Echoes of Childhood: My Earliest Reminiscences of Varanasi

                         

My earliest memories of Varanasi are painted with the hues of awe and admiration, all centered around Bade Mamaji, an esteemed doctor with an imposing presence and an endearing smile. At five years old, I had just begun to grasp the world around me, and the trip to Varanasi was a journey into an enchanted realm, with Bade Mamaji as the grand wizard at its heart.

Bade Mamaji was a figure of splendor and grace. His stout frame and dignified demeanor commanded respect and fascination. I would often find myself peeking from behind the curtains, my small eyes wide with wonder and fear as I watched him come and go. His movements were a study in elegance—each step measured, each gesture deliberate. He carried an aura that was almost magical, and his most enchanting smile would light up his face, prompting me to drop my guard. But then his solemn, deep voice would speak, and a shiver of awe would remind me of the reverence he commanded.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Bade Mamaji called all the children into a dimly lit room. There, for the first time I saw a black and white television, and he showed me my first cartoon movie featuring Mickey Mouse. The flickering images on the screen were nothing short of mesmerizing. I felt his gaze on me, ensuring that I was captivated by the magic unfolding before my eyes. Perhaps he sought the smile of contentment on my face, a smile that mirrored his own joy in sharing this moment with us. Those eyes, full of wisdom and kindness, left an indelible mark on my heart.

The mornings in Varanasi began with a ritual that I came to cherish—the breakfast table, impeccably laid out with a fork and spoon in their precise places. It was a sight to behold, and it inspired in me a desire to emulate such sophistication. I watched Bade Mamaji as he navigated the table with an effortless grace, his movements precise and poised. To this day, my dining etiquette is a tribute to those early lessons in elegance and refinement.

The adventures didn’t end there. Bade Mamaji and the entire family would hop into his pristine white Ambassador and venture into the bustling streets of Varanasi. The cacophony of sounds, the vibrant colors, and the tantalizing aromas of street food created a sensory feast. We would sample the delicious offerings, from crispy kachoris to syrupy jalebis, and each bite was a celebration of the city’s rich culinary heritage.

These memories of my childhood have enriched me profoundly. Bade Mamaji’s influence has been like the North Star, guiding all of us subtly but surely through life’s various twists and turns. His presence was a beacon of wisdom and grace, teaching us the importance of sophistication, kindness, and joy in the little moments.

Thank you, Bade Mamaji, for being the cornerstone of our family, for guiding us with your silent strength, and for making my childhood an enchanted journey. Your legacy continues to shape us as we carry your lessons with us always.

The Morning Ritual

 

In a small bungalow nestled in the gated community of a small city, there lived an old woman who was gracefully tottering in her eighth decade of a well-lived life. Her days were spent in the company of memories, a ruffled notebook filled with her musings, a small transistor by her pillow,  and the comforting routine she had etched for herself over the last few years. However, amidst the ataraxia of her staggering life, one constant gave her immense happiness each morning - the gentle tap on her windowpane.

It was her son, Sijji, a man in his sixties whose heartbeat resonated with his mother’s love. A perfect symphony of devotion that knew no bounds. Every morning, before the chirping of the birds began, he would rush through the small muddy green path leading to his mother’s windowpane. With a child’s smile on his wrinkling face, he would softly tap on the windowpane, patiently waiting for his ‘maa’s’ response. Yes, his ‘maa’! 

Maa would walk to the window, her gait now a little slower but her love undiminished. Gazing hard with her failing eyes, she would see his silhouette outlined against the misty window pane. With a smile of anticipation, she would slightly push open the window to greet her son. His face would light up in the fleeting darkness of the dawn as he would watch the window opening. As quickly as he would stretch out his hands holding a thermos brimming with fragrant, steaming tea, it would be taken inside the window as quickly with trembling hands. 

There was a melody of glances: one filled with affection and the other full of love and gratitude.

There was hardly any exchange of words, the glances sufficed. He would then hurry back to his house to finish his morning chores. Maa would stagger back to her bed grasping her thermos close to her, feeling its warmth seeping  into her aching bones. 

It was her “morning ritual.” She would sit comfortably on her bed, staring lovingly at the thermos. Afterall, it contained her cup of joy! She would place her favorite teacup on the bedside table, gently pouring her tea into it. Each sip was a sip of love, bringing her solace and contentment. That one cup would bring so many cherished and shared memories back to her. Her sips of tea were never alone. Sometimes, they were accompanied by smiles and at times with sighs. 

There were some rare mornings when Sijji would be delayed or preoccupied with his personal obligations. On such mornings, Maa would anxiously glance at the clock, waiting for the familiar tap on the windowpane. her heart sinking with each passing minute. She would be worried for him because she knew her son too well. He would never forget his “maa’s favorite morning tea ritual” without a reason. Lying on her bed with folded hands, she would slowly start murmuring a prayer for his well-being-being.

Sijji, would also be restless because he knew his mother would be waiting. At the same time, he also knew that his mother would understand. As soon as he would finish his important work, he would rush to his maa feeling flustered and apologetic. "I’m sorry, Maa," he would say,"I got held up at work."Maa would smile , her eyes brimming with understanding. "It’s alright," she would reassure him. Her words always soothed his troubled soul. "I know it was something very important." 

Yet, even in those moments, there was an unbreakable bond that held them together - a bond forged in countless cups of tea and shared laughter, in whispered secrets and silent understanding. In the quiet moments of their morning ritual, amidst the backdrop of chirping birds and rustling leaves, Maa and Sijji found solace in each other’s presence. They thought it would last forever. 

The dreaded day arrived when Maa had to leave her worldly abode. The morning ritual suddenly came to a halt. Sijji stared at the closed windowpane where he had spent countless mornings tapping. He knew it would never open again, yet the child in him hoped to see his Maa again. He stood there lost in a sea of memories.

The thermos flask, which had become synonymous with comfort and connection, lay untouched in one corner. Now, it became a cruel reminder of the void left behind. Tears blurred his vision as he longed to share just one more moment, to feel her hand in his and hear her gentle voice one last time. But all he was left with was the echo of her laughter and the faint aroma of her favorite tea lingering in the air.

Restlessness: A Cosmic Dance!

                                                                                

                                                                                

The other day, I happened to be present at a get together. The elites and all the big names were present there. The party was in full swing, with people chattering away. Amidst roars of laughter, clinking of glasses, and seemingly happy demeanors there was something amiss. I was sitting at one corner enjoying my humble lemonade observing all the frivolities of the evening.

Everything appeared to be perfect! It reckoned to me that each face present there had a story to tell. In one room, there were several stories waiting to unfold. I noticed people who were happily intermingling with each other would suddenly become quiet and lost when left alone even for a minute. It was a contrasting situation. It made me wonder how a  person who was so happy and outgoing a few minutes ago was suddenly so somber? What was it? 

The following day, on my way to work; I again started observing people on the road. Each one seemed to be in their own frenzy. Rushing to get somewhere! The urgency of being somewhere and doing something was all left in their purpose of “being”. I was also one of them. But, this thought kept lingering with me the entire day. I was looking for answers to questions I  was not even sure of. 

On Saturdays, I usually visit a temple. The temple was bustling with devotees. The priest was chanting the mantras. People standing with folded hands waiting impatiently for the priest to finish. Husbands nudging at their wives to leave early. Children fidgeting endlessly waiting for the ordeal to end so that they could play. Again, I witnessed the same “hurriedness.”

At one corner of the temple, was a small shack. There lived an old hermit. I thought of paying a visit to him. I knew it was my mind urging me to see if the hermit who had renounced the world also had the same kind of restlessness which I was observing from the past couple of days. I walked toward his shack. To my delight, he was sitting on the footsteps doing his rounds of rosary.  I did not want to disturb him nor did I want him to see me. Therefore, I stood behind the large peepal tree watching him. His fingers were mechanically racing through rosary beads while he gave a fleeting glance towards the commotion happening around him. He too seemed to be in a hurry to finish his rounds of “japas”. Again, the same “hurriedness” but of a different kind.

I left the “place of answers” with a confused as well as an intrigued mind. I realized the rich, the common man, the priest, and the hermit all had one thing in common. It was the underlying simmering restlessness. I could understand and relate to the common man’s woes but not that of the rich and the hermit. One had everything to make his life comfortable while the other was devoid of any desires. 

That night, I stood at my window gazing at the vast expanse of the sky. It looked so serene and quiet. But was it really so? It was a cosmic illusion and deception. Perhaps, here too the ‘maya’ was at its play. Its tranquility was a cosmic illusion or if I may call it a cosmic deception only to divulge a camouflaged cosmic mayhem later. The space was also buzzing with endless cosmic activities. The “cosmic restlessness” pervades the entire universe.

This left me with one question which was perhaps also an answer to the question to which I  have been seeking an answer for years.  The ultimate goal of everyone is to attain “moksha” or salvation from the cycle of birth and death including the universe. What does the death or termination of the cycle of birth and death mean? It supposedly means attainment of ultimate peace. A respite from the “chaotic hurriedness and restlessness.’ 

I am no authority on the subject. I cannot vouch for others but I came to understand that till you are part of this “hustle and bustle” there is no escape from the mundanity of it. The pursuit of peace and spirituality by a hermit also causes the same kind of restlessness as the rich man trying to build his empire because both of them are pursuing their respective goals. The nature of goals might be different. Even the journey may not be the same. But, the very fact that one is trying to accomplish something in itself instills a cacophony of emotions, and when emotions come into play there is little scope left for perpetual peace.

I realized that most of the pain that we inflict upon us is because we are desperately trying to silence the inherent hurriedness and restlessness of our being. Let go of that desperation. We cannot stop it nor can we control it. But, if we learn to accept it, then I feel most of our miseries will not seem miserable at all!  

I kept gazing at the sky trying to fathom the perplexities of the magnificent creation. A thought tiptoed silently into my mind. It said, “Dear, do you really want to experience moksha? I answered with the same quietness “yes”, It whispered, “control all your emotions such that nothing perplexes you anymore. Just “be” in the state of “being” 

Remember, you are part of the great cosmic dance. Dance till it lasts!  

I sighed deeply and  walked back to the room remembering the great saying in the Bhagwat Geeta, “कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन। मा कर्मफलहेतुर्भूर्मा ते सङ्गोऽस्त्वकर्मणि.”  Today, I had a different interpretation of this shloka. I felt it told me to be attached to everything around me as it was my cosmic duty and at the same time learn to be detached from it all. Could attachment and detachment co-exist? Maybe, they could!