Life-en-treats

Insight is also a good word to use for the Indian traditions, as is used by Buddhist Meditation as a pronoun. The misunderstanding it shatters is this: that meditation is goal-oriented in the sense that you achieve something substantive that you can then carry within you. Meditation is a process that by inducing different mind states asks you to reflect exactly on those mind states and on yourself who are made up of these mind states and more. So, even as one could largely define meditation as induced frustration if first it is understood as endowing us with abilities, it is actually only induced reflection. People also think that meditation is something complete in itself, they are told that no matter what, when and who, the one who does it should be successful in more than a few ways. There is little recognition that it is a technique to something, not an end-in-itself. The word insight captures that sense of technique involved. And says that it is but one way to discover, one ki

I was wondering for sometime as to why we don't see the Indian traditions as giving us the truth, but settle to propose it simply as a provider of insight. Insights are of many kinds and reading fiction provides us with a few! So why practice or look into the Indian traditions? Truth on the other hand, is unavoidable and fundamental to our very existence, and also universal. So insight or truth? Perhaps a way to solve this is to say: Indian traditions do give us the truth, but the truth they give is the "ultimate truth", the "ultimate reality". Indian traditions do not differentiate qualitatively between other levels of reality. So we could say that although few people living at the social levels of reality acknowledge ultimate truths of the kind that the Indian traditions give us, the Indian traditions on the other hand acknowledge all levels of reality and are impartial towards these. So 'the constraint of human nature', as someone once put it, is

I met a woman who had stayed in London for 15 years and yet she did not know English. She had five children, was loving, disciplined, conforming, caring. She was the neighbour of the family I stayed with. Among all the fun-loving and happy nature that the youth of London displayed, there was also a strong sense of ridicule for others that accompanied it, if in case you did not belong to a group. I was shocked that there is really no place on earth where people can genuinely refrain from judging, or getting attached to people in groups, while rejecting some others. The caste system in its indifference (rather than rejection) fared better than these ridiculing groups that derived their jokes from belittling other ways of being! Once while waiting for the Overground, I saw an Indian young man enter, with cap, scarf and goggles. London is always so grey, the goggles were definitely out of place. Wonder if he could see anything at all actually! An English young man, also at the station

It is really strange how we respond to those similar to us. Both like and dislike seem to take place, along with a whole host of other responses like identification, sympathy, understanding etc. When in India, I would have made friends with someone and realize some time later, that she or he belonged to my jaati, I would feel like distancing myself a little bit. Perhaps it was modern India's decision to be 'casteless' that drove such feelings. However, when in London, the experience was markedly different and of a different range. Indians gave other Indians a small nod when interacting even in public places. I hadn't expected this and was taken aback. When there were times when fellow-Indians wanted to help, I felt like refusing. It was almost as if there was a serious breach of objectivity and non-partiality. In the time I stayed there, I got accustomed to this nodding and the occasional favours. But again, there was a different dynamic playing alongside. The men wo

The other day I came back to the center exhausted. I had just returned from France and being in Bangalore just made me tired. I was exposed to the scrutinizing look that is peculiar to Bangalore. Although open-minded in many ways, the city also has a habit of judging people for being prim and proper. While I was walking all around Jayanagar, I realized anew what it felt like to be part of this city. This city that scorns drunkards, this city that doesn't sympathize with those who don't carry themselves upright, with an objective expression on their faces. Its true that its ruthlessness is what made me who I am; made me straighten up in those crucial years of growing up. Yet its middle-classness today hits me hard. Bangalore has of course,  changed a lot. Its a global city now and it has had to accommodate all kinds of people. Its rural areas have expanded enormously, the failures of farmers only adding people to the city, as if there was something here. As if it was the Bombay