Homeward Bound

Nov 25th, 2005- The drive from Trans Indus (an eco-friendly residential complex) to the Valley School (a Krishnamurti school near Bangalore, India) takes only 15 minutes. It is a drive that takes you through the countryside, small villages, open fields and past a few man made structures. This morning it has been cloudy mostly with the sun peeping in occassionally through narrow breaks in the dark clouds. The passing rain had brought down the temperature and there is an unusual chill in the air. One felt a bit unprotected without a jacket as the cool air came in through the open vents of the car. The drive is uncomfortable on the potholed country road that meanders through plantation land and open fields. The reduced speed of the car is a blessing in disguise. When one slows down, accidently or purposely, there is a possibility of observing more closely and carefully, the numerous 'insignificant' events unfolding just beyond the windshield - events that are quickly memorised and forgotten. Who wants to remember a dead buffalo on the roadside? It is too disgusting a sight to hold in memory for too long. We have other more important things to attend to today. "Give us better roads, we want to get there quickly!" is the hot slogan. The slow drive coupled with a certain degree of alertness, reveals to the eager observer, the beauty of the surrounding countryside. The landscape could very easily be an impressionist painter's delight- the natural undulations covered with greenery, the smooth but rock hard hills in a distance, a flock of birds in the sky, cows grazing busily on a grassy patch of land, little ponds reflecting the gray cloudy sky above and a dog sitting dangerously close to the muddy rain-damaged road, oblivious of the approaching danger in the form of metal-on-wheels. Life and death seem to be walking together, hand in hand like old friends. A little pup comes sprinting down the road. I brake and look around for that 'stupid' bitch. Why cant she tell her pups to be more careful? This busy lorry-driven road is hardly a place for juniors to discover life, I tell myself. Further on, one is greeted by a sight that is well-known to serious researchers of life aka biologists. A small white stork perched on top of a cow feeding on vegetation. The bird is looking for fleas that torment the bovine feeding machine. It pecks away happily, benefiting itself as well as the large grazer in theprocess. It is these kinds of symbiotic relationships that make up the web of life. As I take the left turn on Kanakpura road, I am instantly greeted by the honking of a paranoid motorist atleast a hundred yards away. He quickly fades away from my rear view car mirror. Thank god for fast cars! As I approach the school turning, I notice a huge pile of garbage dumped along the roadside by ignorant truckers employed by the Bangalore Mahanagara Palike. Thinking that I have seen the last of this man-made horror, I happily step on the gas pedal only to be greeted by another ghastly sight of garbage piled on the side of the road. Somebody had tried to burn it but the weather gods did'nt let him. There was half-burnt matter scattered all over the place, made of stuff discarded by our so-called civilized city dwellers living not too far away from this otherwise beautiful countryside. A few more turns of the wheel brings me to the dead buffalo. Did it die eating toxic city waste? Who cares? I have to quickly get to the Krishnamurti (hereafter refered to only as 'K') Study Centre at the far end of the Valley school campus. The Friday morning meeting usually brings together a group of individuals interested in finding out about K's message to the sorrowing world. He is no more (having succumbed to pancreatic cancer in 1986) but there are still many who like to read his books or watch a video of talks that he gave way back in the hippie era. Those were really the happening days. Drugs, rock & roll and an insatiable hunger for spiritual knowledge. The America of the 50s, 60s & 70s saw the coming in waves of such exotica as Maharishi MaheshYogi, Ustad Ravi Shankar and his peculiar Indian musical instrument called sitar (to which many including the Beatles were attracted), the inimitable Acharya Rajneesh with his funny discourses on the path to enlightenment, and the great guru of hatha-yoga, Shri B.K.S.Iyengar.The chinese invasion of Tibet, brought the Tibetans with their buddhist culture out of the himalayan closet. It was also the time when some back-bencher in a physics class at Caltech shouted, "Surely you are joking, Mr Feynman". The world laughed at the 'jokes' of the physicists, the rocket scientists, the politicians (incl J.F.K & Kruschev)....laughing all the way to the moon! As I was taking my first toddler steps, somewhere unbeknownst to me, mankind had already taken a giant Bruce Lee-ish leap. I wonder who was stronger, Lee or Armstrong? Also on the silver-screen, Mehmood's Padosan was a rib-tickling laugh-a-thon. Ofcourse Vietnam was no laughing matter. Flower power was a calculated Gandhianish reaction to war. Peace lovers cried. The world heaved a sigh of relief when the guns finally went silent in that chaotic war torn part of Asia. The Dalai Lama smiled. And so did that little Romanian gymnast, Nadia Commanecci. It was all a heady cocktail-mix of neo-spiritualism, controlled pragmatism, desire for perfection and a reckless unleashing of technological prowess. Thirty years later the world has'nt changed much. Somebody at the Study Centre meeting said, be choicelessly aware of all this; just be attentive to the movement of the psyche. This is the subtle art of meditation as K had often said. Choicelessness is not a mantra. It is real meditation. There is no naming, no choosing, no desire for possession, no wanting to be something, no desire to be with God or the desire to take shelter in some religious ideology. All these are the conscious movements of the self that keep man ensnared in the fishing-net of his own creation. The mind is the trap and also the door to freedom. The meeting ends with these wise words. It is 9am and the group heads off to the dining hall for a well deserved breakfast consisting of steamy hot idlis and chutney. The discussion now changes tracks and heads off into more familiar territories such as cricket and banarasi paan. If only Saurav had read Krishnamurti, he would still be doing the ODI circuit. You wonder how? Cricket is all about awareness & attention, the lack of which allows the ball to find its way past the willow and on to the stumps. We know Bruce Lee also read K and brought some of his philosophy into Kung Fu. After ensuring that there was enough coffee in the belly, moi and the study center in-charge walk over to the office to discuss more important practical matters. She tells me that we must create a good Krishnamurti poster for the colleges and universities of Karnataka. We must take the message of K to the younger generation. I am thinking aloud, "Will the youngsters give time to all this? Are'nt they more interested in bolly-wood style romances and methods of making a quick buck in this fast paced consumerist world?". As if reading my mind, she pounces on me like an experienced cat, "Money, romance and family life is all ok but if they hear the message of K, they may get inspired enough to begin an inward journey of enquiry and self-realization". We conclude that they need both - an outer social stability coupled with an inner movement of the mind that wants to understand Truth. After all this is what comes from our great Indian spiritual heritage, no?. This is what the Buddha had attempted to do centuries ago and what the ancient Upanishadic texts also point to. The Buddha had said, "Be a light to yourself". K is saying the same thing. Find out for yourself without the distorting screen of tradition and take a walk through life unburdened by the past. With that peculiar K-ish state of mind, I slowly walk back to my car which earlier in the day had been my vehicle of observation. It is time to go home now and ponder on the meaning of existence on this wonderful life giving planet of ours.