Little Big things

It’s empty, the canvas. The solitary figure at the meadows is fidgeting with his arsenal – a quiver of brushes and a palette of colors. The artist has got a brown bag besides him. There’s the degree with gilded borders he’s got from a most prestigious art school tucked away in the brown bag. He shrugs emptily. The degree brought him laurels, equipped him to create many works of art recognized the globe over, but his heart is a desert waiting for an ever-elusive spring of fulfillment.

The shadows of fingertips dance on the unsullied beach sand. It’s the effort of a world-renowned composer who’s trying to catch the pulse of the perfect song – a song that will crown his life with a sense of achievement and completeness.

He is a scientist known to have designed rockets and missiles that reached great distances across continents and into space. But for all his accomplishments, his life still seems greeted by a lacuna.

The artist, the composer, and the scientist – a snapshot of humanity’s attempt to attain happiness through the ‘BIG’ things. For the artist, his life’s ‘big’ moment came when he did an impromptu caricature of himself to the amusement of a stranger in a foreign land. For the composer his masterpiece proved to be a simple and short extempore lullaby he conjured to soothe a yowling infant in an orphanage home. For the scientist, his life’s defining, and most fulfilling moment dawned when he assisted a blind man in crossing the road. The scientist replies to the name of Dr. Abdul Kalam. No wonder, it is in the little things that life’s beauty is best expressed, and love’s magic is most wonderfully unleashed.

This is my story, a series of littleness expanding into a life’s completeness.

I was blessed to be in the physical proximity of the lord from a young age. I did part of my primary schooling in Swami’s school at Ooty and went onto complete the rest of my education up to college at Parthi. Every moment spent in those years is invaluable. Loving teachers, peaceful environs, and a loving Mother – what more could one ask for? Like tiny seeds growing into a mighty tree, ‘trivial’ lessons that were sprinkled early are now the canopy that shades me from the sweltering heat life sometimes tests us all with.

Baby steps

During my primary school days, Swami would often highlight the little but important aspects of daily life. One virtue dear to Him was silence. During darshans, if we, the kids, raised the decibel level beyond a certain limit, Swami would chide us. ‘Fish market’- that was what he labeled our noisiness. On the other hand, if we were silent, He would heap bountiful praises. Dignitaries and college students would hear from a Mother proud of Her children’s discipline. To the dignitaries, Swami would proudly declare – “These are my boys. Very good boys.” To some of the more noisy college students, Swami would say– “See, these little ones. How silent and well behaved they are! You are big (outlining their size without-stretched shoulders) only in size. They may be little. But in discipline, they are big.” The sweet love of those words often kept our tongues in check when our minds would have other plans. Never did Swami miss out on an opportunity to bestow such largesse on us.

If prasadam were distributed during darshans, the practice encouraged by the teachers and elders amongst us, the primary school kids, was to send around a few of us armed with covers to collect non- edible leftovers. In these bags, we would deposit the seeds, or wrappers depending on the prasadam distributed. Swami would highlight this tidy disposal to both dignitaries as well as to college students. The lesson “Cleanliness is next to godliness” was a living reality here.

Normally condemned to the back-burner, aspects like sitting posture also wasn’t beyond the ambit of Swami’s syllabus. Whenever Swami noticed a kid seated with an arched back crescent as the moon, He would draw attention by a series of gestures. First, He would keep His right index finger crooked (much in the way cricket umpire Billy Bowden signals a batsman out) and say – “No, not like this.” Then straightening the finger sharp as a sunny ray, He would correct – “Sit straight like this.”

Come Shivarathri, we would be recipients of a double treat – Bhajan followed by bhojan. At the conclusion of the Akhanda Bhajans, prasadam would be distributed on leaf plates. A classmate of mine was lucky to be at the receiving end of Swami’s eye for details. Swami noticed him holding a couple of leaf plates in readiness for the distribution. Swami called him and helped him to a quick lesson in the art of serving on leaf plates.

“Bangaru, two things one has to keep in mind here. Come let’s see how it’s done. One. Always bunch two leaves per person like this. (Swami clubbed a pair of the leaves). That way any leaks in any single leaf plate will be taken care of. Two. When serving (Swami bends here) ensure (Swami displays the smooth side of the leaf) that this side is up.”

No effort was spared by Swami to help us take the baby steps as we set out on our individual journeys.

Wonderful Lessons

The ancients in epics like Mahabharata in order to conquer formidable foes resorted to tapas to acquire astras to increase their firepower. The ancients had their rivals, we had our exams. Fortunately, our tapas were hardly austere. With Swami around, blessings are always bountiful. A pen blessed by the Lord is indeed mightier than the sword. My school board exams were around the corner and I was feeling apprehensive. As the saying goes, when one is cornered, the Lord is always around the corner. To leverage this boon, armed with a pen, I sat in the first row of students in darshan. Swami came around for darshan. He noticed me and gestured me to come closer. I moved forward, handed over my letter and showed Him my pen for getting it blessed. I requested – “Swami, my exams begin tomorrow. Kindly bless me and also bless my pen.” Swami paused, sized me with a single look and said softly, “Don’t others have exams too?”. Saying this, He proceeded to the interview room without blessing my pen. I was a bit dejected. A seeming denial is but a deferred redemption. I sat and in silence figured out my mistake –

“Don’t others have exams too?”

The Lord is bhole naath. He always gives a second chance. Interview over, He walked up and beckoned me to His side. I rushed and this time muttered an enthusiastic –

“Swami, all my class brothers have exams. Kindly bless us all.”

Swami smiled. His smile crowned by a motherly pride that’s an acknowledgment of her little one’s little achievement. Swami waved His palm to the strains of love’s silent melody. My pen was now drowned in Vibhuti. Swami put more on my palms. He said –

“Good boy. That’s a prayer. Pray for all. You are included.”

An earthquake had hit Gujarat. To assist the victims, there was a collection drive in our hostel for clothes and related relief materials. The warden of our hostel was blessed to inform Swami about our samaritan efforts. Swami’s reaction was a smile that slowly dissolved into seriousness. Approaching us He instructed – “It’s good to share. But some of you have shared shirts with missing buttons or dresses that are torn at some places. Enthusiasm is good but sensitivity should be there too. Tell me, if you considered them as your own brothers or sisters would you have been so careless? You should treat all as one family.” When the warden returned, and the material was rechecked Swami’s observations were proved right. In one stroke, we received two lessons that day – one of Swami’s omniscience and two, of Swami’s love and emphasis on unity and oneness.

Through His words and deeds, Swami always reiterated His lessons. Many of these were repeated either in His discourses or during the darshans. If Swami noticed kids or elders with a frown, pat would come his advice – “No castor oil faces. Remember God is a cameraman who’ll click the snap anytime. Be happy and smile.”

Often, He would come across letters addressed to him on a sheet of paper and the contents would hardly comprise a line or two. Prompt and swift would be His reaction. Summoning the person who had handed over the letter, Swami would say mellifluously in Telugu – “Bangaru, Idhi chaala porapaatamu. Don’t waste paper. You could have used a small size sheet for this.” Swami’s stress on avoiding wastage of food, time, money, energy or resources can never be forgotten.

At other times, while interacting with us Swami would often reiterate – “When pointing fingers at others’ faults remember, three are pointing back at you. First, you be good. Then others will follow suit.” But my most cherished of these lessons is an advice Swami never was tired of repeating – “Bangaru, greatness is a nice thing. But goodness is best. Strive to be good, greatness will be taken care of.” The precarious condition of our world today is a bonafide testimony to the neglect of such a truth.

Priceless Memories

Each throbbing heart is a mortal halt in an immortal odyssey. But what transpires in these halts is what lends purport and meaning to our journeys. The Greek hero Achilles once said – “The gods are envious of us, of our mortality. It fills each of our living moments with meaning.” I’ve had lovely moments, whose memory will survive a zillion future big bangs. They are little moments. That’s the beauty. Here are two such.

On September 28th, 1995, Swami blessed our class (8th grade) with an interview. The previous day, Swami had consented to grant us an interview. So, we all sat on the evening of September 28th in the darshan lines waiting for the interview call. Swami arrived for darshan and seemed in a hurry. As He advanced towards us, He pointed us in to the interview room. We all moved, some 40-50 of us, towards the verandah. Swami wrapped up His darshan round at quite an incredible pace that day. As Swami arrived at the verandah, He saw all of us seated in the front. His look was one of incredulity, “What are you all doing here? Make it fast to the interview room.” Not questioning Swami’s reasons, we all rushed in within a blink. We didn’t realize, but right then – through the northern gate of the mandir, a senior politician was proceeding towards the verandah. Swami followed the last of us into the interview room. His entry was more of a graceful dash, like a kid who has just about managed not missing the fortune bus. He made the quick entry, closed the door, took a deep breath, let go in relief and remarked with a triumphant twinkle in His eye – “See, I made It !!!”

So, while the politician waited for Swami, He chose to spend an unforgettable hour and a half with us. Were we truly more important than a powerful elected representative? By choosing to spend His time with us ahead of the politician, Swami showed how much He valued us, gangly teenagers all, and how different the divine view is from human sensibilities of importance.

I was in my final year of post-graduation – the twilight of my academic journey. It was August – the Indian Independence Day was around the corner. A new tradition was in vogue – an opportunity for us, the final year students to put up a drama in the Divine presence at the mandir. Simultaneously, the usual custom of a cultural evening in the hostel post the mandir drama was also on. Call it turn of events, I decided to lend my literary skills for the hostel drama. August 15 dawned and the mandir drama came to be a huge success. Swami began blessing all the final year PG students by posing for photographs with them. In batches of fours and fives, like waves hitting the shore, students made the most of such a good fortune. My mind was putting up a play its own unique way. I reasoned, “Yes, I have toiled hard for the hostel drama. But I haven’t done anything for this drama that was staged in the mandir. Do I deserve such a beautiful chance?” Finally, with the last few of us left, a teacher noticed me standing aloof, read my thoughts, and goaded me towards the stage. My turn came and I reached Swami’s presence. Swami was seated and we knelt by His side. Ten seconds and quite a lot of flashes later, it was sayonara time.

I began to make my way back to the common lot when I felt a tug on my left hand. I expected to find some friend who had posed along with me, holding my hand for balance as he pulled himself up on his way back to the students’ area. But who was holding my hand? It was the……………Lord!!! And I read His eyes, it was a deliberate latch, He was in no mood to let me off – His right hand was gridlocked with my left. I was moved. I looked at His eyes and caught my soul’s reflection in their unsullied glisten. Our eyes conversed in a language all their own. Swami was telling me, “Bangaru, anything done with love reaches me.  Why doubt such deservedness?” Four more batches of students came and went each overjoyed with their good fortune. I was the constancy among this change, at least for these four batches. The memory remains evergreen, a constant source of strength, solace, and assurance.

Little Big things

There arise moments in our lives when we get tired of being strong. There are times when we confront our greatest danger, ourselves. When doubt, fear and confusion present their little dances on the floor that’s our mind. What do we do? Whom do we turn to?

The answer is found where the question arises……within. The memories of His love, His concern and little acts packed with infinite meaning each serve as beacons that beckons us out of the dark. In reverie, I pose myself the question “What if Swami had never done His miracles of materializations and such allied wonderful actions? What if He had never executed His mega welfare projects – the hospitals, the water projects and the educational institutions? What if Swami chose to never deliver even one discourse in the formal sense of the word? Would we, the world have still been cognizant of His divinity?”

I search my heart, my soul and the answer moves me to tears.

“Swami is God, not because of His divinity, but his humanity. Not because of what He can materialize, but because of what He can help vanish – like the tears from that little one’s probing eyes when he missed his parents in his Ooty days. A flaming robed one, His one smile and home sickness was out.

Not because He can get gargantuan projects executed with flawless ease but that He downplays them all invariably and only seeks to highlight the little achievements of His children –the small performances done in the stadium during sports meet after which He never misses out on proudly declaring, ‘These are my children.’

Not because His divinity is a monopoly but because it is universal. You feel His love through the concern of His teachers, the care of the doctors and the nurses, the well wishes of the elders, the bonhomie of His students, the helpful nature of the Sevadals, the yearning of His devotees from across the globe, the contentment of the villagers served in the grama seva and the divinity list goes on…The mighty sun summarized in each of its zillion rays. That’s Swami and all of us.

Not because we get stumped by a unique persona in terms of a saffron robe, afro hair and mysterious waving of palms but because when we see Him, we get to watch ourselves for what we really are… Pure love and nothing else. That He is God not only because He is divine, but because having basked in His love, we realize we are divine too.”

Little things that matter in a big way.