Just Before the First Ray

JUST BEFORE THE FIRST RAY

R S Ramanujam

Contents

Dedication

Preface - The Journeyman

The Heel Spur

The Girl and the Sea

The wolf, Kayla and Coyotes

My Name is Dustbin

The Banyan

The Embrace

The Last Rattle of the Tambourine

The Last Un-turned Stone

Swallowed

The Yogi

Only One Moon to Melt

She Stays with Me

The Wick’s Plea

The Judge, Judged

Route 6 and I

Love

Grumpy and his Gecko

Allegiance

Happy Birthday

Elevator Buddha

One More

The Index Finger Game

See Who Ran Down the Clock

Cost of Leaving

Go to Sleep, We Will Find Each Other Again

Dedication

To Mithra, the glorious resplendent sun, one that dispels all darkness.

To My guru VC for all his kindness, patience and affection.

To The Sun, and the Sunflower that keep me going.

Without you, this would not have been possible. Thank you!

Preface - The Journeyman

I was an avid traveller once, with my heart in the world. One fine day, I realized, after many journeys through the world and life, that I had suddenly lost interest in traveling and had become a couch potato.

There was a time when every weekend, there would be an urge to head for the hills, to a reserve. I loved, in particular, to drive to a walkway at the harbour that extended into the sea, to experience the sea spray, after every wave would crash against the boulders, to smell and taste the salt, to watch that odd brightly coloured eel snake its way through the crevices. I craved the aimless hikes through pristine tea estates hoping to sight an elephant. 

I realized a while back that probably I had started to take lot more interest in travelling to places that did not merely jog my senses or give me a sense of keeping fit, but more to feel at peace, feel the vibration of the temples, the divine boutiques, the sound of people asking for idols, icons, bells and all sorts of divine paraphernalia.

In either case, it did not matter much that the trips, no longer journeys, but mere trips were at a time of the day when everyone preferred a siesta or at least a lazy TV session at the comfort of home, away from the scorching heat. It probably was one of the big motivators for me.

The roads were free and I almost felt the divine rolled out a red carpet for me to come and experience all the energy and positive vibes that many like myself that chose to prefer the heat for their indulgence in the divine. Theirs was with the purpose to commune with the divine. I liked the energy that came in communion with them. It was almost a selfish milking of goodness without an iota in it within myself.

I was still roaming around, happy, and that’s all that mattered.

Of late, I have shut off. The joy of the drizzle, the euphoria of a divine rendition, the romance with the sea waves and the eucalyptus trees, the stillness in the involuntary folding of the arms upon meeting an ascetic, all seems to have just vanished. It is almost as if I have been drained off all possible emotions and motivation. I feel the urge to sleep, though I have failed for a long time now to get steady sleep. So, I sit and see if all the sluggishness will lead me to sleep. But it is inconsequential.

Of late, my only life is in the realms of my mind and heart. When I am awake, I meander through the meadows, the hills and the skies of my virtual world, stitching together stories of how a sunflower and the sun symbolize what truly the epitome of love is, I stitch up stories of broken souls patching each other up like sawdust used to fill crevices in wood.

I choose to breach norms, become anti-establishment in the search for a larger quest for stillness through the abandonment of pain by indulging in small joys in a non -existent world. I live the lives of many, brighten the lives of many, sadden some, break some, bring to life some, and kill some, all in a non-existent realm.

When I am asleep or at least in a haze, my journey is different. I seem to be traveling between the many nests in my own heart, jumping from one silo to another, darting across, living in one as a little boy, in another is a singer, in another as a writer, in another as a sportsman, in another as one who has his loved one in an embrace, the proximity being neither too far for disinterest not too close for indulgence, in another being sheared apart by the loss of that very person, in another a recluse that never found the light of the day in pursuing my dreams. And then there are these silos of hurt and hate, from the past of a disappointing student life, a bitter episode of backstabbing at the hands of a person that I once thought was my best buddy, and many such of misunderstandings, abuse, of many dreams that slipped and fell off the ledge when I almost had them in hand, of many prospective suns turning out to be meteorites that either burnt or blinded me.

They all are now nice large holes of varying sizes in the heart. Holes that were painstakingly carved by God, using the instruments of pain, hurt and disappointment, mainly of love. Unrequited, won and then lost, not gained at all, used as a tool of manipulation, love that I did not have the courage to speak of, that I do not have the courage to speak of and those that I may never develop the courage to speak of.

For Love unlike any other emotion is always misconstrued and is always married off to the wrong spouse.

I wondered one day why I had to have such large holes in the heart. The only reason is, I need space.

Space for the many angelic souls that need to live there. The angels that still give me a purpose to live. The angels who make me smile when I eat, that make me smile at 3 AM when I am grappling with the loss of sleep, make me feel the need to live to see a tomorrow, that make me feel complete and a part of the whole.

To put large hearted souls in, one needs large sized openings. And so maybe, this is why God used the fastest way to make these apartments in me, to house the souls that would let me heal. The pigeon holes in my heart that these noble ones have chosen to make their home. And those, whose hearts have similar nests too made with similar tools, that I think I made my home.

And God, maybe, has another purpose. He lives in me. And he wants to keep all those matter to me as close to him as they are to me. That way he will nurture and bind us in a chain of love that will never break.

Maybe I have finally found the ones to complete me. Maybe I don’t need to get my moccasins dirty any more. Maybe my heart is a larger engine that can journey the world on my own creation where all these lovely pigeons in my heart manifest as my companions in my journey, enjoying the sunrise, the smell of the grass, the coldness of the stream, the taste of the fresh apple in the forest and finally, join me in my broad smiles.

I am the journeyman and the world is in my heart. And with the world in my heart, no one seems to be leaving as easily as when my heart was in the world and everything and everyone seemed to be fleeing.

I no longer think I need to physically walk, drive, run, hug, cuddle, kiss and smile. It is all becoming a little inward. It is becoming more assured more lasting, maybe even eternal.

I have moved on. I have evolved. In this world, I realize, I am no longer a traveller, a journeyman. I realize, I am a pilgrim.

And this book, if I may call it that, is a travelogue. I hope there are some useful maps and notes in it.

∞

The Heel Spur

I couldn't put my foot down.

Not just because I was married, but because I had pain in my heel. It was the fifth straight day I had this unbearable pain in the morning and I decided I had to see the doctor.

Padma