Withered Tulsi, Shattered Shaligram and a Smiling Lad: Remembering Amma

Someone has rightly opined, time has wings, it flies….since then, twenty years have passed but the incident that took place on the early morning of the 10^th day of October 1992 is so fresh in my mind as if it had taken place just a just few moments ago. I was 10+ then and 30+ now. One may wonder why I took so long, why I didn’t say anything earlier. Was it because I did not miss her? Or I was running away from that memory because that would hurt me? Nothing like that, the choice I made, that is, to keep mum was a conscious choice. Truly speaking, I denied that event; I could never believe that she is not around me. Yeah, she is around, but with the only difference that this presence is COVERT one which I often witness more powerfully than the overt ones. I could see, her taking pride when her, by now grown up, son speaks in some seminar, and gets surprised to see how her erstwhile super shy kiddie smartly talks and persuades young ladies, and admonishes and cools when I try to become violent and do harm to others. Why, then, this clarification now, is everything aright? or is this case  an indication that something has gone wrong. This is the case indeed, I became unsettled, to be truthful, for a few moments I lost my confidence when I happened to encounter Tulsi-Shaligram during latest visit to my home. Last January, the moment I reached the door which connects the inner and outer blocks of my ancestral house, my glance fell on the corner where once used to be a splendid Tulsi-Chabutara, exactly the place where Amma used circumambulate every morning with a water-lutki in her hand, and used to tie nuptial knot of Tulsi and Shaligram on the auspicious kartik-ekadashi. I recalled the view of shy green Tulsi covered in red piece of cloth sitting pleasantly with the bright Shaligram placed in a brass throne. Now, there was no escape, I had to deal with my old friends who received nourishment from the same care-giver. “How r u ? our little friend” ask the divine couple ruefully. Without waiting for my response, Shaligram continued “don’t you miss her? Oh, now you are grown up.” The condition, in which I found my old friends, unsettled me immensely and the sorrow was to take me in its grip but suddenly a couplet from, Nida Fazli, which I had heard in a Mushaira from poet himself appeared in my mind....

Mai tumhare kabra pe faatiha parhne nahi aayaa

Tu jinda hai meri in ungaliyon  me…… ( don’t think I remember the 2^nd line of the couplet correctly)

Which he had written for his father.

As a matter of fact, she is not only alive in my physical body alone but she manifests herself in whatever goodness and purity (shivatwa aur shuchita) is there in me. It’s largely due to her grace that I have been able to suppress, to some extent though, my wild animal instincts.

So poetry saved my life once again. I told smilingly, to my old friends, its not the case that I have forgotten the things, histories cant be changed, However I consciously wish to be oblivious of the incident that had  taken place on that day, for, I believe, feeling her COVERT PRESENCE makes much more sense to me than missing her OVERT ABSENCE. Hence, O divine couple, if you desire so, you too follow this mortals' path and keep on smiling.

RBP vs VMP

In sharp contrast to my taste, the present piece is largely autobiographical, though not without reason. As it’s already known to some of my friends, for quite some time I started using two names, by now I thought it proper to work out some logic behind this change in my behaviour at least for the sake of my own understanding. The answer is simply complex as the question itself, that is to say, it has precisely got to do with my inner duality, so gradually this duality became so apparent that it was no longer possible to keep it under control, consequently, two different but interrelated surface manifestations emerged. One is related to me since my birth, family, academic education, in other words, what could be called official. This aspect of mine is represented by RBP (Ram Bichar Pandey). Here, it’s interesting to note that, I was named after a well known Bhojpuri poet who practised medicine in my native town Ballia. On the other hand, VMP (Vidhu Maghavan Parasharya), signifies more deeper and ultimately more interesting aspects of mine for instance, my interest in mysteries, History, Culture, Astro-Psychology, Tantra to name a few. Hence, to conclude, let me rephrase the entire argument into a simple statement; whatever I do in relation to my family, linguistics (My pet subject since my graduation days) and anything known to be official will belong to RBP, rest, a large chunk though, will remain with VMP.