Life-en-treats

This is a story a friend of mine told me once. She had a friend who wrote great poetry. It was full of deep feelings about death and suffering and she had wondered how and why he could write so beautifully. She asked him how he had come to write about these things with such sensitivity. And he told her that he once had a friend. A great friend. The friend and he walked back together from college everyday. Through woods and rivers. For, that’s the kind of place North Kanara is. One evening the friend stopped on the bridge of the river they crossed everyday on their walk back, saying he wanted to say something to him. They stood on the bridge and friend said, “Don’t believe any of this, it’s all an illusion”. And jumped into the river and died. My friend had gone cold on hearing this. So did I. I was actually jealous of this guy who could jump into the river just like that. We were in a bus. I thought she was in love with this poet-friend. But she had just lost a love and I had too. She

P was a great guy. The care he showed to his grandmother, made me think that he was a loving guy. The girl who marries him was a lucky one, I thought to myself. "Jesus Christ", he would say every now and then, I carried that habit with me to India, and curse myself upon saying it. P's parents were separated. I looked closely at him, to see if it had scarred him. Nah, he said. And you? He asked. "I too was like you for many many years, until it got to me." He shook his head in dissapproval. I spoke of my research and told him it was about enlightenment. We began to say something about Meditation together. He then gave me what was the most cynical expression his face could ever conjure up, saying "it leads nowhere". I smiled. I wished some Buddhist or Zen techniques helped us connect things and take off from Patanjali Yoga. That would do so many people good. 6 years or so ago, my brother and I would have given that same cynical look to anyone seem