what's it that you want your life to amount to?

taken from stars (post-in-draft; then again, aren't they all?):

11/23/2009

is a life even supposed to amount to something? can it amount to something?

I guess this is might be one of those meaning of life questions -- it's one of those things that I sidestep. I've accepted some sort of thought on it, but it's something that I don't usually think about much, because I don't find it consequential to daily life. Something like religion.

It's just right now I'm starting to wonder. What am I doing with myself? What am I doing? Why am I doing what I'm doing? What do I want? How ironic a situation it is to not know what you want. Or maybe I know what I want but I've just buried it in me somewhere and hence can no longer find it.

I live my life feeling. I see a picture of a girl..

taken from stars (blog where i'd started writing other things); post-in-draft:

11/9/2009

I live my life feeling. I see a picture of a girl with a bloated stomach, my hand moves to my own.

I want to cry when I think of Gandhi. I cannot think of him any more...

...but was he just human? Should I accept him for his whole, his flaws?

What I want to do

-live (work) in Amsterdam

-work in rural India

-work in the African continent

-fashion; design

-design MechE like things for extreme affordability

-learn Spanish, French, Arabic, Urdu, Hindi, Sanskrit, Dutch, Mandarin, Bengali, Punjabi

-study poetry

-make a documentary of impact

-move a movement

-go mountain biking, hiking trekking, surfing

-work as a waitress or shop staff or etc.

-bring better technology to farming

-do something about the urban poor

-do something about education, schools

-make music; learn Hindustani vocal

-start a Gaelic football team at Stanford

-be an actress; do drama

I visited a friend and teacher of mine; I wanted to see if I could learn some dance from her during my month in Chennai. After catching up on the past year and eating milk sweets and pakoras, as I was getting ready to leave, her daughter came visiting.

I'd certainly heard the descriptor "sparkling eyes" before, but never had I met someone whose eyes sparkled as much as Jyotsna Aunty's did. 

They drew me in, and before we even got the chance to exchange the regular pleasantries, I had already asked her the question that had been on my mind that day: what exactly does yoga mean?

"Yoga has to do with the mind."

"Yoga is the mind -- it is mindfulness. It's not weight-loss, it's not getting fit, it's not about the body at all. Ayurveda may be about the body. But yoga -- yoga is about being aware. And with complete awareness (of the body and more) comes natural physical fitness (which is often viewed as the purpose of yoga). But it's not a cause-effect thing, no, she said. It's a cycle. 

Yoga remains about the mind, and thus involves the breath above all else.

She learned dance when she was younger, and so I asked her what the connection between dance and yoga are. "Dance IS yoga!"

"Push yourself. Take one step, one thattadavu or any basic step. And do it for 30 minutes. or 40 minutes. Do it in different tempos, do it in different talas. And focus entirely on it. 100%. Push yourself. It's incredibly hard. Do it without stopping! You have to go beyond! 

"And it's so beautiful! It's not beautiful to watch and it's not the dancer that is beautiful. But it makes me feel beautiful. and it makes you feel beautiful. And it creates beauty!"

These were the golden words. Creating -- revealing -- inherent beauty. The sense of beauty that simply is. The beauty that is revealed when you really push the mind. The beauty that comes when thinking ceases. When the mind is completely aware.

Whether it's dancing, whether it's swimming, whether it's an asana, whether it's breathing. Whether it's eating or it's talking, whether it's brushing your teeth or whether it's running a marathon, Push Beyond. Dedicate 100% of your awareness to it. Fully engage. And only beauty is. 

Listened to a RadioLab podcast on "choice." Case study on Elliot, incapable of making choice; discovered that the tumour which had affected his brain had cut him off emotionally. Rationality is good, but need that emotional drive; we can't be purely rational.

WNYC: RadioLab: Choice

...more later.

life is beautiful

I went to Dr. Dewan's house today with my sister, and we got a ride back from a couple that had also been visiting her. The husband was American, and the wife a Peruvian lady. She spoke with an accent, and smiled a lot. The wrinkles on her face betrayed the sparkle in her eyes.

We found out later in the car that she had gone to Juliard, been a classical dancer originally. She'd grown up in Lima and learnt the art from retired Russian dancers! It sounded so romantic to me; I tried imagining her, as a young woman, arriving in New York for the first time. As she talked about her first impression of New York, the fond memory surrounded her - the excitement of leaving home for the first time; away from parents; coming to America; to New York city! What an alive city. She met her husband at a party in New York, he was studying at Columbia at the time. They had both only gone to the party casually (imagine if one or the other hadn't?). Life is funny sometimes. Chance plays.

Then: "Life is beautiful." The charm with which she spoke those words, made me remember all over that it was. "Enjoy it. Enjoy life while you have it. Look all around you, there's all this beauty." A smile. "There are all these pessimistic people, thinking things are falling apart... but look; it's beautiful." Her vibrance, her vibrancy for life, is refreshing; we're decades apart, I'm young, but she's vibrant; I start to feel the vibrancy I know is in there, looking past the mist, thank you. Her husband, then added "Yes, things are falling apart (refering to the state of the economy), but I'm still happy." Then she motions "It's beautiful; like, look, those trees!" You just have to open your eyes, live, to see the beauty.

कुछ ख्यालों

जिसको मेरी फ़िक्र नही, मैं उसका क्या करूँ?

मैं शायद थोडी सी पगली सी हूँ - अपनी दुनिया में खोई रहती हूँ। लेकिन जैसे John Henessy कहते हैं, "There's more in you." मुझमे और है। और अगर मैं देना चाहती हूँ, और कोई लेना नही चाहता मेरे लाख कोशिशों के बावजूद, थो फ़िर मैं क्या करूँ? उसको रहने देने के अलावा, मेरे पास और कोई रास्ता ही नही है।

मुझे शौक है कवितों का, गानों का, नाचने का। दिन में ख़्वाबों देखने का, इश्क भरी लव्जों का।

Diana, God Bless You.

(first time fingers to keypad. i'd like to edit at some point.)

My back is fractured in two places. The doctor intimated I may have osteoporosis. And I was summoned unexpectedly for a bunch of blood tests... and a 24-hour pee-in-a-bottle-test-during-the-first-week-of-classes. I have a physics final exam for last semester to schedule and take some time at the end of next week. And there's an MUN conference I'm involved with at the same time. Oh, and I have to study for the physics exam. There I was lamenting in misery on my way to buy a trashcan (to use as an icebox for the urine storage XD)...

When I noticed a huddled form curled up on the sidewalk. I couldn't make out the person's gender, for the coat covered everything. Except for the bare hands. They were bare. in single-digit fahrenheit weather.

Was this some kind of new protest? We'd had sleepouts in fall; maybe this was something similar. There are a couple of odd ones around in universities... ---WAIT!! what's wrong with me? that's a ridiculous thought.

I had no idea if the human was alive or not, or if help was needed. Cement feels colder too. Oh, did I mention the walking stick protruding from under the curled up person? Maybe they'd fallen down and no one had come by to help them up. Or maybe it was a fellow student. Maybe it was someone homeless. Well, a homeless person would know of the shelters and would know the ins and outs of the city. but what if they were injured? What if they couldn't move to a shelter, to a warmer place?

Before I knew it, I'd walked past the form, and I felt guilty.

The only thought that didn't run through my head in that split second before the guilt set in was... what if they were too afraid to be in a shelter? Shelter's aren't nice places, I've heard. Some are in withdrawal, some are newly-released convicts, some are......  and some are university drop-outs. What I mean is when you think of a homeless person, yes, you know they're people just like you are, but the meaning of that often fails to be felt in the heart. Until I heard that some of the homeless include people who were at one point in exactly my position -- in university. but times get tough, things disappear, and before you know it, you're out on the street. that's my second -- no, third -- -hand understanding, at least. 

And that I'd already walked past the freezing human worried me -- yes, that the person might be in dire need of help, and also that -- what was this! -- I wasn't stopping immediately to help?

I was afraid. I didn't know what to do. I decided I'd pick up my trashcan. And hopefully, the person would be gone by then. But if not, that was evidence enough that they were incapable of moving. 

--

15 minutes later, Diane was struggling to get up. "Do you need help? Excuse me, do you need help?" I gave her a hand. I worried briefly about an STD passing through hand-contact. Don't be an unfeeling idiot, Daksha! Her scraggly blond hair fell in front of her clear eyes as she swayed. Thoughts of my weak back were far from mind as heart gave her both my hands to pull her up. She clung to the lamppost. Her walking stick in hand, fell down, and I picked it up, and it fell down. Oh no! Please, please be okay! A bit of grin played around her lips. Mildly wild. I was a little afraid she'd club me over if I bent and picked up her walking stick again. Daksha, you're being stunningly ridiculous! 

She wanted to go home. She'd been sleeping for 3 years. home was in branford (a couple of towns over). She was going to walk home. And suddenly, fear overcame her -- I don't want them to get me! Are they going to be there? I'm scared. 

-No, there's nothing to be scared about. I so dearly wanted to say I'd make it okay. That she had nothing to worry about. But I felt like a child. What help did I have to offer? And why should she listen to me -- a mere child who hadn't seen half the harshness that she'd experienced?...

(Because I still had hope?)

Do you want to go to a shelter?

-No! I want to go home. I know I don't look so good. 

I wanted to say, no, you are beautiful! But I wasn't sure if she'd understand what I meant. I'm not sure I can explain what I mean even now. But I didn't want her to think I was mocking her in the least. I was afraid my eyes would betray my hesitation in unchartered territory, and I was afraid she might mistake it for malice. 

She continued: I haven't slept in so long

-I thought you slept for 3 years.

-Oh no, I've been dead for three years. I never said I'd slept for three years.

-I really want to help you. I really do. Can I help you get somewhere? Do you want to go indoors?

-They won't let me. Even her! (random stranger-pointing, i think) Plus they'll get me!

Was she a criminal? Was she abused? I had no idea. I tried talking in the same abstract way as she was... Maybe I could intuitively communicate without being able to abstract my understanding of her. 

-Are they going to be there? I'm really scared.

a distorted face. tears. a hug.

Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was that it didn't matter. But it took a while for the stench of alcohol to reach me. I called a couple of friends. And mentioned that I "didn't know what she was on."

-I'm not on anything!

But the gist was to find her a shelter. And so she started walking with her walking stick. hobbling around the lamppost. took a couple of steps. And i asked if she's be able to make it home? And she said No. She walked the width of the sidewalk and we leaned against the glass window of the Educated Burgher. 

I humored her with an abandoned glove on the floor that she wanted. Actually, no, I made her walk to it (the width of the sidewalk), and when she said it was hers, I asked if she wanted it -- till she got a little frustrated with me. Daksha, what the hell are you doing? She's freezing. It's okay to pick up someone else's glove. It isn't within my Dharma to refuse an abandoned single glove to a freezing woman. 

The rational thought wasn't helping me. I abandoned that tactic. And probed about God. Told her not to worry. To be strong. . 

-Yes, us women gotta be strong. Stronger than them.

Again, that crazed smile.

-Well, I don't mean physically. I mean internally. Like you don't have to beat people up--

-Why not! Beat 'em up, I say!!

-No, be stronger than them. Rise above them. Us women have to be stronger than them. And just because we gotta be strong doesn't mean we should lower ourselves to their level of physical violence.

Right, Daksha, none of this is going through to her. So I communicated instead as much as I could with my eyes. 

Asked if she believed in God.

-Do what would make Him proud. and let Him take care of the others. 

By that time the fear and hesitation were gone from my eyes. All I conveyed was love and concern. 

I really do hope something I did helped her. She did ask for my name -- twice. And she did say Thank you. And she looked at my retreating figure. 

I spoke again with my friend; she would have frozen to death if she were there all night (right now, 2 am, 9 hours later, it's 1 degree fahrenheit, -17 celsius). And he said he'd check on her in a bit.. If she was still around, we could take her to one of the shelters. Half an hour later, he said, someone called an ambulance for her. She was "belligerent". and incapable of walking. 

I feel silly. I should have called her an ambulance. But I guess some part of me mistakenly hoped she'd be able to get home. Actually, no, I think I felt if she were in any worse a condition, I'd call someone.. but i wasn't sure who to call (i was thinking the police). I also felt like I'd be betraying her trust if i called the police. Silly me. 

She was okay when I met her. But no, she wasn't. She hadn't been moving for so long before I stopped. And rationality eluded her. I wasn't practical in the least. I was hoping and talking and trying to give her some moral strength. Or some love. Actually, yeah, I was very happy to give her my love. 

I feel like she helped me more than I helped her. And I'm grateful to Diane (Diana?) for that. I'd like to visit her in the hospital, but I know that's not my dharm. It's mine to pray for her. It's mine to love her.