What Buddhist Philosophy Taught Me:

Disclaimer: This post is about what I gained from studying Buddhist Philosophy (from Tibet House) for a year. The topic is vast, deep, simple yet complex. If anyone wants to understand more on the subject, s/he would need to either enroll for the same or longer course or read original books written by ancient Buddhist scholars and masters.

Be kind to yourself. Be wisely kind to yourself.

This was the main ground or precept which formed the basis of Geshe La’s teachings - how to be kind, and then wisely kind to yourself. Buddhist philosophy and practices are meant to unravel part by part, thread by thread, the working of our psyche. Here psyche means the mind which is different from soul or consciousness. The mind, which creates layers and layers of illusions that we cling to so desperately, sometimes for lifetimes, in order to seek the elusive ‘happiness’. The step by step practices, therefore, help remove these layers of illusions and perceptions, by which we live, think, believe, and act, till the time we find the pure essence or the Buddha in ourselves.

Difficult, you would say. Actually its not.

Reality Vs Perception

Take for example these mundane conversations:

A: Is the pancake stiff?

B: I liked it.

_______

A1:  Have you been to Ladakh?

B1: Three times. Last time I stayed there for two months. It was awesome.

_______

A2: Yaar, I don’t want to continue with this corporate work anymore. I want to do something for the society, create an impact.

_______

In the first two, the answers are not in sync with the questions at all. Yet, most of our routine conversations are exactly like these. We don’t realize that the way we answer or have conversations can lead to different perceptions, which again add layers of further misconceptions as you go along in life. The third, though well meaning, is steeped in the ‘self’ – ‘I’ want to change the society. All three are rooted in the ‘Self’.

Buddhist philosophy has taught me how to recognize these ‘self-grasping’ and ‘self-centred’ attitudes which are based on ego and fear largely, understand why they are there in me and how they underline all aspects and relationships in my life, how to break these illusions that I have created around me, and seek true freedom.  

All the answers that you seek lie in understanding the ‘Self’. The more you are rid of these self-aggrandizing illusions, the more your reality changes. Like Shamanic traditions, Buddhist philosophy reiterates that we pause; listen and listen well; notice our reactions and actions; seek wisdom rather than just knowledge, from the right sources and our own lived experiences; practice and more practice and then some more; live mindfully and act rightly with love and compassion for all sentient and non-sentient beings; and live from your heart.

By focusing on understanding that our current reality is merely made up of layers and layers of perceptions created by us, we can break out of the cycles of “I will be happy if I can build a house in the mountains; I will be happy if I am commissioned by Nat Geo to do a story for them; I will be happy if I can get her to say yes; I will be happy if I can travel to 44 countries before I turn 44 etc.” 

And that’s where true happiness lies. In being Free.  

What is wrong with our men??!

Me: I am travelling in the hinterlands of UP.

Guy: That can be exciting too :-). You get cat calls there? :-D

Me: Next you will say rape is super exciting for us?

This whatsapp conversation happened just a few days after yet another gangrape victim was killed with impunity by her perpetrators in Unnao and protests by women across urban India were still going on. I was traveling in UP meeting grassroot women working in various sectors. Keeping aside their success stories, a single thread ran across the lives of these women – being subjected to abject and horrendous levels of violence. 

  

Violence was the underlying story of majority of the women in the state. This is the underlying story of majority of the women in our country. Forms of violence which have been normalized pervade the fabric of our society. It does not matter if you are rich or poor, educated or uneducated. It’s so deep rooted and seeped into all layers, that I find it difficult to believe that change can happen in my lifetime.

Hyderabad gangrape and murder; Unnao rape and murder by burning; Nirbhaya gangrape in the capital city; Kathua gangrape of a minor girl in a Devi-temple by men who came all the way from UP to participate; Rajasthan gangrape where a young girl ran naked for 1 km before she found help; hanging of Dalit girls by upper-caste men, gruesome sexual assault on adivasi woman by police so much so that her uterus is rejected by her body; beating a wife till she becomes unconscious or her skin falls off; kicking a pregnant woman in womb so she loses her child every time she becomes pregnant; pushing a daughter-in-law down the stairs for carrying a girl-child; forcing a wife to have sex because she has to submit to his needs by the virtue of marriage; burnt for not providing the money which was not theirs in the first place; asking for dowry from a would-be IAS daughter in-law for an IAS son just because he is a son; a father negotiating for money over the dead body his daughter, threatening the husband with an FIR, where a woman is reduced to mere money to be haggled over; child pregnancy because she is assaulted by upper-caste men and boys in her village; sexually abused by fathers, uncles, brothers, in-laws and others; adding the nine months of life in the womb to her actual age, so that she can be married off as early as possible; thrashed senseless because she dared to say that she wanted to complete her school education; threats of getting raped if she raised her voice in the community – tum janti nahin ho main kya kar sakta hoon; not being able to go to college because the neighbourhood boys make lewd gestures and cat calls.

These are the real life stories of many women across the country, their every day lived reality. 
   

Even if you move away from gender-based violence, and look at any other form of violence (and there is so much out there), the one underlying thread across all forms of violence is that it’s perpetrated by Men. Men are violent towards women. Men are violent towards children. Men are violent towards men. Men are violent towards other nations and communities. Men are violent towards nature.

It’s time our Men realize this and do a collective introspection on why violence has become their essence, almost running in their DNA.

Until then, we will remain a sick society, a very very sick society. 

Until then, all men will remain guilty.

Sillage (n.):

A brilliant day in Sikles, Annapurna Conservation Area. Photo: Bipasha M

The scent that lingers in the air, the trail left in the water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone, the trace of someone’s perfume. (French)

The bus was packed – all seats occupied, spaces near the seats filled with luggage, jute sacks, cardboard boxes, gas cylinders and more luggage. I was about to get down when a woman in the seat next to the driver’s called out to me and shifted making a bit of a space for me. I squeezed in. There was a cardboard box kept below, so I put my feet on it and tried to make myself comfortable. Both the woman next to me and the man sitting behind the driver started saying something in Nepali. The urgency in their voice suggested I should not keep my feet on the cardboard box. The next ten minutes were spent by these two people trying to help me find a place to keep my feet, which finally was on somebody’s luggage.

The driver (guruji) finally started the bus. A few things moved and resettled including my leg position. Through hand gestures, actions and broken Hindi, we communicated. The box contained chickens which were being sent by somebody in Pokhara to their family in Sikles, a Gurung village high in the mountains. Both these un-related fellow travellers kept an eye out for the chickens during the journey up. Everybody was talking to everybody else as if they all knew each other. I was also pulled into their conversations even though I barely understood the language. Soon, they all knew that I was a ‘very brave’ woman travelling on my own from Pokhara to Sikles.

A few kilometers into the mountain and the bus came to a dead stop. There were two road-rollers ahead working on widening the narrow mountain roads. Stones and rocks fell as the machines gouged out the earth from the mountain sides. It meant a delay of one and a half hour or more. My Nepali saathi had warned me – the first thing to learn in Nepal is patience. I ate the apple I had bought and then went off to sleep. After almost one and a half hours, the bus re-started. Everybody settled back into their respective seats, each looking out for the person next to them.  It was once again like a big happy family traveling together. Children sat holding onto the arms of strangers while parents sat elsewhere knowing they will be looked after.

The bus shook and rattled; roads rose, dipped and fell; my bones felt as if they will come out of their sockets. People got down, more people got up. Parcels for unknown people were picked up and dropped. Messages were passed. Beautiful picture perfect villages set against the backdrop of snow mountains came and went. In five hours, we reached Sikles.  

An elderly fellow passenger in the bus offered me his lovely home to stay. He spoke a bit of English and Hindi and addressed me as “daughter”. I shifted between calling him “dadju” and “father”.  He took me to the viewpoint early morning next day from where we could see the himal up close. He treated me to evening snacks of roasted maize and boiled soy beans all the days I stayed there.

His joyful wife could barely speak Hindi, so most of our conversations were based on simple words and actions. Other times, it was intuitive. We joked and laughed a lot also. She told me about her youngest son who doesn’t live with them anymore. The father and the son had a fight. She is one of the last few women in the village who still weave sheep wool into blankets on a traditional handloom.       

Their daughter and grand-daughter lived with them as her husband worked in a foreign land like most young Nepali men. The daughter was reserved and had striking features. We slowly got speaking and created a space for ourselves. I helped in the kitchen while she cooked.

This Buddhist Gurung family prayed to Shiva and their own ancestors. Every time a meal was cooked, it was first offered to them before given to others. The kitchen leftovers were fed to an old stray cow with no teeth. The bones were fed to a village dog. Nothing was wasted.

In their own non-intrusive ways, they looked after me in the short while that I was there. They left me alone to stare at the mountains and read my book, frequently brining me steaming cups of kalo sugared chiya. It was Tihar, the day I left. The three of us hugged each other – mother, daughter and I. We held each other long, not a word was spoken, a silent acknowledgment to the kinship and bond that can exist only between women.

I took the jeep this time instead of the bus. My “father” came to drop me to the jeep. He told the other travellers that I was from India. We all started speaking with each other including the driver in limited Hindi and Nepali. The old woman sitting next to me kept her hand protectively on my legs and went off to sleep. It was again one big happy family travelling together. The morning autumn sun was beautiful. I looked out at the mountains, layered in mist and ever so mystical.

Living the Sacred, Daily:

Words, that form languages, are inherently violent and often corrupts. Language is rigid and structured and doesn’t allow the exploration of the vastness and depth of thoughts and emotions that we feel or can express. We say things we don’t mean. We don’t know how to say things we really mean. We interpret what others say by perceiving it from our understanding of those words.

I have been guilty of all these a million times in the past.  

Words, therefore, restrict me from expressing fully what sacredness means to me. I have struggled in my head to describe its essence but have failed repeatedly. I know what it’s not:

Sacredness is not about finding ‘divinity’

It’s not about rituals and prayers

It’s not about energies and vibes

It’s also not about being blessed

And I know how finding the sacred is changing how I live my life:

Sacredness is in having conscious conversations

It’s in deep listening – to yourself and to everything around you

It’s in trusting life and the map of your soul

It’s in understanding the inherent-ness in everything

It’s in seemingly serendipitous events and connections

It’s in being ‘conscious’

It’s also in unshackling yourself and letting go

Perhaps, the closest explanation of this can be what the Shaman master once told me – “the more individual you become, the more universal you become". When you find your intrinsic self, you find your universal self. And when you find your universal self, everything around you become sacred.

Living the sacred daily is not just limited to the few things I mentioned above. There’s more, much more. But I am unable to find any more words to express.

By the Ganga:

We had found our perfect spot.

A silent and hidden man-made outcrop covered by a young Peepal tree under which somebody had placed a stone ‘Shiva-linga’ and a Nandi close by. The grey Ganga flowed quietly in front spreading herself out on the other bank, which was empty of humans and human activities. The monsoon clouds flitted in and out across the distant hills.

The stones of the outcrop were cool and inviting. I lay down and was soon lost in the movement of the leaves as they danced about to their own mad tune. The sound of the wind amongst the leaves was lulling, captivating, broken only by the mild screeches of the grey hornbills. My friend was lost in her own world. I was lost in mine. And Ganga was lost in her own wanderings. Along with us was silence. The silence of nature and the silence of our minds.

By the Ganga - image: Bipasha M

I had never thought Haridwar could be so comforting. During my earlier travels, I had almost always bypassed the city, as I could not stand the chaos and confusion that I had always associated with the place. This is a place where religion is business, and it’s everywhere. On-the-face everywhere – something which I abhorred earlier.

This time also, I was more keen to go to Rishikesh and spend a day sitting on the white sand banks of the Ganga, surrounded by green hills. I have fond memories of Rishikesh – my first rafting trip way back in the late 90s when Ganga was free, wild, and ferocious; my first jumps from a cliff into her cold cold water - despite my fear of water; my first ‘weed’ high – a beautiful high, you can only get while sitting by the Ganga at dusk.     

This time, traffic jams on the highway to Rishikesh due to the upcoming ‘Kawariyas’ mela led us to this perfect spot instead of Rishikesh. We explored the city later in the evening – lanes and bylanes of the market filled with stuff related to religion and catering to the needs of the pilgrims. We visited temples, something which I would never have done earlier.

The day ended with a brilliant full moon shining over the distant hills and washing everything clean. The city had gone silent at night. From the top of the terrace of my friend’s ashram, I thought I could hear a faint murmuring – of Ganga still lost in her wanderings.

The ‘New’ Delhi Days:

The feeling was strange.

The sudden shift in the weather wasn’t.

It was a perfect summer afternoon thunderstorm – sudden darkening of clouds, flashes of lightning, following thunder, and then the downpour. When the showers stopped, outside the library, had collected small puddles strewn with fuchsia bougainvillea and yellow laburnum flowers that had fallen from the trees. Water dripped from the magnificent old trees in the lawn, peacocks screeched loudly sitting atop the museum building, and birds chirped everywhere. Interspersed between these sounds of nature, was silence, and a perfect wet stillness.

When I left the Nehru (Teen Murti) library, one of my favourite haunts here, it was already evening. The sidewalks of the road were littered with leaves, a heady smell of wet neem and jamun trees permeated the area, and when I looked up, I saw a brilliantly sparkling full moon rising out of the tree line. What I felt then was pure happiness coupled with tinges of nostalgia; for I had forgotten just how beautiful Delhi is.

I was happy because I was walking down empty sidewalks to the metro station, two kilometers away, in approaching darkness without fear. I was not looking over my shoulders to see if I was being followed or at the oncoming traffic wary of cars that might slow down near you; I was looking at the bright moon because I just couldn’t take my eyes off the sky.

That feeling I later realized was strange, given that I was back in a city which was crazily unsafe for girls even a decade ago. Something definitely has shifted within the collective conscience of the people of the city, and I can feel that the city is finally coming to her own after years of being trodden and used. Delhi is now at her most vibrant self, with numerous things happening at all corners – what Bombay used to be once upon a time. Public spaces are now being occupied more and more by women making it safer than before – city forests, public parks, renovated archeological monuments, city lakes, gardens, outdoor national and international cultural shows, which have been made more accessible to people. The kind of on-the-face aggression that used to exist way back in the 90s and early 2000s, is not there anymore. Moreover, and more importantly, I haven’t come across people talking to your boobs or looking you up and down before answering your question – something which was very common during those days.

To me, from an observational perspective, a couple of key events might have led to this much needed change. The metro system – which has opened up public travel especially for women like never before; the Nirbhaya incident – which has made the larger community more aware and sensitive to women and others (her death was not in vain); activities, access to activities and technology – there are so many things to do now and with smartphones etc., people are rather gainfully occupied; and then there is the younger generation – they are a breed apart: gutsy, intelligent, well-informed, risk-taking, and sensitive, and they are here in Delhi from all corners of India overshadowing the typical Delhi boys and girls. I also feel the current Delhi government has brought in much required fresh energy which might not reflect overtly but rather in these subtle shifts.

A lot still needs to change – especially in the professional front where babugiri rules and the way people are so stuck up. However, I am not going to complain. For I am beginning to really like this ‘New’ Delhi.

Fly Free:

Bipasha, imagine yourself standing at the edge of a cliff. When you heal yourself completely, you will feel so light and free that you will want to fly.

My body had felt dense in those days. For years I had been ruthless and focused on owning up to and facing my mental demons, that I did not realize my physical body needed attention as well. While accurately pinpointing the physical areas of my body that needed healing, the shaman master gave me a prognosis of being just 67% healthy. And this after a decade of either playing tennis, running, cycling, or walking as my weekly dose of exercise!

In due course, I realized that even though you think you are healthy – both mentally and physically - you are not healthy in the real sense. Even though you face up to your mental demons and do your daily meditations, you are still not Really over your mental demons. And just exercising your body, ofcourse, is never enough. You are free only when you have stripped and cleansed every cell in your body, and mentally and emotionally so true to yourself that the outer, external realities cease to matter. Only and only then you can feel light and be Free.

I have also realized that we put a lot of effort in eating right and exercising well, but we are nowhere connected to our bodies. I have also realized that we are way too attached to our past, we cling onto our hurts, grief, injustice or notions of injustice etc. like the veritable last straw – the pain or hurt by now such a familiar space that its difficult stepping out into the unknown.  

Imagine then, how experiences keep adding layers to your body and mind as you age, making your energy dense and heavy. Now imagine, over 90% of 7 billion people on Earth living in similar conditions. The millions of ‘like’ that one can see for hundreds of poignant stories on just one page of ‘Humans of New York’ are an attestation of that. What a dense base-level world we are living in!

Well, life can be unrelenting. And add to that the omnipresence of toxicity. We owe ourselves and our bodies a chance to do what they are supposed to do. Here are a few things I do now, and hence can suggest the same to others:

• Connect with your body. Your body will tell you what you need to eat and what you need to avoid. For regular, small ailments like cold, cough, upset tummy etc. practice home remedies as a start. The body is an amazing healer; allow it to do its work. 

• Let loose. We are very rigid when it comes to thoughts, opinions, ways of work, and even how we move our bodies. Dance, do yoga, or headstands – anything to get rid of that rigidity. 

• Keep your body active. Walk that 500 meters rather than hailing a cab or auto. 

• Eat only when you are hungry, and eat just as much as required. Ideally we should go back to what our ancestors followed – t wo meals a day, last meal around sundown. Give your stomach some rest. 

• Be aware of what you are eating. Be mindful of the water you are drinking. Show your gratitude. 

• Develop your daily morning or evening routine, a time just for yourself. You can exercise, meditate, do your art, say your mantras, or whatever brings you back to yourself! 

• Go and heal yourself of all your chronic ailments. There are hundreds of alternative therapies – pick one and stay the full course. Most ailments are inter-connected, so just trying to resolve one and not the others might not work. 

• Resolve your mental and emotional demons. It’s difficult but doable. Again there are various forms of therapy, keep at it until you break your patterns. Each experience – bad or good – has something to teach you. Learn from them, show your gratitude, and let them go.
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• De-clutter and clear your space regularly. There are many ways to clear spaces; I use mostly rock salt in ‘pocha’ water. It might sound mumbo-jumbo, but trust me, it works. But always over a period of time. 

I am still a case in progress, and I have a long way to go. But I have glimpsed that lightness of being when I released one of my chronic problems. Then I had felt I could run up twenty flights of stairs. Now I am waiting to fly - light and free.