen since that first brief glimpse of his endearing face. A quick warmth had suddenly passed over her. So she now remained at her station, hunching slightly and looking out the window at a Bombay taxi driver she had never seen before and probably would never see again. She had just received this gift of unexpected joy delivered to her door, and she would relish it as long as it would last. 

 

The loud music brought her to the present moment. She wondered what he was thinking, wondered if he was worried his Fare had done a runner? Was he, therefore, blocking out all else from his mind so that he was deaf to the music? Or was all the other morning sounds on the increasingly busy street prevented him from hearing it? 

She knew with certainty that the music could be heard on the street. In fact, she was sure they could hear it even inside the building across the street. She peered through the curtains again but could not detect any reaction from HIM. His demeanor gave away nothing. Perhaps, she thought, because she could not see his face, just his shoulders and upper body and the side of his ear and the back of his turbaned head, which looked up every now and then. 

 

Suddenly he moved forward and walked a few steps towards the building across the road. She heard someone talk to him from one of the top floors of the building. He came back momentarily towards his cab, and he was smiling now, acknowledged by his passenger. He opened the door of his cab and settled back into the driver's seat, resting his elbow on the cab window. She got a better look and noted the strong nose of his profile. She liked his face and felt that warmth once again. After a long time, she felt good in this kind of way. A certain peace pervaded her senses; she felt a surge of comforting emotion, primitive yet pristine, like sanity, washing all over her. 

 

The cabbie picked up a newspaper from somewhere inside his taxi and started to read it. Then, almost at once, he stopped, folded it, and put it slowly down as if trying to focus on something, to hear something! Her heart missed a beat, and she realized he had heard the music! She could clearly see the smile spread across his face as if mirroring her own happiness. She saw the expression on his face change as he sat back, relaxing deep into his seat; he started nodding and swaying his head to the beat of the music. 

 

"You are my everything," the voice sang, "in you my purest joys I find…." And she sang along to the swaying of his head. For the next several seconds, she had indeed found her purest joy.

 

It seemed too soon when the door opened in the back of the cab, and a man got in. The taxi driver leaned forward to start the engine. She saw his flowing white beard touch the steering wheel as the cab lurched forward. She closed her eyes, the tears streaming down her face, as she relished the short blissful moments in time, when riding on the strains of Sikh devotional music, she connected with memories of her grandfather.

Veenu Banga

copyright 2003

based on an actual incident in 1983