Joyful mourners
Seems this time that I have memories of the "clean up Vrindavan" activist stage of consciousness that I was going through -- this time of year in different years.
The poem at the end I have posted before; it has some autobiographical relevance as I am back to where I was before going through that crisis.
Facebook Memories from May 7.
2016
Small victory. As I was returning home walking through Banke Bihari bazaar, with the usual honking of horns. I have to say, I think that this is really awful. Cars are bad, but the honking makes it worse. Horns were made to be used at sufficient distance that a vehicle traveling at a fair speed can give warning to pedestrians or other vehicles. In a crowd of pedestrians, they simply create a mass of anxiety. In fact, they are for creating anxiety. Speed, the hurry people are in, is meant to increase the general level of anxiety.
Why do e-rickshaws even need horns? They don't travel at speeds much greater than a cycle rickshaw? And most of the honking is bloody pointless anyway, since a blocked road is blocked and is not going to get unblocked by honking. The person blocking the road, nine times out of ten does not want to be stuck there either.
Anyway, an e-rickshaw kept honking behind me. Finally I turned around and said, "Do you really have to make so much noise. You could just say Radhe Radhe. It was always good enough before. You are right next to the people you want to warn. Just say Radhe Radhe and everyone will be happy."
The people sitting in the back were impressed. I noticed that the driver said Radhe Radhe a few times before getting stuck again 30 or so meters down the road. Then he pressed down on the button again. But the passengers told him to say Radhe Radhe!!
One at a time, folks. One at a time.
But these young outsiders with the blaring Bollywood boomboxes. That should be ticketed. They should ticket people. People don't change their habits without carrots and sticks. The carrot should be a better environment. The stick should be tickets.
2014: Overnight bus to Haridwar.
There are certain days in India when one should not travel. It seemed like yesterday was going to be one of them. Weddings for Hindus can only take place at certain auspicious moments and this was one of them.
At least for the people getting married. For people conducting ordinary business it can be a little troublesome. Traffic jams everywhere. Weddings were literally going on everywhere. Bridegroom parties with bands, hotels brightly lit with strung lights, trying to outdo each other for who has the biggest affair.
Besides which, it seems like the Mathura bridge over the Yamuna is closed, because cars headed to the other side were being rerouted to the Parikrama Marg in Vrindavan to cross at Pani Ghat. Our bus also had to come all the way back to Vrindavan from Mathura.
So I was thinking, this is going to be a long night. I even started writing a song, "It's gonna be a long, long night..."
But then the bus took a new route along the expressway and then through good roads in Noida. The road from Ghaziabad to Muzaffarnagar has now also been fully completed, so most of the ride was smooth. I could even sleep a bit since there was enough room and there was none of this constant stopping for speed bumps and potholes. So I am now in Rishikesh, had my bath and I am ready for breakfast. Radhe Shyam!
2014
Men are so necessarily mad, that not to be mad would amount to another form of madness. -Pascal
You cannot make a flower blossom by shaking it. Tagore.
The gods of this earth
The gods of this earth
dragged me bound and chained
to the battlefield of choice.
Amidst the noise and rain,
they laughed and said,
“Behold the armies here aligned;
survey now what will be lost,
and what, if aught, you'll gain.”
My feet were motionless,
locked in the hardened mortar
of my dharma.
I rattled my hapless chain.
The gods cackled and shrieked, “Look:
There is no worldly goal, no aim,
no task before God but dharma:
Do your duty, day after day,
There’s no Sabbath, so claim no rest.
There is no rest to claim.”
Another whispered hoarsely—“Yes!
Stick to your wretched dharma,
given you by Nature, God and Guru!
There is only hope for you
if you unravel your hopes:
For these are the binding ropes.”
I strained to see the Vraja fields,
once held up to me as hope.
“Will I get this from my dharma?”
I cried. And they said, “Nope.”
“Surrender!” urged the worldly gods.
“Do your karma! Take your karma!
Fear for sankar of the varna!
Worry ‘bout the kula dharma!
"Oho! Show your stuff to them
who disdain your God.
Love means you’re not a stain
on your guru's spotless raiment.
Love means you take the pain,
even when there’s nothing
in this world or the next to gain.”
And, as an afterthought, they said:
"Save yourself from shame."
“Make your choice, make your choice!” They egg'd.
“The choice has long been made,” I said.
“It has been made by my concrete boots,
and by this tree with both upward
and downward roots,
for I have eaten of its
shrivelled, lifeless fruits.”
[**This cannot be! This cannot be!
Did I have no real choice
that would have set me free?]
A little heroism, Arjun,
a little less moping in corners.
Everywhere that heroes die,
there are always joyful mourners.
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