Attachment
The pursuit of happiness has many forms.
Today I got a call from Teekamgarh. Teekamgarh is a village in Madhya Pradesh. A village I visited a few days ago. A village I would ordinarily have no reason to visit ever in my life. Neither do I have anything personal to do with the village nor is it a tourist hot spot. But, I visited Teekamgarh a few days ago and got irrevocably connected to it.
I realised today that, when I placed that little bit of paper with my phone number in Sankhy's tiny hand, I had also placed a little piece of my heart there.
12 yr old Shikha and 10 yr old Sankhy were the younger sisters of 19yr old Anju didi, who became a Jain saadhvi(nun) on the 14th of October. That means that on that date, Anju didi sacrificed everything - wealth, beauty, relationships, temptation, her budding youth and even her name, 'Anju' to take up a frugal life of meditation and prayer to propagate Jainism. In the pursuit of Moksha - eternal happiness, she would disown her parents, her sisters, her home, her village and she would not respond if you called her by her name. She would be given a new name by her mentor guruji to mark her embarking into a new life.
Anju didi is also the protagonist of the story that the American film crew, I was accompanying, as a translator, wanted to tell.
I was happy when Shikha and Sankhy asked me for my phone number. I had already begun to realise that I would miss them. But I didn't take my feeling too seriously. I am accustomed to undoing strong feelings for people (mainly men). Sometimes, it just has to be done. I am able to relish what I can have and be happy for having those things. It takes will and practice, I guess, but I manage it somehow.
Shikha and Sankhy had made their way to me, through the crowd, during the rally that is carried out to parade the personnel who are chosen to undergo the prestigious initiation into sainthood in a caravan of chariots amidst a chaos of music blaring on loudspeakers, confetti canons and a maddening crowd of people dancing, praying, shouting and managing the traffic, all at the same time. The Jain community is proud of their saints and revere them for displaying the steel to sacrifice all worldly matters for a higher good. When Shikha and Sankhy (their sister, Anju didi was on one of the chariots too) reached near me, we had to shout above the eardrum-cracking decibels of the band music to talk to each other. This is when they asked me for my number. I sat them down on the edge of a street amid all the chaos that moved on. I shouted and asked if they had a paper and pen. They didn't. Their innocence always got to me. They were sweet, mature, well-behaved, loving, adjusting, understanding yet curious and innocent. Qualities, you rarely see in kids in the cities or anywhere else for that matter these days. Something made these kids special. I wish I could bring them back with me and raise them as my own. I know they are the kind of kids that will make me proud. Ironically, they belong to a faith that preaches to work towards disowning attachments of any kind. I am after all a complete stranger - an entirely new attachment.
During this sudden, unexpected tour into the interiors of Madhya Pradesh as I followed a motley group of Americans making a documentary film on Jain nuns, I came in touch with myself in many ways. Well, thats no surprise, considering that I, a 31 yr old slave of wordly pleasures was put face to face with this 19yr old girl who was going to give it all up, 5 days before she was going to give it all up. When I first endeavoured to befriend her, her friends and her family, it was with a clinical approach. I seemed involved but I was only doing my job. I didn't realise when matters switched from me fooling others to me fooling myself. I thought I was being clinical, but I had got involved.
During my 3 days in Teekamgarh, when we spent days in and around Anju didi's home (the one she would sacrifice and never again call her own) I didn't take a single picture. I didnt think i needed pictures. I was just doing a job here and I focussed on that. And well, the whole scenario was being shot on high def. video cameras, I didn't see the point of me taking pics on my phone camera. But, when we were on our way to Kundalpur, our next stop, which was a 7 hour road-trip away, it hit me. I was going to miss Anju didi. Now, that i knew her so closely, i regretted not having used the opportunity to capture one of those moments i had spent with her and her sisters.
At Kundalpur, when I caught Anju didi and her companion, also a nun in the making, at a distance in the crowded and noisy badebaba mandir, my eyes welled-up for joy. Now, when I wanted to click a picture, I didn't have my phone with me. I had left it back at the hotel. I requested the crew-member who stood nearest to me holding a phone in his hand, Brian, to please click me a picture with them. I placed all hope on him. Now, Brian is alright but not exactly cut out for that kind of pressure. I like him. Its just that he didn't quite come across as the 'good samaritan' kind of guy. He did click the pictures and also promised to send them. But, I am waiting for news on whether he deleted them or can send them. Fingers remain crossed.
After 2 days in Kundalpur, we travelled for 7 hours by road to get to Ashok Nagar. This is where I was reunited with the sisters. By now, I had taken lots of pictures of people, things, places everything. In Ashok Nagar, more self-realisation awaited me. Here, I was to interview the parents, who sported a brave, proud front always. But aunty-ji, as i came to call her, broke down when she saw the tears in my eyes. During an off camera moment, Uncle ji had asked me a question for a change. The first and only question posed to me on the subject. "why are you crying?". i was surprised they could see my tears this time. Usually with the lights always facing them, the interviewed can barely see my face. But this time, the setting was such that some light fell on my face too, although I sat behind the camera. I replied in candour, "i have been tearing up since days but i got caught only now" Uncle ji begain to explain that there are 2 kinds of tears - those of sorrow and those of joy. I interupted to say, "mine are out of amazement". That got aunty ji. She broke down too and allowed her tears to flow. In a few seconds, the interviewer (i was just his mouthpiece) returned after his quick break. By then, aunty ji had returned to her brave front. And me too.
In Ashok Nagar, I was also to be interpreter for the interview with the highly revered Digambar guruji, who is Anju didi's mentor. Digambar means sky-clad. This sect of saadhu's(saints) disown everything including clothes. I got to translate questions ranging from what is Jainism to why ignore the happiness that exists in life in quest for a higher happiness outside of life. I also got to translate the answers to these questions which were delivered in heavy-duty, sanskrit-hindi. I now have a fairly intimate familiarity with the belief-system, although I don't agree with it.
When the girls called, I was on my desk in my multinational advertising agency in bustling Mumbai. Their happy, chirpy voices transported me back to that parallel universe I had spent 10 days in. When I hung up, I started to think how it felt nice that these girls loved me so much almost like I was their older sister. I am happy to play that role in their lives. I began to think of how I can be a constant part of their lives. Maybe simply by talking to them once every 2 weeks. Suddenly, a jarring thought crept in. Shikha and Sankhy would never be able to make a phone call to their own didi ever again.
Today I got a call from Teekamgarh. Teekamgarh is a village in Madhya Pradesh. A village I visited a few days ago. A village I would ordinarily have no reason to visit ever in my life. Neither do I have anything personal to do with the village nor is it a tourist hot spot. But, I visited Teekamgarh a few days ago and got irrevocably connected to it.
I realised today that, when I placed that little bit of paper with my phone number in Sankhy's tiny hand, I had also placed a little piece of my heart there.
12 yr old Shikha and 10 yr old Sankhy were the younger sisters of 19yr old Anju didi, who became a Jain saadhvi(nun) on the 14th of October. That means that on that date, Anju didi sacrificed everything - wealth, beauty, relationships, temptation, her budding youth and even her name, 'Anju' to take up a frugal life of meditation and prayer to propagate Jainism. In the pursuit of Moksha - eternal happiness, she would disown her parents, her sisters, her home, her village and she would not respond if you called her by her name. She would be given a new name by her mentor guruji to mark her embarking into a new life.
Anju didi is also the protagonist of the story that the American film crew, I was accompanying, as a translator, wanted to tell.
I was happy when Shikha and Sankhy asked me for my phone number. I had already begun to realise that I would miss them. But I didn't take my feeling too seriously. I am accustomed to undoing strong feelings for people (mainly men). Sometimes, it just has to be done. I am able to relish what I can have and be happy for having those things. It takes will and practice, I guess, but I manage it somehow.
Shikha and Sankhy had made their way to me, through the crowd, during the rally that is carried out to parade the personnel who are chosen to undergo the prestigious initiation into sainthood in a caravan of chariots amidst a chaos of music blaring on loudspeakers, confetti canons and a maddening crowd of people dancing, praying, shouting and managing the traffic, all at the same time. The Jain community is proud of their saints and revere them for displaying the steel to sacrifice all worldly matters for a higher good. When Shikha and Sankhy (their sister, Anju didi was on one of the chariots too) reached near me, we had to shout above the eardrum-cracking decibels of the band music to talk to each other. This is when they asked me for my number. I sat them down on the edge of a street amid all the chaos that moved on. I shouted and asked if they had a paper and pen. They didn't. Their innocence always got to me. They were sweet, mature, well-behaved, loving, adjusting, understanding yet curious and innocent. Qualities, you rarely see in kids in the cities or anywhere else for that matter these days. Something made these kids special. I wish I could bring them back with me and raise them as my own. I know they are the kind of kids that will make me proud. Ironically, they belong to a faith that preaches to work towards disowning attachments of any kind. I am after all a complete stranger - an entirely new attachment.
During this sudden, unexpected tour into the interiors of Madhya Pradesh as I followed a motley group of Americans making a documentary film on Jain nuns, I came in touch with myself in many ways. Well, thats no surprise, considering that I, a 31 yr old slave of wordly pleasures was put face to face with this 19yr old girl who was going to give it all up, 5 days before she was going to give it all up. When I first endeavoured to befriend her, her friends and her family, it was with a clinical approach. I seemed involved but I was only doing my job. I didn't realise when matters switched from me fooling others to me fooling myself. I thought I was being clinical, but I had got involved.
During my 3 days in Teekamgarh, when we spent days in and around Anju didi's home (the one she would sacrifice and never again call her own) I didn't take a single picture. I didnt think i needed pictures. I was just doing a job here and I focussed on that. And well, the whole scenario was being shot on high def. video cameras, I didn't see the point of me taking pics on my phone camera. But, when we were on our way to Kundalpur, our next stop, which was a 7 hour road-trip away, it hit me. I was going to miss Anju didi. Now, that i knew her so closely, i regretted not having used the opportunity to capture one of those moments i had spent with her and her sisters.
At Kundalpur, when I caught Anju didi and her companion, also a nun in the making, at a distance in the crowded and noisy badebaba mandir, my eyes welled-up for joy. Now, when I wanted to click a picture, I didn't have my phone with me. I had left it back at the hotel. I requested the crew-member who stood nearest to me holding a phone in his hand, Brian, to please click me a picture with them. I placed all hope on him. Now, Brian is alright but not exactly cut out for that kind of pressure. I like him. Its just that he didn't quite come across as the 'good samaritan' kind of guy. He did click the pictures and also promised to send them. But, I am waiting for news on whether he deleted them or can send them. Fingers remain crossed.
After 2 days in Kundalpur, we travelled for 7 hours by road to get to Ashok Nagar. This is where I was reunited with the sisters. By now, I had taken lots of pictures of people, things, places everything. In Ashok Nagar, more self-realisation awaited me. Here, I was to interview the parents, who sported a brave, proud front always. But aunty-ji, as i came to call her, broke down when she saw the tears in my eyes. During an off camera moment, Uncle ji had asked me a question for a change. The first and only question posed to me on the subject. "why are you crying?". i was surprised they could see my tears this time. Usually with the lights always facing them, the interviewed can barely see my face. But this time, the setting was such that some light fell on my face too, although I sat behind the camera. I replied in candour, "i have been tearing up since days but i got caught only now" Uncle ji begain to explain that there are 2 kinds of tears - those of sorrow and those of joy. I interupted to say, "mine are out of amazement". That got aunty ji. She broke down too and allowed her tears to flow. In a few seconds, the interviewer (i was just his mouthpiece) returned after his quick break. By then, aunty ji had returned to her brave front. And me too.
In Ashok Nagar, I was also to be interpreter for the interview with the highly revered Digambar guruji, who is Anju didi's mentor. Digambar means sky-clad. This sect of saadhu's(saints) disown everything including clothes. I got to translate questions ranging from what is Jainism to why ignore the happiness that exists in life in quest for a higher happiness outside of life. I also got to translate the answers to these questions which were delivered in heavy-duty, sanskrit-hindi. I now have a fairly intimate familiarity with the belief-system, although I don't agree with it.
When the girls called, I was on my desk in my multinational advertising agency in bustling Mumbai. Their happy, chirpy voices transported me back to that parallel universe I had spent 10 days in. When I hung up, I started to think how it felt nice that these girls loved me so much almost like I was their older sister. I am happy to play that role in their lives. I began to think of how I can be a constant part of their lives. Maybe simply by talking to them once every 2 weeks. Suddenly, a jarring thought crept in. Shikha and Sankhy would never be able to make a phone call to their own didi ever again.
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