Taking Delight in What Makes Us Human

Unlike Ross Gay, who wrote The Book of Delights, his book of essayettes, in long hand, I typed this review of the book into the Microsoft Surface given to me delightfully by Freshworks when I joined the ‘love-your-software kudumba’ three years back. (Kudumba means family and it is Freshworks’ mission to make software people love to use.)

And while I agree with Ross on writing by hand being “a surprising and utter delight” I have taken as much delight, if not more, in sifting through his daily musings of whatever caught his fancy—and punching in these words on the laptop.

First, a little explanation of why this review and then I’ll share some delightful nuggets from the book, peppered (or sweetened, if sweet is your thing) with my own comments.

Ever since Freshworks chose ‘Delight made easy’ as our tagline, no mention of the word ‘delight’ escapes my attention. Plus, given that we have a thriving Freshworks Book Circle community of readers in our midst, I just grabbed Ross’s book from a bookstore on a recent visit as soon as the title caught my eye.

A few years back, on his forty-second birthday, Ross Gay, a professor of English at Indiana University and an award-winning poet-author, began the endeavor of writing one short essay each day about “something delightful.” By his own admission, he cheated some days and let them pass happily without writing. To use his terminology, he took delight in “blowing it off.”

But when he does get down to writing his thoughts and observations on any topic under the sun—varying from praying mantis and high-five from strangers to coffee without the saucer and airplane rituals—the result is a delight contagion spreading through whoever reads them. After an eyeful of reading, you are bound to change how you pay attention to the goings on in life around you. His delightful observations make you thoughtful and cheerful in equal measure.

The Book of Delights excels in noticing the joyous minutiae of existence and the connections that human beings make within their species as well as their surrounding abundance of thriving, pulsating life.

In his very first essayette (My Birthday, Kinda), Ross observed, among other things, a fly land on the handle of a cup of coffee. And it took him no time to tease the delight out of the spectacle. This is how he puts it: “A fly, its wings hauling all the light in the room, landing on the porcelain handle as if to say: ‘Notice the precise flare of this handle, as though designed for the romance between the thumb and index finger that holding a cup can be.” Coffee or tea lovers clutching their cuppas would approve.

In another piece (Hummingbird), he writes: “Once I saw a hummingbird perusing the red impatiens outside my building at school, and I walked slowly over to the planting, plucked one, and held it in my outstretched hand perfectly still, long enough that at least one student walking my way crossed the street so as not to get too close to me, until the blur of light did in fact dip its face into the meager sweet in my hand.”

How lucky and delightful the experience of feeding “the blur of light” (lovely expression!) out of one’s hand, I thought as I read the above passage (I must confess that my own experience of once trying to feed a squirrel out of my hand went awry, though the memory is still delightful and dear to me: the squirrel bit my hand before making off with the morsel). 

One of the key motifs in Ross’s book is that he always seems to be looking out for a nod, an acknowledgment, even a physical touch symbolizing kindness or appreciation in fellow human beings. Let me pull out two episodes that I particularly found noteworthy.

Once Ross was working on his computer in a coffee shop with his headphones on and swaying to a new De La Soul record when he found a teenage girl standing next to him, hand raised. And just as he looked up, confused, and pulled back his headphones, the girl said (presumptively): “Working on your paper?! Good job to you! High five!”

Ross high-fived with delight.

Then, in the essayette titled Tap Tap, he writes: “I take it as no small gesture of solidarity and, more to the point, love, or, even more to the point, tenderness, when the brother working as a flight attendant…walking backward in front of the cart, after putting my seltzer on my tray table, said, ‘There you go, man,’ and tapped my arm twice, tap, tap.”

Another observation I could immediately relate to, having seen it at multiple train and bus stations across India, came in the piece titled Sharing a Bag. In Ross’s words: “I adore it when I see two people…sharing the burden of a shopping bag or sack of laundry by each gripping one of the handles.”

The way Ross further describes how the two people usually lug the bag makes you break into a spontaneous chuckle, followed by a nod of human understanding: “It at first seems to encourage a kind of staggering, as the uninitiated, or the impatient, will try to walk at his own pace, the bag twisting this way and that, whacking shins or skidding along the ground. But as we mostly do, feeling the sack, which has become a kind of tether between us, we modulate our pace, even our sway and saunter—the good and sole rhythms we might swear we live by—to the one on the other side of the sack.”

As an aside, aren’t we all in the corporate world trying to modulate our pace, collaborating to carry and deliver the bag of goods (or goodies)?

The Book of Delights is a treasure trove of joyous observations, especially about the daily human experience and our shared bonds.

But before I bid you adieu, here’s one more tidbit which, I’m delighted to say, has a direct correlation with customer experience (though I believe one can find CX inspiration in a lot of Ross’s observations.)

Now, Ross doesn’t like to have a saucer with his coffee—the cup alone will do, thank you very much. So, in Coffee without the Saucer, he talks about how he once had to “rescue” his short Americano that was “wobbling precariously on the little saucer” by placing it squarely on the table. “Phew. And the spoon clanging the whole time. For Pete’s sake.” (You can almost feel the disgruntlement on his face.)

And then he recalls a delightful experience of “a saucerless administration of a small coffee drink” at an espresso place. He loves the place not only for the “very fine small coffee drinks they make” but also for the curiosity of one barista in particular, who “studies my face as I indulge.” 

“No saucer, right, she observed after one visit. I love her.”

Delight is made easy when you deliver what people love: whether coffee or software.

(This post was written for and first appeared on Freshworks.com.)

For the Love of Walking

 

Aldous Huxley’s father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing. Walt Whitman spoke of his longing to “walk undisturbed” in a garden of beautiful flowers in one of his poems. And Dolly Parton had once said, “I walk tall; I got a tall attitude.”

Me? I walk because I just love walking.

There is so much joy, so much learning, so much fun in the simple, simple act of walking that I thought it worth my while to write this ode. 

Whether I am walking among the mountains, on the road less traveled, or even in a concrete jungle, there’s something about walking that lifts not just my step but my spirit as well. 

Nature trails are the best for walking, yes. Didn’t the great naturalist John Muir once remark, “In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks”?

Fortunately for me, I’m blessed to receive a lot not only in the midst of nature but also wherever I happen to be walking.

Here I’m sharing a few of my experiences and thoughts on walking in different places and situations. 

Let me begin with nature.

Nature, in my view, works its magic best while you are ambling about, quietly admiring its sights, sounds, and smells.

Years ago, I was going back to our camping base with a bunch of teachers and students. We were staying in a forest in the Himalayas for 10 days as part of a study-cum-adventure camp. It was the best time of the day: morning. The trail we were walking on was flanked by mighty, benevolent trees. The rays of the sun were just beginning to penetrate the leaves and kiss our footsteps. Birds were singing as if for the first time. We were hardly speaking but a lot was conveyed in that long, blissful walk.

Nature, in my view, works its magic best while you are ambling about, quietly admiring its sights, sounds, and smells. Before you know, you hear the birdsong’s echo in your heart. A smile appears on your lips out of nowhere. Happiness rules. And gratitude. And love.

I was once on a work trip and staying in a hotel in a city I hardly knew. As is my wont, I slipped out of the hotel at the first opportunity in order to explore the area around it in the best way I could think of: on foot. It was evening and getting dark and people were hurrying home in the daily orchestra of routines familiar to cities all around the world. Honk-honk, screech-screech, rush-rush. Pedestrians crossing the roads with quick steps, before the traffic light turns green again. The wheelbarrow fruit vendors agreeing to sell their perishables at lower and lower prices to hard-nosed shoppers in the hope of clearing out their stock for the day. Mosquitoes swarming in the dusk, ready to attack some more than others for reasons best known to them.

For a moment I paused and stood still at a crossroads, watching the drama of urban life all around me. The sun just disappeared with double-quick speed behind a building but its reflection was still visible on another glass giant across the road. The warmth and the light of the yellow star, which looked like an orange ball before bouncing off for the day, would remain for another half hour or so.

In that exploratory walk (I was being a ‘flaneur’ I found out later), I got to know more about that particular area of the city than if I had been running or driving past in a car (though running and driving have their own charms).

When you put your whole and soul into the act of walking, you are rewarded with an indescribable feeling of joy and achievement.

Of late, I have begun to observe how I walk and what happens in the body when we walk. Especially when I go for morning walks. I’ve noticed, for example, that when I keep walking even when I’m feeling a bit tired or “not up to it”, my senses perk up gradually. After about three or four thousand steps, the blood circulation improves and sends my attitude scurrying toward positivity again. What earlier seemed like a burden becomes easy and light as a feather. 

Another observation: when you put your whole and soul into the act of walking, you are rewarded with an indescribable feeling of joy and achievement (something similar happens in running and other sporting activities, I’m sure). If the mind gets pulled into worrisome thoughts about what the day ahead holds, I chide it gently and bring my awareness and focus back to where I’m going; how I’m lifting and putting forth each foot; whether the body in motion is carrying the mind along; whether the breathing is deep and rhythmic enough to be as effortless as possible, giving me more ‘bang for the breath’, so to say. 

I visualize my own reflection in an imaginary, life-size mirror placed ahead of me. When all the elements of walking—the limbs, the thoughts, the breathing—are well-aligned, when the act of walking becomes an integral part of my present being, the reflected image naturally assumes an effortless, innate grace.

You can indeed realize your true self through the simple, serene act of walking.

I tend to think of such graceful, wholesome walking instances akin to the ‘walking meditation’ that the Buddha is often said to have practiced.

I walk some more.

Walking gives us not only the space we so constantly seek but also offers multiple opportunities, in a variety of paces, to slow down for, pause and observe, and touch and experience the beautiful things that otherwise get missed in the hustle of modern, gadget-obsessed life.

At least for me, walking is a way of connecting with our pristine, humane nature. Allowing us to exercise not just the muscles, but our common, inner faculty of joy and wonder too.

Let me end this note with these lovely, thought-provoking words by American singer-songwriter Roger Miller: “Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.”

Thank you for walking with me.

"I stopped long ago. When will you stop?"

I'm reminded of these words of Buddha today, on the occasion of Buddha Purnima that commemorates Shakyamuni's birth over two millennia ago.

Let me recount the deeply moving story behind these words. Hundreds of millions in India and elsewhere would already know this either through moral tales taught in school or some other books tracing the life of the Enlightened One. Nevertheless, the message of peace and non-violence in this story remains relevant as ever—indeed more so now than at any other point in human history. 

Once the Buddha was passing through a jungle that was dreaded by the locals, who avoided it for fear of limb and life. It was said that the forest was the hideout and preying ground of a dangerous murderer called Angulimala. What he used to do was murder anyone passing through the wood and, horror of horrors, cut off one of the fingers from the person’s hand. He had a garland of such fingers that he used to wear around his neck—which is what had earned him the moniker Angulimala (in the Pali language, the word “anguli” means finger and “mala” means necklace).

Even though the Buddha was aware of this murderer and had possibly been warned against visiting those parts frequented by Angulimala, he chose to ignore the warning and anyway pass through the forest that particular evening. 

It was getting dark and the silence of the jungle seemed ominous.

With his senses keen as ever, the Buddha soon perceived someone following behind him. The footsteps gradually grew louder. The Buddha heard a threatening voice: “Stop, monk, stop!”

But the Buddha remained unperturbed and kept walking slowly, quietly.

In no time, Angulimala appeared before the Buddha, brandishing his sword and speaking menacingly: “I told you to stop. Why didn’t you stop?”

The Buddha looked at Angulimala with his peaceful, penetrating gaze and said, “I stopped long ago, Angulimala. When will you stop?”

The calm demeanor with which Buddha addressed him and the serene look of the sage completely disarmed Angulimala. His outer image of a treacherous murderer was shattered. He was suddenly gripped with repentance and was overwhelmed by the Buddha’s loving presence.

Angulimala fell at the Buddha’s feet and cried.

The Buddha smiled kindly at the murderer. He picked up Angulimala and embraced him as he would embrace any of his disciples in his sangha (brotherhood of monks).

Gently and with tender care, the Buddha spoke to Angulimala about how he had long ago stopped committing acts that caused suffering to other living beings and why everyone should nurture compassion in their heart.

In the book Old Path White Clouds, the late vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh has beautifully captured how the Buddha saw through the suffering of Angulimala before he became a murderer and the gentleness with which he spoke to the repentant man. In Nhat Hanh’s words, the Buddha told Angulimala:

“Angulimala, I know you have suffered deeply at the hands of other humans. Sometimes humans can be most cruel. Such cruelty is the result of ignorance, hatred, desire, and jealousy. But humans can also be understanding and compassionate. Have you ever met a bhikkhu before? Bhikkhus vow to protect the lives of all other beings. They vow to overcome desire, hatred, and ignorance. There are many people, not just bhikkhus, whose lives are based on understanding and love. Angulimala, there may be cruel people in this world, but there are also many kind people. Do not be blinded. My path can transform cruelty into kindness. Hatred is the path you are on now. You should stop. Choose the path of forgiveness, understanding, and love instead.” (Bhikkhu means begging monk.)

How simple, profound, and true are Buddha’s words! And, I must add, how relevant in these times when ignorance, hatred, and desire rule the minds and motivations of the power hungry—the Putins of today’s world.

Moved by Buddha’s message of kindness and peace, Angulimala gave up his nefarious ways and went on to become one of his most ardent disciples.

The bhikkhus who saw Angulimala’s transformation from a mass murderer to a monk of rare caliber were so impressed that they named him Ahimsaka (the Nonviolent One, how ironic but apt).

There is an Angulimala in each one of us. Let’s try and bring him round to listen to the voice of love and peace.

Let’s stop now before it’s too late.

Happy Buddha Purnima!

The Girl Who Ran with Amazing Grace

 

I saw her about three years back, a few months before the pandemic became a thing. It was on two occasions, spaced within a week, at my neighborhood park. After that, I never got to catch even a fleeting glimpse of her supple, graceful persona.

She is no Flo-Jo or PT Usha, but to me she remains one of the most inspiring ‘track-and-field’ athletes ever.

And come to think of it: I was reminded of her most recently while working on my third book, which is about meditation. 

“What has achieving excellence in running got to do with attaining stillness in meditation,” you ask?

Contrary to that flawed first impression, a lot. Let me describe her and what makes the memory of her movement an abiding instance of inspiration, and you’ll probably know.

It happened when I was struggling with my own awkward attempt to run a few hundred feet after many, many years. While I had been keeping a healthy regimen of walking and meditation for quite some time, somehow I stayed away from running. And the reason I was attempting to run again was to further strengthen my knees that had become weaker ever since diabetes discovered me.

So, just as I was kind of giving up on the run (for the time being, I told myself), this girl in her late teens flows past me—prompting me to turn my head and take a second look.

Flow, mind you, not run, is the appropriate word here even though she was obviously running. And the same word—flow—comes up whenever my mind tries to retrieve the moving image of her smooth nimbleness from the Hippocampus.

The human brain is such an astonishing piece of equipment and works in (often) pleasantly surprising ways, isn’t it? The very mention of “flow” brings up Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s book of the same name. Do you know how Mihaly has described flow? 

“A state of concentration so focused that it amounts to complete absorption in an activity and results in the achievement of a perfect state of happiness.”

Serendipity, we love you.

I know I don’t need to write another word of explanation after this, but I will—just a few :)

When I took the second, and third, and fourth look at the girl running along the boundary of the park, I was stopped in my tracks by what I saw and felt.

She was running with such graceful movements, her hands and legs swaying in perfect rhythm, that Mihaly could’ve been looking at her when describing flow.

The girl was probably preparing for some running competition but her serene face was completely absorbed in the here-and-now moment. The expression on her face was beyond happiness.

I could barely run for one side of the boundary and here she was, doing five full rounds of the park with an ease and joy that instantly made her an icon of motivation for me.

If I may dare say, she was in some sort of divine flow.

Not much different from the flow you feel when absorbed in meditation.

I am grateful for having had the opportunity to feel inspired by her amazing grace. And happy that the inspiration is a continuing, ongoing phenomenon.

Cover Image: Pixabay

An Open Letter to Putin on Ukraine

Dear Putin,

The first thing you should know, given the horror of war you’ve needlessly unleashed on your neighbor, is that everyone across the globe must be appalled at how I address you. To much of the civilized, peace-loving world, you are anything but ‘Dear’.

So why do I choose to do that?

Simply because the seeds of war are sown with hate—and if the recent regime changes and global events are any indication, we are already surrounded in enough hate.

Now, the whole world knows the lies you have been telling Russians, most of whom don’t want anything to do with this war you have foisted on them. Just because you believed your own lies of ‘liberating Ukraine’ doesn’t mean the world, in this age of connectivity and social media, would trust what you say—nor would Russians continue to believe you after seeing the images of suffering that must have reached them in gigabytes.

Contrary to your designs, the key object of your derision and hate, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, has now emerged as the heroic, exemplary leader of a people under dictatorial invasion. And what an inspiration he has been! The entire world is saluting him with vicarious pride.

Ukraine’s wish to join NATO and the West’s intent to loosen your stranglehold on gas supplies to Europe have also attracted your ire and aggression.

In case you don’t know already, all this hate and anger is causing great anguish and pain to your own people, the majority of Russians over whom you are said to rule as per your whims and fancies. The very small minority of your compatriots who concur with you would be, of course, in your elite little circle of influence. Did none of them warn you against the consequences of the lies and the power-hungry ambitions?

As the parents in Ukraine grieve over their dead sons and daughters, their counterparts in Russia are reported to be discovering, to their sheer dismay, that their own progeny—some still in their teens—are pulling the triggers at your behest. Russians are also discovering, and will continue to do so in the days and weeks ahead, the dire consequences of crushing economic sanctions being imposed on your country and those who collaborate with its entities.

I’m with the world in condemning your acts of aggression and war that seem set to affect billions in the long run.

But I’m also with the apostles of peace such as Buddha and Gandhi from this nation called India (that knows a thing or two about war, aggression, and holding one’s own with equanimity).

Which is why even though you have surrounded Ukraine with tanks and continue to pound the country’s people with death and suffering, I’m still addressing you as ‘Dear’ and hoping that there’s a modicum of love and understanding left somewhere in that accumulated pile of hate and ire in your heart.

Listen to that voice of love in your own being, Dear Putin, before it is too late. For you.

Namaste. (I bow to the divine in you.)

Om Shantih Shantih. (Let there be peace. Om.)