Who would help cremate her mother? - 14 November 2009

Who would help cremate her mother? Who would be the first to help?
Bharat Bhushan - 14 November 2009

This was about six months after my father had passed on and I had helped him go ahead in an electric crematorium. I came to know about a lady colleague of mine, and that she had lost her mother on that day, and that she had gone on to the same crematorium to attend to the rituals. I looked around in my work place, and found that nobody had wanted to participate or attend the funeral. This was surprising because usually my colleagues were very cooperative and concerned. I met up with another colleague, and he was, as I knew, usually very emotional about such stuff, and he agreed to come with me to the crematorium.

We went up to where the lady's mother was placed and I was shocked. There were no mourners there. The lady colleague and her sister, were the only two persons standing under a shade nearby. The deceased had been placed near the place for the funeral pyre, all ready for the rituals. The lady colleague informed me that her brother had gone in search of a helper boy and the priest for the activity. Very politely, I asked her if there were other mourners, and if they had gone to the river to wash their feet, or if they were waiting nearby. She said, in a cool tenor, that there no other mourners. That was such a shock, for I knew that my lady colleague was a very popular person and quite well networked.

I asked my colleague to help me, and our vehicle driver also came forward, knowing fully well that my intentions were to get into the thick of action. We started collecting cow-dung cakes and firewood, and started piling them up near the location. Very soon, the lady's brother came along and brought about a helper who had keys to a shed with some more dry firewood and cow-dung cakes, and we managed to unearth a rickety trolley and brought about much more stuff to ignite. All in all, there were three relatives, three visitors (i.e., us) and a priest and a helper.

We had to untie the deceased, and none of us had a blade or knife to do it. My vehicle driver came to the rescue once again, and helped untie the sashes. The three of us and the brother moved the deceased on to the funeral pyre, and the rituals began. I could not but help go in flashback, to my mother and father, and how I had taken the easy way out by having them go on to the other world in an electric crematorium. And now, the Circle of Life had come about, and had me do seva at the feet of the deceased lady, help and get involved in the ritual, and actually lift her and place her on the pyre-site. I felt very humbled, and I felt that it was something that must have been naturally meant for me to get involved in.

The ashtalingams of the Girivalam at Thiruvannamalai, Tamil Nadu

The eighth is the Esanya Lingam.

I am reminded of the aspect of the eighth Shiva lingam of Tiruvannamalai, and that the aspect is of walking through the funeral pyres before gazing on the diety. He wants you to know that you have nothing in life, in spite of all your achievements, that you have to surrender absolutely, for that is your final destination. And when you meet Lord Shiva at the eighth ashtalingam on the girivalam, you know entirely that you are empty, and you have given away everything, for HIM to bless you.

You know that you are successful in life, and you know that you have been excellently competitive in life. You are a good officer, a good father or mother, a good husband or spouse, a good son or daughter and all that... but, what is the use of any of this if you are not able to attend to the funeral rites of your parents? What is the use of giving in to other circumstances when you cannot mourn your parents? The worst part of karma in life is of cremating your own child. Nothing is worse than that. The next worst part of karma in life is of not cremating your parents, when they pass on.

The achievements of a good family life, of being a good parent and of being successful is all negated when you are left all alone at the cremation of your parents. My grandfather was known to be a good astrologer. So was my father. The two of them would discuss palmistry and astrology in expert tones whenever they would meet up, leaving my uncle and myself listening to them, patiently. Once, my grandfather surprised me completely. He looked at my father's palm and my palm and announced that I would be of no use to my father, and that I would never be of any support to him, and that he would not get my shoulder to lift him when he would pass away, and that I would not be at his funeral. Instead, my uncle's son and my aunt's son, my cousin brothers, and my sister would be there for him.

I heard it in silence and thought to myself, perhaps, he was correct. For, I was a birdwatcher and an intrepid vagabond traveler, and that possibly, I would be away when the moment would come. But, fate and the future had other plans. On that eventual night, I was alongside him, and my cousin brothers and my sister were nowhere. They never made it to the funeral. He passed on in a different city, from which he lived in, and where he was born. Nobody knew him, but on that morning, when the news spread, more than 200 of my colleagues, friends, acquaintances and staff-employees turned up, stood nearby as the rituals were conducted at my residence, and later, they journeyed to the crematorium, and stood by as he was readied for the rituals.

I met each and every one of them and to some I asked as to why did they come. My daughter's college principal and his colleague teachers had come to mourn at the crematorium. They had never met him. They did not know that he was in town. I asked them. The teachers said that their principal had said, "He was my friend's father, and we should be there." That was that. On that day, when my father's brother stood alongside me, he asked me at the crematorium, "Who are all these people? Did they know your father?" And, I was very proud, and smiling, when I said, "They mourn because it is correct to mourn the passing of a friend's father." And, I thought to myself, "They are all here, the more than 200 of them, they are here, to help me defeat the lines of fate on my palms."

What are habits and addictions? Can one win over habits and addictions? - 14 January 2009

What are habits and addictions? Can one win over habits and addictions? How should one go about winning over oneself? 
Bharat Bhushan - 14 January 2009

Not all habits and addictions are about smoking or drinking or indulging in adultery or gambling. There are several more, regular, day-to-day, very normal activities that we get accustomed to that become our habits and grow into our addictions. And when we are challenged with a break in the routine, we get irritated, angry, upset and determined to achieve that addiction. In order to do so, we have many reasonable and rational arguments, or so it seems, and we are suddenly a victim to our own logic and escape routes.

My father had unique habits and addictions. In our 320 square feet - one bedroom kitchen ground floor apartment at Wadala, Mumbai, the kitchen flowed into the bedroom, and it converted into a living room when everyone had woken up. My father would wake up the earliest, and go into the kitchen, which could be seen by everyone who was sleeping in the living room. He would start washing the dirty leftover utensils from the previous nights' dinner, and he would do it very quietly. No noise. I know that is impossible, but he would do it, nevertheless. After that, he would boil the milk and make coffee for everyone, and a bottle of warm milk for my elder daughter, Harini.

She would have woken up, 2-3 years old, and would be watching him quietly, patiently. He would know that she was watching him, and would keep turning back and would mime the work that he was doing, that he was boiling milk, and now he was waiting for it to cool down, and that he was washing the drinking bottle and now he was pouring the milk into it, and then he would carefully step over one person at a time and bend down and give the bottle of milk to Harini, without waking me or my wife. My mother would have woken up and would be moving about, eager to take over her kitchen.

I once asked him. Why did he do this? Was he not the 'Master' of the house? And like most traditional Indian households, should he not have the women do all the work? Why did he have to wake up the earliest, and clean and wash all the dirty utensils and make coffee for everyone, even if my wife and sister were asleep, why would he make coffee for them? Was it not demeaning to him? He replied, without hesitation, and explained, that - "Washing dirty utensils is the best form of meditation and prayer to God, that there could ever be. Why should I allow anyone else to take away that opportunity from me? This way, I get to do my prayers and meditation at the very early hour, and I get to be happy even if I am selfish."

I never gave it much thought, but after having many escapades in my own life within the family, I have begun to understand what he meant by it. My mother had a different take on the entire situation. She said that he was just joking about meditation and prayer, but that he washed up on all the utensils because he wanted to make sure that my mother would be able to cook breakfast, lunch and dinner without any hassles. He just wanted to make sure that he put her to work before she left for school. These habits and addictions that they had - point out to me now, after so many long long years, how much they loved each other and cared for each other. This love, of wanting to do the dirty work, of having to slog it out in the early hours of the day, is a wonderful habit and addiction in life.

My mother would be sick and of ill-health most of the time. She would find it difficult to get to sleep and she would find it difficult to wake up and get ready. She would find it difficult to lift heavy objects because of the third operation that she had, for her hernia. She would find it difficult to keep standing at the kitchen and work on all the cooking. The heat would bother her, the water would be irritating and the confined premises of the kitchen, only about 24 square feet, with only 10 square feet of standing space, was very bothersome. But, she never ever complained about it. This ability to adjust, and the ability to accept ones' situation, and yet to be disciplined and time-bound, was also an addiction and a major troublesome habit for her. But, she never stopped until the day she retired.

Prayer and worship was another amazing habit and addiction for both my parents. They worshipped every day. My father would clean the prayer place, every day, morning and evening. This is something that I am never able to do so. I should get about to doing so. They had a routine, and it began with the first boiled milk of the day, and the first pouring of drinking water. They took the water and the milk to the deities, and without fail, every day, in the morning, the first thing in the morning, they would convey their thanks to the gods. This habit and persistent repetition, and the humility, is also a habit and addiction that my parents taught me, and unfortunately, something that I am yet to practice.