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Shodashi lay on the grass looking up at the open sky. Below her the dew kissed grass caressed her as would a cool comforter. Holding her like a baby; cozy, cuddled, in parental protection. Above her the clear skies, with the sun hiding behind a single cloud, like a tailgating car during a highway chase. All this made her morning slumber that much more pleasurable.
“Well let me tell you why we moved here - it is a clean and green city”, offered Nitin as an explanation. His fully satisfied smile sank with his bulk into the newly bought sofa.
“But…so was Anaikatti, I mean Coimbatore is literally the foothills of the Nilgiris, you can’t go to Ooty or Coonoor without passing it…” rebutted Vaibhavi, his wife of many years, someone who had accompanied him across the length and breadth of the country, reluctantly, while he made up his mind.
“Ok, agreed. Don’t you remember the Dussehra last year, how magnificent it was, that was it for me, I decided to move here then and there.” Nitin’s statement seemed to have an air of finality about it. He reached out for the toasted cashews with the confidence of a man who mostly got his way.
“We experienced enough culture in Tamil Nadu too, thank you. We need not have moved for that! It was a daily affair there…and…” Vaibhavi was not in a mood to give up. After all, she had spent more than twelve years there. More so, had he forgotten that is where they had met and married each other. The couple were now past the honeymoon stage. With no kids on the horizon, and no common ground except for past history, their partnership had reached a stalemate.
“No, I have not forgotten, yes we met in Coimbatore and we lived there for many years too but does it offer a locality like Gokulam? No na. It has state of the art senior homes like Nana-Nani no doubt but we have years to go before we check in there!” he smirked at the thought of ageing. “It was time to move and we did” Nitin could not comprehend his wife’s typical refusal to see reason.
Vaibhavi deflected this last statement of her husband and put Shodashi in a spot by asking outright, “You tell me Di, every place has its own charm na, how can he say Mysuru is the best? And what is this - time to move - will we keep moving constantly like khaanabadosh?”
Nitin interjected mercilessly now that Vaibhavi had brought in a third party into the argument, “I can, you can too if you just let go of your attachment to the past, we travelled all over the country looking for a place to settle. Rishikesh, Nagpur, Chandigarh, Nashik, Pune, arre even Goa! Tell me is there any place that offers the package that Mysuru does!” He now considered the matter closed.
After a pause when he did not hear a murmur from either Vaibhavi or Shodashi, Nitin sealed his argument with a defensive, “look, Mysuru is 3-4 hours from all the major tourist attractions in this area; Kabini, Ranganathittu, Bylakupppe, Srirangapatna, Somanathapura, Wayanad, Ooty, Coonoor, BRT Hills, Coimbatore and of course Bengaluru, this city is so blessed with its geography and even more by its weather.”
“Coimbatore has excellent weather”, Vaibhavi glared back at him.
“I am also talking of the Hindu feel of a place, a natural flow of sanatana dharma in day to day life without being encumbered by demographics and conversions. Without being talked down to by DMK thugs for not speaking Tamizh and not being beaten up for being North Indian. And outside of the gurukulam in Anaikatti, or any gurukulam there, tell me which locality offers a cosmopolitan set of foreigners mingling with natives, of cafes offering international, vegan and healthy food, of people indulging in yoga and sadhana, as routine as in Gokulam here?”
Vaibhav jumped at the opportunity to throw some data at Nitin, “Where have you been! Have you not read how parochial the situation is becoming here too… regarding language… anti-Hindi protests…”
“So where do you want to settle? Hyderabad? In the heat and dust amongst all those black burqas…Sorry Shodashi…” Nitin was fuming by now, so was Vaibhavi.
This was not the holiday she had planned for weeks. Shodashi felt she had to get out of the house. If this was how things were early in the morning imagine the next few days! These two really needed some maunam and dhyanam in their lives and maybe I need to forgo my plans too thought Shodashi, disappointed at all her carefully made preparations going to waste.
The couple’s heavy rhythmic breath gave respite to the heated discussion. But Nitin took a final salvo before he let go, “…and where else can you have in depth conversations about life and death, of Vedanta and Ayurveda with strangers in a German bakery that serves up the most delicious bread, a stone’s throw from the best filter coffee that you can find?”
“..accha baaba got it, you love Mysuru theek hai. Di, where do you want to eat today, Depth and Green or Sapa?” Vaibhavi tried to salvage what was left of the morning and its calmness but the deed was done. The morning was broken.
That is when Shodashi decided to let her feet decide her day.
She came out of the house on 10th main in the wee hours to make the most of her time here. This midlife crisis and bickering of her friends was not helping. Pity she had lost two days to fever and an upset stomach. Traveling non-stop every month, her body was exhausted from eating and drinking at various places and wanted rest. It craved simple food, and to do nothing.
Today then was her nothing day.
Walking aimlessly she went where her feet took her. If they turned right she did not question or second guess, if they turned left she followed with great devotion. Shodashi wished to be surprised today. She wanted to be filled with joy and wonder. With the same feelings that made children so normal. Not jaded. Not cynical. Not fearful.
She saw a sign that pointed towards a Krishna Temple, why not, lets go legs! She was of course bathed and freshly adorned. It was unthinkable to come out of the house without morning ablutions even if for a walk or a stroll. Most denizens of Gokulam 3rd stage seemed to agree. Everyone was up and about even though it was only 6.30am. The weather was perfect, and the yoga studios aplenty.
Foreigners - white mostly - scurried about trying to make it in time for their sessions. Two hours in the morning and then a sumptuous breakfast, followed by remote work, then a bit of a siesta, topped by an evening session of another two hours, a bit of practice if the body held up and finally in the evening; the cafe banter, meeting other students from around the world, exchanging notes; this described their world in the city of Mysuru.
Shodashi’s past week in Gokulam had not gone to waste. She had been coming out early for walks and breakfast before setting out for the Mysuru Yoga Festival at Wind Chimes, and then returning in the evening to observe all this and more in her short stint. Her Gujju friend had put her up and being single he did not have anyone to quarrel with and his household had been quiet, welcoming and most relaxing. Much as she knew the worth of a stable family in society, the practicality of peace trumped her ideals.
There are very few towns like Mysuru and very few localities like Gokulam.
This was not Pondicherry, not Thiruvannamalai, it was not Rishikesh or Pushkar, it was not even Kasol or Kasar, Gokulam was definitely not Gokarna or Hampi. Foreigners did not come here for cheap drugs and a hippie lifestyle. They did not come here looking for adventure, or for a high or an adrenaline rush. The type here was distinct.
Driven, focussed, intent on practice and sadhana, they seemed mostly apolitical and keen on adapting the local culture. The clothing was of course yoga pants and tees, nothing untoward or disrespectful. Many sported bindis and were mindful of their Indian teachers. They entered temples and bowed before the Hindu deities. And thanks to their seasonal comings and goings, this whole area and its population had become prosperous overnite. From September to March, for six months, Gokulam celebrated a different kind of Dussehra.
Shodashi learnt how each house was refurbishing and revamping to become an AirBnB or a hostel or a guest house, there was more money to be made renting out to foreigners than in a regular job. This seemed similar to how everybody in Asia’s cleanest village Mawlynnong, in Meghalaya, had now set up a B&B, a Bread and Breakfast, to cater to the overwhelming tourist demand.
Despite the presence of so many foreigners, what piqued Shodashi’s interest and she was thankful for it, was that the area had not lost any of its original essence and had managed to retain its nativity. But where was the promised Krishna temple? What she saw stretching before her was the Gokulam Park. It was blooming and beckoning with birdsong. Kukkarahalli Lake at the University of Mysuru premises was gorgeous of course but this tiny bit of paradise at this time in the morning with no one in it except an odd devotee from the temple with freshly applied chandanam was an unexpected treat from the devatas.
This was all hers! And silent. How delicious.
But she must not give into temptation just yet, first she must have darshan. The temple, the gopuram peering through the trees, was right across, atop a short hillock. It was peaceful with just an odd bhakta or two doing their pradakshinas, murmuring under their breath shlokas learnt on a grandmother’s lap perhaps. Shodashi followed suit and felt the overpowering heady scent of sampangi fill her being. If Krishna be here, will champaka be far behind!
A young man was chatting with someone who looked like the head pujari, going by the deference with which the man treated this archaka. Shodashi rummaged a bit in her backpack and found the box of sweets she had bought from Pulla Reddy, anticipating such exigencies (never go empty handed to a temple or guru her amma had said), and offered it at the altar without a word. There were other smaller shrines - to Ganesha, to Ashvattha, and lo! Hanuma too. She was pleasantly surprised by this, not expecting him in a Krishna temple.
Shodashi was just about to decide where to go for her morning meal after her circumambulations when the pujari sought her out. He hastily handed her a leafy cup full of prasadam, it was more like breakfast. Hanuma apparently did not want her to go away hungry from his doorstep. “Please come back for lunch, we are celebrating our anniversary…” the head pujari called after her.
She had earmarked a few cafes last night and wanted to try them out but this - this here in her palm - beat them all. No Coffee No Prana could wait. Nitin and Vaibhavi had raved about this quaint and cute cafe run by the daughter of the yoga guru, late Shri. Pattabhi Jois, the man responsible for turning Mysuru into a yoga centre. The rates were nominal, and the taste authentic, they said. Adjacent to the cafe was their famed yogashala which housed their students as well. Well, that had to wait.
Shodashi let her feet do the planning for today.
So she took the puliyogare with a grateful heart and walked towards the park. And then settling there under the Magnolia Champaca she took her first bite after offering a few grains to the birds and to the tree she was relaxing under. The heady scent of the flowers added a heavenly flavor to the prasadam, which was already so divine.
Once she was done, she leisurely walked across into the temple compound once again to wash her hands and returned to her spot below the blossoming ‘sampige’ as they are known in these parts. She opened her backpack that carried a water bottle, a cap, a dupatta that had multipurpose uses, and other travel paraphernalia and broke into a hum…keraya neeranu kerega jalli…padumanaabha.. paramapurusha.. parammmjyooooti svaroopaa aa..aa..vidura vantyaa vimala charita…
Shodashi lay on the grass, on her back, head on her backpack, looking up at the canopy, the extra dupatta serving as a covering on her exposed feet. She had seen the Sarod maestro Amjad Ali Khan do this while performing so that one’s feet do not point rudely at someone. She rolled to her left and to her right in gay abandon, letting out inaudible sighs of enchantment with this place. She had this park to herself, the intermittent sounds of the temple bells reminding her of her own existence. Strains of classical music wafted across the green from the tiny house yonder, in her imagination a young girl practising her first geetam, reminding Shodashi of her own classes from aeons ago.
The classes had come to a naught but her love of music and dance had not. In fact Smt. Prema Rajan had instilled the love of the Carnatic in her so deep that even today after decades Shodashi remembered the lyrics. It was in Jaisalmer that she had started her ‘sa pa sa’, in the temporary two room accommodation that the government gave its servants while on a two year posting. One room was all in all, the other a bedroom for all. Right next door came the Rajans, and as luck would have it, the Mrs. sang. And beautifully. With diamonds in her ears, a nose stud to boot, a large bindi and shimmering Mysore silks, she sang her way into Shodashi’s heart.
Ma Pa Da Sa Sa Ri
Ri Sa Da Pa Ma Pa
Ri Ma Pa Da Ma Pa
Da Pa Ma Ga Ri Sa
ಶ್ರೀ ಗಣನಾಥ (ಲಂಬೋದರ)
ರಾಗಂ: ಮಳಹರಿ (ಮೇಳಕರ್ತ 15, ಮಾಯಾಮಾಳವ ಗೌಳ ಜನ್ಯರಾಗ)
ಸ್ವರ ಸ್ಥಾನಾಃ: ಷಡ್ಜಂ, ಶುದ್ಧ ಋಷಭಂ, ಶುದ್ಧ ಮಧ್ಯಮಂ, ಪಂಚಮಂ, ಶುದ್ಧ ಧೈವತಂ
ಆರೋಹಣ: ಸ ರಿ1 … ಮ1 . ಪ ದ1 … ಸ’
ಅವರೋಹಣ: ಸ’ … ದ1 ಪ . ಮ1 ಗ3 . . ರಿ1 ಸ
ತಾಳಂ: ಚತುರಸ್ರ ಜಾತಿ ರೂಪಕ ತಾಳಂ
ಅಂಗಾಃ: 1 ಧೃತಂ (2 ಕಾಲ) + 1 ಲಘು (4 ಕಾಲ)
ರೂಪಕರ್ತ: ಪುರಂಧರ ದಾಸ
ಭಾಷಾ: ಕನ್ನಡ
ಸಾಹಿತ್ಯಂ
ಪಲ್ಲವಿ
ಲಂಬೋದರ ಲಕುಮಿಕರ
ಅಂಬಾಸುತ ಅಮರವಿನುತ
ಚರಣಂ 1
ಶ್ರೀ ಗಣನಾಥ ಸಿಂಧೂರ ವರ್ಣ
ಕರುಣಾ ಸಾಗರ ಕರಿವದನ
(ಲಂಬೋದರ)
ಚರಣಂ 2
ಸಿದ್ಧ ಚಾರಣ ಗಣ ಸೇವಿತ
ಸಿದ್ಧಿ ವಿನಾಯಕ ತೇ ನಮೋ ನಮೋ
(ಲಂಬೋದರ)
ಚರಣಂ 3
ಸಕಲ ವಿದ್ಯ-ಅದಿ ಪೂಜಿತ
ಸರ್ವೋತ್ತಮ ತೇ ನಮೋ ನಮೋ
(ಲಂಬೋದರ)
Sri Gananatha was thus her first geetam. From then onwards Shodashi had continued to sing Sri Purandara Dasa’s poetry. So many of the carnatic songs she had learnt as a child were by him. Shodashi felt an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude for a land and culture that had produced such greats and such music. This land. Feeling the ground with her palms and back, with calves pressed down, drawing an angel like a child would in snow, she took it all in. The morning breeze, the ringing bells, the carnatic tunes, and the chattering of mynahs, feeling rich and royal.
Grounding has immense benefits: Increases HRV, Reduces stress, Improves sleep, Normalises day-night cortisol rhythm, Activates sympathetic nervous system
She had read this somewhere, and for some reason she had it all etched in her memory. The article was proving itself right, although she had no idea what HRV meant. Her heart, her mind and her stomach were full and overflowing with contentment. She felt at one with her surroundings. Her breath - her prana - that she exhaled, all this was in turn inhaled by the flora around. Their breath in return was her own inhalation. How fascinating. We are connected, each one of us.
A common thread linking everything and everyone on this planet and…why limit myself to just this world…such thinking calmed her, lulled her what next nature into sobriety. This is what they meant by the Butterfly Effect she supposed, where one cannot do anything without it affecting the whole brahmanda in some way. Wow! A surge of warm and fuzzy love emanated from her towards all. I am one with everyone, all are me alone. Sri Krishna’s words to Arjuna came back to her in her semi-dream state. Shodashi was dozing off on the green, but she mandated her eyes to remain open, to enjoy this perfect morning to the hilt. Ah! the fear of missing out…
Shaking herself free from her stupor, and any and all fomo, she stared at the sky, the grass, the temple walls and the surrounding houses for a long time, with a blank mind. Staying with oneself, with complete attention and mindfulness was not an easy task as she discovered once again. But she must not escape into activity like always. Stay. Stay….stttaaayy, she told herself.
Shodashi was now free to do her japa. On most days this was a mechanical process, one of those to-be-done activities. But today she decided to walk the length and breadth of the park in a clockwise direction, making note of the local flora fauna while chanting aloud bhagavan’s name. Keeping her phone on silent, hidden away inside the purse, she removed her slip ons, and covered all her belongings with the extra dupatta. She was now ready. Walking barefoot to the entrance of the park and then to the backend, pursuing this rectangle mindlessly, while chanting gloriously,
Shodashi finally understood what her mother meant by; if there is anything worth doing, it is worth doing well. A nothing day is done well when nothing is done with an agenda.
There was no past present or future at this moment. There was no thought of work or personal life. There was no memory of family or friends. There was no fear or insecurity. There were no demands from society or criticism of norms. There was no expectation from anyone. There was no anger at the way things were nor eagerness to change anything. There was the stillness of being and the fullness of self. A nothing day which was everything in the end. The Self being complete and full it is not isolated from anything. Shodashi remembered her Swamiji’s precious words.
Once her daily dose of japa was done, she came back to her spot and pondered hard. She was to meet her other gurukulam friends, so many of them had moved in from other cities to settle here, but decided against it. A nothing day meant she would savour the nothingness. Not busy herself with meetings and greetings. This time she lay on her stomach and observed the ants crawling away from her, afraid of being crushed, she smiled while falling asleep, imagining herself a Kumbhakarna.
It was a sleep of happiness that she woke up from, not of fatigue or of the night. And as she rubbed her eyes open she remembered another of the pillari geetams that was penned by Purandara, Kundagowra.
Da Pa Ma Ga Ri Sa
Ri Ma Pa Da Ma Pa
Ga Ri Ri Sa Da Pa
Da Pa Ma Ga Ri Sa
Shodashi walked barefeet to the temple premises once again, this time to wash her face, hands and feet, and partake of the promised lunch. It was undoubtedly the best meal she had had in a long long time. Refreshed, she came back to her spot and sat down leaning against the trunk of the tree, a smooth grey bark. And dozed off once again, dreaming of no borders, no boundaries…imagine all the people.. sharing all the world… you may say I am a dreamer…but I am not the only one…someday you’ll join me… and the world will live as one…
A few early evening joggers had entered the park in her mental absence, making the rounds with fit bits in hand. Two men, bare chested, seemed to be gardening while listening to the news. A lady sat by the toilets with a pram talking softly on the phone. The demographics of that silent park was slowly changing. Humans were making their way in. Dogs or cows though could not enter unlike in the other parks. Here the entrance was a swirling gate that prevented animals from making their way in.
A well maintained park such as this with a water tap and bathrooms, with diligent gardeners and a jogging path, a beautiful lawn and cheerful aromatic flowers, devoid of trash and plastic and polythene, devoid of graffiti and ruffians, was the need of the hour in every locality of every city. But she had not found anything like this anywhere but here. It spoke highly of both the city and this locality. Shodashi brushed the grass off her kurta and headed for the toilets. Sprinkling her face with cold water helped wash away all mala, external and internal. It was simple shaucha after a good slumber.
She remained in the park for a few hours more, it was almost dusk when she decided to check her phone and saw numerous missed calls from her frantic hosts. She smiled at their desperation, at least they are not at each other’s throats now! They must be jointly cursing me, she chuckled at her own thoughts. But the temple had to be visited one last time, to bid goodbye to Hanuma, for now. He had given her strength and courage today to follow her heart. He had fed her and housed her, right here in his vicinity. He had taught her to just be. He was the vayu of her prana. He needed to be acknowledged. Bowing before him, and promising to be back, Shodashi took leave leisurely. There was nowhere to be but here.
Humming her way out, Shodashi let her feet take her where they wanted to go. But this time they proved to be too timid for adventure and took her straight home.
“Di, so you walked around for how many hours…and then spent all your time in a park…a park! Really?” Vaibhavi’s disbelief was evident, she could not envision Shodashi doing nothing for a whole day, and that she had simply walked in the neighbourhood and slept in a park.
“Well, actually I dozed off most of the time…when I got up, I walked back…” Shodashi knew that she sounded a bit crazy, and even to her ears all this sounded like an excuse for something far more sinister.
“Dozed off maane? You slept somewhere…at your Auroville friend’s house?” Nitin looked at Shodashi incredulously, “..strolling aimlessly for so many hours, a whole day …really…?”
“..na naa..I ..I kind of let my feet…I mean..erm…I.. you know what, I think I prefer Mysuru too, I plan to return soon…”
Nitin shot an ‘I told you’ look to Vaibhavi. But Shodashi disabused him of the reason why.
I want more mornings in Gokulam Park. You must go there too, Nitin, it is a cure for all wanderings.
Back in Bhagyanagar, Shodashi peered at the online application once again, it said knowledge of Kannada was a must. She had of course learnt carnatic music and most of the early songs by Purandara Dasa were all in Kannada. Given the abundant Sanskrit in the compositions and the affinity that Kannada had to its younger sister Telugu, Shodashi never found the singing arduous, or incomprehensible. Could she answer yes to the query then, “Knowledge of Kannada - Yes/ No?”
How does one convey a lifetime of learning and experience in a single line on Google Forms! Maybe she would write an email to the founder or better still call and explain her love of dasavani. Raghu Leela School of Music had just opened up a course offering online classes. Their musical videos were all over social media for their beautiful nagara sankeertanes and performances in railway stations, to airports, to Kashi and Ayodhya too. Shodashi checked where they were based. Mysuru! The city with Gokulam Park.
“May I speak with Dr. Sunitha Chandrakumar please?”