the lone runner

the human body is a great gift, a specimen of beauty, power, agility. one activity that displays each of these is running, and it does so in a way that can only be called glorious.

 

as the sun dips into the sea

its orange light

adding lustre to the waves

the lone runner 

goes on his daily round

by the sea shore

 

in the silence of the beach

the sound of waves crashing on each other

form the background

for the lone runner

one foot lands on the ground

supporting his whole body

lifting it up

and springing it forward

for the other foot 

to do the same

 

the breath goes in deep 

and is thrown out deeper

the chest swells up

and shrinks down 

and the arms move side by side

in circular motion

 

the wind hits the face

pushing back the droplets of sweat

on his temples

and the hair flows back

like a horse’s mane

 

the eyes

those windows to the soul

rest their gaze

on an invisible point ahead

betraying an irreversible calm

in a turbulent body

while the lips are sealed

and the face tranquil

 

the lone runner moves forth

running in glory

running in triumph

a picture of grace

a picture of dignity

“You can praise God by peeling a spud if you peel it to perfection. Don’t compromise. Compromise is a language of the devil. Run in God’s name and let the world stand back and in wonder.” – Reverend J. D. Liddell in Chariots of Fire. 

 

And nobody conveys the glory of running better than Vangelis in the theme track for Chariots of Fire.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TLbWBlB2aWA

midnight

 

neem shab

chaand

khud-faraamoshi

mehfil-e-hast-o-bood veeraan hai

paikar-e-ilteja hai khaamoshi

bazm-e-anjum fasurdah sama hai

 

abshaar-e-sukoot jaari hai

chaar-su-bekhudi si taari hai

zindagi juzva-e-khwaab hai goya

saari duniya saraab hai goya

 

so rahi hai ghane darakhton pe

chaandni ki thaki hui aavaaz

kehkashaan neem-va-nigaahon se 

suna rahi hai hadees-e-shauq-e-niyaaz

 

saaz-e-dil ke khaamosh taaron se

chhan raha hai khumaar-e-kaif ageen 

aarzu.. khwaab.. tera ruh-e-haseen… 

 

- Faiz Ahmed Faiz

 

mid-night

the moon

self-forgetfulness

the theatre of existence lies desolate 

silence becomes desire incarnate

and the stars gather in a wistful air

 

tranquility fills all there is 

self-forgetfulness lives in every corner

as if life is but a fragment of a dream

as if the whole universe is but a mirage

 

amidst the dense trees, sleeps

the weary voice of moonlight

and with half-shut eyes

the stars narrate

the tales of our prayers

 

from the silent strings of the heart

sieves forth a burning ecstasy 

longing.. dreams.. your beautiful visage

 

 

gazing at the stars

 

do you remember that night? 

when we lay together

on the terrace

and stared at the stars? 

 

with wonder and awe

we noticed a star 

singularly bright

or so it had been

six million years ago 

when light left its shore 

to strike our eyes that night

 

do you remember 

how you smiled?

amused and bewildered

when i said

“we live around a star

that is one of a billion stars

in a galaxy

that is one of a billion galaxies”

“how many stars does that make?”

you marvelled

knowing that i had no answer 

 

bathed in moonlight

we lay wide awake

our fingers intertwined

while the world slept

a world asleep

in a sea of heavenly bodies

floating on nothingness

with no beginning

and no end

a tranquil river of eternity

and we, mere bubbles on it

infinitely small

momentary

now here

soon gone..

 

the awe in our hearts

and the wonder in our eyes

betrayed a spark in our souls

that bespoke the same eternity

of the billion galaxies around us

every day gets a little closer

i walk by the meadows

the sunlight softly falling on my face

you walk on the streets

an umbrella protecting you from the rain

i write in the orange glow of my lamp 

you work in the bright lights of your office

i live a solitary life

you, a life in the midst of people

and yet, as we sleep

in our respective rooms

put apart by distance

by fate

by God

you remember me 

and i remember you

i hear your breath

you smell my skin

i talk to you

you stroke my arm 

every day gets a little closer

 

the cleavages of time and space

and the ruptures in our being

are healed

as every day gets a little closer

 

The Ages of Man

Time and again, I am reminded of the fascinating theories of the psychoanalyst Erik Erikson.  Perhaps Erikson’s major contribution to psychology was his model of  ’The Ages of Man’, where he described human life to consist of eight ages, each with its particular challenge to be mastered. Each challenge is intimately linked with a particular relationship in the individual’s life and meeting it successfully, one attains a particular psychological ‘virtue’. On the other hand, failing to meet the challenge adequately leads to a ‘malignancy’.

Erik Erikson

One may understand this well by taking the example of the sixth stage, perhaps the most important of all stages. From the early teens to the early twenties, this is a stage where the human being’s basic challenge in life is to find a sense of identity. ‘Who am I?’ ‘What are the values that I can live my life by ?’ ‘How far can I adopt my parents’ values, and how far shall I adopt those of the new generation?’ ‘How do I deal with basic experiences of happiness and suffering?’ ‘What work should I spend my life doing?’. These are some of the questions that impinge on the young individual, who has, metaphorically speaking, put one step out of the threshold of the family into which he was born, but has one step still inside the safe, familiar cocoon.

In tribal societies, passing into puberty is marked by certain rites of initiation. The young boy or girl may be dressed up in the attire of the ancestors, pierced at certain parts of the body, taken to locations that are otherwise not meant to be visited, and told of the history of the tribe as understood through mythology. Sometimes, ‘secrets’ of the tribe may be revealed in a manner that is often painful or frightening, but at the same time, leaves an impact on his psyche for all time to come. Then on, he is a full-fledged member of the tribe, ready to have a life partner, and to join the adults in their work.

I remember that when I was 14, I discovered a fascination that I still have – reading autobiographies. How interesting it was to know the life of someone else, often told in frank and revealing detail, and live it vicariously, and know whether one would like to have a similar life or not. At the same time, I read Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead, hoping it would help me find some direction in life. It came across as quite unappealing to me, except for its strong sense of passion that I dimly remember and strive to have even now, at 27. A few months later, I picked up the Quran, wanting to know what it was, after all, that my ancestors had lived their lives by. I could not relate to it, because I felt that the story of the people of Israel, which constitutes the second and one of the longest chapters of the Quran, had nothing to do with the difficulties of my life, my relationships, my studies. I was not really concerned about heaven, hell and divine punishment, as much as I was about having the affections of the girl I liked, or finding a suitable area of study for myself. Over the years, I found my sense of identity in other areas, which are reflected in this blog, including the Quran. But these were initial attempts to know who I am and what kind of life I want to live.

Erikson writes that meeting the challenge of identity successfully gives one the virtue of ‘fidelity’ to a worldview, a way of life. One knows where home is, where one is to return for solace, comfort and inspiration. Failure to meet this challenge leads to ‘repudiation’ – often unconscious. This is the attitude that there isn’t much in life worth striving for, one is a leaf blown around by the wind, at the risk of being torn to pieces. Since life means very little, addiction to drugs, alcohol, or dangerous driving fills in the void. Or, it may lead to the opposite, ‘fanaticism’. The person may join a group that demands unthinking submission.

Below is a chart of all the eight ages that I found on the internet.

Stage (age)	Psychosocial crisis	Significant relations	Psychosocial modalities	Psychosocial virtues	Maladaptations & malignancies
I (0-1) – infant	trust vs mistrust	mother	to get, to give in return	hope, faith	sensory distortion — withdrawal
II (2-3) – toddler	autonomy vs shame and doubt	parents	to hold on, to let go	will, determination	impulsivity — compulsion
III (3-6) – preschooler	initiative vs guilt	family	to go after, to play	purpose, courage	ruthlessness — inhibition
IV (7-12 or so) – school-age child	industry vs inferiority	neighborhood and school	to complete, to make things together	competence	narrow virtuosity — inertia
V (12-18 or so) – adolescence	ego-identity vs role-confusion	peer groups, role models	to be oneself, to share oneself	fidelity, loyalty	fanaticism — repudiation
VI (the 20’s) – young adult	intimacy vs isolation	partners, friends	to lose and find oneself in a another	love	promiscuity — exclusivity
VII (late 20’s to 50’s) — middle adult	generativity vs self-absorption	household, workmates	to make be, to take care of	care	overextension — rejectivity
VIII (50’s and beyond) — old adult	integrity vs despair	mankind or “my kind”	to be, through having been, to face not being	wisdom	presumption — despair

Other challenges, at other phases of life, include the ability to generate a valuable body of work, the ability to forge intimate relationships, and so on.

I like to think of these challenges as ‘existential’ in nature rather than ‘psychological’, that is, they are common to most of us human beings, rather than different in each one of us in accordance with his particular life history, and childhood, which have shaped who he is. Often, our psychological difficulties, outer or inner, may prevent us from meeting the existential challenge. Being a generally anxious person may keep one from committing to a particular kind of identity (repudiation), or to stick to an identity blindly (fanaticism).

Also, it is true the other way round. An unmet existential challenge may cause psychological difficulties. Not being able to meet the challenge of making an valuable contribution to the lives of others, through work, may cause one to feel depressed and unenthusiastic about life, for example.

In the same way, a successful resolution of the existential challenge may, to some extent, resolve one’s psychological difficulties. A generally anxious person may find a more stable, serene ground to his being if he is rooted in a strong sense of identity, through commitment to a particular cause, for instance. A generally aggressive person may learn to be more accepting and understanding of other’s faults through a relationship where he finds love unconditionally, so that he may see his own ability to give unconditional love.

Erikson, therefore, provides a map for our lives that we may often consult to understand where we are headed, and also takes psychology out of a preoccupation with purely neurotic issues to existential ones, issues that we all as human beings can relate to.

A Sufi Shrine

A few days ago, I went with some friends to the shrine of Nizamuddin Auliya, a Sufi saint of 14^th century India, who lived and is buried in Delhi. Sufi shrines are centres of devotion, places where it is believed that prayers are answered, and that the spirit of the buried person makes the divine more easily perceptible to the common person. While worshipping the buried person himself crosses the limits of faith in Islam, the Sufi ideal is to worship Allah at a place that carries the presence of a person who reached special spiritual heights, making our prayers more honest and sincere, and thus, having a greater potential of being answered.

Coming off the broad road that leads to the shrine, after  walking through the arch at the entrance, one is led into a closed building in which one walks through a narrow, somewhat dark and claustrophic passage that turns at several places. Perhaps not more than three persons can walk side-by-side there. After every few steps, there is a beggar, often physically or mentally disabled, who pleas for some money. While walking through this passage, with a natural curiosity about what I was going towards, I felt a palpable sense of devotion in the atmosphere. If I had magnified it in my imagination, I would hear sounds of persons crying, wailing, and asking for help.

Soon, the passage opened into a courtyard, and in the middle of it was the dargah – the shrine, with its white dome and walls of decorative grills of various colours, and most often of golden colour. Women sat around it, in prayer, in supplication, holding beads in their hands, or just huddled together. People walked around.

“What are you looking for?”, my friend asked, responding to the expression on my face. “For Nizamuddin Auliya”, I said, half jokingly. I was feeling strange. As I try to experience the feling again, I draw a blank. For most of those people in that area, this was a place of help, where desperate prayers are answered, where life’s crises are healed, and where little children are given a blessing by being in the presence of the saint lying there for 600 years.

We went into the shrine, a small, rectangular room with the grave in the middle of it. But you cannot see the grave, because it is covered with layers and layers of chaadars – decorated sheets – that people bring as an offering to the spiritual presence of the saint. People enter, walk around the grave in the clock-wise direction, and leave through the same door that they came in from. Many stand in a corner of the room, quietly saying their prayers to Allah, in the presence of the spirit of Nizamuddin Auliya, hoping that their prayers will be heard, a blessing will come, troubles will pass. Sometimes they go down on their knees. A man in his thirties carries his little son in his arm, and caringly tells him to quietly recite what he learnt in the morning. It’s a faith being formed, a worldview being forged, in the presence of the sacred.

Coming out of the shrine, I left my friends and walked around by myself, feeling calm yet sad. The compound also has a medium-sized mosque. After walking around a bit, I went and sat inside, because it was relatively quiet and uncrowded. Staring at the walls of the mosque, my eyes became wet, and a grief surged up, with a chill going up my chest. ‘Here I am in your world, with my life, my struggles, I come back to you, the maker, like a child returns home to the parents, soiled in mud, sorry for what he has done. Take me back in your arms, comfort me, strengthen me.’

The theologian Paul Tillich famously defined religion as that which is one’s ‘ultimate concern’. The whole place, for me, abounded with a sense of ultimate concern. All of us who were at the shrine were thinking about the most important issues in their lives, praying, petitioning. It was an intense devotion, rather than a ‘soft’ devotion as one may hear in an old Latin hymn. It is this intensity that has characterized the devotional element in Sufism, as one often notices in qawwali music, which is performed every evening at the shrine.

My friends were waiting in the courtyard, perhaps a bit bored. I joined them, we talked a bit, and left the place, walking out through the same narrow lanes where the beggars sit and we hoped to return soon, fascinated and deeply touched.

Grief

 

grief..

the emptiness within

a little touch from you

a hand held out to my hand

a hand held down to raise me up

this I imagine

would pull me out

of that sinking feeling

as I sink within

seeing little hope

but looking up

out of my hole

waiting for your sign

it will come

life will be bright again

if only

for a moment

a moment of hope

a moment of love

a moment of grace

this is all I seek from you

Faith

“Faith is an act of the total personality. It happens in the center of personal life and includes all its elements…It is not a movement of a special section or a special function of man’s total being. They all are united in the act of faith.” – Paul Tillich in Dynamics of Faith. 

 

Tomorrow, as I walk out of the house

The sparrow observing me from her branch

Lord, may my walk point to Your glory

 

As I sit down at work

May my work bring to light

Your wondrous creation

While I sit through the day

May the focus, the passion, the struggles

Serve as chisels

For the work of art

That this world is, for You

 

As I return to my loved ones

May my gentleness be a reflection

Of Your love

May my words of support

Be a particle

Of the hope, courage and joy that You are

And may my soft caresses

Reveal the tranquility that is only Yours

 

As I go to sleep

May I not forget my gratitude

And may Your light not leave my being

When all other lights withdraw for the night

 

A life with every moment

A moment of humility

A life with every act

An act of purpose

A life with every sorrow

A sorrow with meaning

…a life of faith

This only I pray to You for

 

A Boat Ride in Banaras

an oar sweeps through the water

an old wooden boat

he sits there with the boatman

there is silence

the sun glares at them

where to? 

where from? 

there isn’t an answer

perhaps the question is the answer

 

amidst the Ganga they float

and on ghats of Banaras

the immortal rays of the sun

illuminate a city of 5000 years

there is nothing new here

and nothing old

the temple bells are faintly heard

reminders of a way of life

ancient, yet timeless

 

the boatman and his poverty

his daily struggle for food

his sweat, his toil

the passenger and his prosperity

his anxieties, his sorrows

the impossible choices of life

both move in the boat

amidst the sacred river

 

the water glistens 

the oars sweep through it

both find solace

far from the city

far from its strains

in the womb of mother Ganga

her quiet waters

flowing endlessly ahead

and endlessly behind

soften their sorrows

calm their angst

and sing a lullaby

to an eternal tune

 

Glory

 

it was darkness upon darkness

when He said, ‘Be’

and from the darkness

exploded light

 

a flood of light created all there was 

stars formed

planets solidified

the heavens and the earth came into being

 

and today, we exist

in the tumult of our lives

the rush of our existence

grapples us

as we forget who we are

a creature of a crowded planet

a planet of a mid-sized star

a star among billions in a galaxy

a galaxy among billions in the universe

a universe that isn’t still, but ever expanding

a universe, the like of which existed endlessly before

and will exist endlessly hereafter

 

His light pervades all

from the dying, sickly man

to the dancer rejoicing in the beauty of being

from the madness of the schizophrenic

to the serenity of the sage

His is all glory

His is all there is

for His sake it exists

and to Him it shall return