How to be One with Nature—Really

Each day as I drive to work or roam around the streets of Delhi I come across tens of thousands of enlightened beings. Humans have given them a simple, elegant name: trees.

No matter how crazy the traffic or hopeless the mess in the city, trees bring not only a breath of fresh air but a sense of calm and serenity.

Wasn’t it the poet Joyce Kilmer who wrote “But only God can make a tree”?

Well, this post is not about God but about nature—though for many, perhaps for me as well, the two ideas are inseparable. And the most immediate, intimate symbol I think of, whenever I think of nature, is the tree.

Recently I came across the phrase “to be one with nature” for the umpteenth time. And lo and behold, the image of a magnificent, lush, life-giving tree sprang to my mind.

But what does it really mean to be one with nature? And how do you do it, especially in a world where, increasingly, people live in concrete rather than green jungles?

First off, I thought I would say something about the origin of the phrase “to be one with nature” and sought Google’s help. Several combinations of keywords later, however, I realized that the search giant was as clueless as I—although I must thank it for the rich harvest of articles mentioning the phrase my search turned up.

Never mind the origin. Let's talk about its prevalence and effect.

I suspect most of us intuitively know what we mean when we want to be one with nature or hear someone express this wish. But have we tried describing it? And do we all experience it in the same way? What happens in that moment, really?

The most obvious, and perhaps most awesome, way to be one with nature is to go on a nature trail in a pristine forest. Where the greenery is thick and the scent of dew permeates the atmosphere. Where the sun's rays play hide and seek with the leaves. And where the sound of water gurgling in the brook next to you lulls you into a peace you never knew existed.

In such a serene backdrop, being one with nature possibly means the feeling of freshness and quiet and connectedness to everything alive around us.

Yes, I've felt it, this right-in-the-lap-of-nature kind of being one with nature.

But there have been other occasions as well, when I think I have been touched by that oneness without the luxury of being wrapped in nature’s majesty. 

I recently spent a year in Mumbai, working for a media company. There was a nice terrace, overlooking the railway lines, on the ninth floor of the office building. In my tea breaks, I would often stand there and watch black kites circling nearby. Once in a while, they would spot some prey on the ground and swoop down to catch it in their talons. But mostly, they would just swim around in the air, making spirals from high up to down below and then up again. Their motion was graceful and their outspread wings magnificent. I sometimes stood motionless, admiring their skill and poise.

A similar feeling of oneness fills me when I watch children play. Children are at their natural best when they laugh—and nothing brings me more joy than a bubbling bunch of kids laughing together. When I was in school, I often got punished for making other students sitting around me laugh. Needless to say, I never minded the scoldings.

I remember there was rain and hailstorm a few years back in Delhi when I, along with a few other office goers, caught myself scampering for cover. I took refuge in the colonnade of Connaught Place’s inner circle. There, I saw four or five boys in their preteens making merry in the downpour—completely in the buff. But they had no awareness of their naked bodies, drenched as they were in their natural tendency to extract happiness from whatever life brought them. Impulsively, the most adventurous of them slid down the ramp around a lift built for Metro passengers. The others soon followed suit, sliding down the smooth, granite-paved surface with an abandon only children know. My heart skipped a beat and a smile appeared on my previously somber face.

Sometime in high school, when I took to the more serious pastime of reading, being one with nature had an echo in me through the beauty of the written word. It still does—when the words of an author resonate in my mind long after I’ve finished a passage or a book. Sometimes, I wonder who wouldn’t be moved to ‘oneness’ reading or hearing such beautiful prose or poetry. Sample below some of my favorites:

In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.

- Albert Camus

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

 - John Keats

Siddhartha listened. He was now listening intently, completely absorbed, quite empty, taking in everything. He felt that he had now completely learned the art of listening. He'd often heard all this before, all these numerous voices in the river, but today they sounded different. He could no longer distinguish the different voices—the merry voice from the weeping voice, the childish voice from the manly voice. They all belonged to each other: the lament of those who yearn, the laughter of the wise, the cry of indignation and the groan of the dying. They're all interwoven and interlocked, entwined in a thousand ways. And all the voices, all the goals, all the yearnings, all the sorrows, all the pleasures, all the good and evil, all of them together was the world. All of them together was the stream of events, the music of life.

- Hermann Hesse

To say “I love you” one must know first how to say the “I.”

- Ayn Rand

Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.

- Ernest Hemingway

And then, there are several tiny little things that can lift my spirits into that wholeness, that unity. 

Listening to a piece of soulful music is one such. When I listened to Blue Story by Deep Forest for the first time for instance, and I mean really listened and not just play it casually on my playlist, I felt a tributary of calm flow inside me that went meandering alongside its soothing notes. I felt fulfilled. Rejuvenated. Eased. The song has stayed with me ever since as a constant companion of quiet happiness.

Another is sipping tea or coffee, either in the quietude of your personal space or even amidst the white noise in a cafeteria. You sit down in comfort, holding the warm cup snugly. Then you put your face to it, smelling the aroma and letting the little clouds engulf you and mingle with your mood. And then you take the first slow, deliberate, lasting sip. The sweet warmth fills you with sheer joy. What more can one want in life?

A lot, apparently :)

That’s why most of us spend the major part of our life running after and acquiring things we may want but not necessarily need.

And sometimes, smack-dab in the middle of all that stuff, we overhear ourselves say, “What would I not give to be one with nature?”

As for me, I sit down every single day and explore what I think is possibly the best way to be one with nature—and oneself. It’s a ritual that’s been done and refined over thousands of years as practiced by novices, experts, Buddhist monks, and (true) spiritual gurus: meditation. Not only does it allow me to enter a unique realm of peace and quiet, it often uplifts my spirits high enough to feel drunk on the nectar of life.

Meditation, I feel, is a walk in the garden of spiritual delights. Call it my daily dose of being one with nature if you will. 

May the force of nature be with you.

Be Curious to be Creative: Marcus Engman, former Design Head, IKEA

When we at Freshworks reached out to Marcus Engman, the former head of design at iconic furniture maker IKEA who now runs Skewed, and told him about our initiative, Indian Democratic Design, he said he was “happy” to see Democratic Design — as envisioned by Philippe Starck and perfected by IKEA — “growing into a global movement.” 

Indeed, he went a step further and agreed to share some key insights from his IKEA stint at Refresh19, our recently held gathering of customers and partners at Las Vegas.

One of the first things Marcus mentioned was the word Älmhult. It means little when you first hear it — but transforms into something highly significant when you realize it’s the name of a little place in Sweden where IKEA was born. Yes, that’s where 2,000 new IKEA products are developed each year — the ones for which 900 million people flock to the company’s stores. These products also bring about 2.5 billion click-happy visitors to the IKEA website.

Marcus went on to share four practices that have made IKEA successful and that still keep it going the way it does, the Democratic Design way. Here are edited excerpts from what Marcus said in his keynote at Refresh 19.


Number one, I think [it is important] to be a company with a vision and a business idea which is not all about business or making money or selling stuff — but which has a vision with empathy at the core. And IKEA’s vision is to “create a better everyday life for the many people”. So everybody has to strive for this every day; no matter how good you are, you could always become better. So I think this is like one of the major tricks for IKEA and everybody knows this vision within the company as well.

Curiosity is key to creativity
Secondly, I think that most people regard IKEA as quite an innovative and creative company. To be creative you need to be curious first because if you’re not curious you’re never going to be creative. So to have a curiosity-driven approach for everybody working within the company is really, really important. And how do you do that? One of the things is to be extremely interested in your customers like Freshworks. What we did within IKEA is not just rely on normal research from other big research companies. We went home to people every year — everybody within IKEA does this: no matter where you work within IKEA you do home visits where you interview people, where you actually live together with people in their homes to get to know [them], to make them share what are the problems, because problems are the business ideas of the future.

I remember when we started out in India a couple of years ago, we actually did more than a thousand home visits to India just to learn what’s different. How do we adapt to India in a good way? What could we learn as IKEA? One of the things we learned, which I think is kind of funny, is the way people wash or clean their homes in a lot of places by using a lot of water. And of course, IKEA furniture was not designed for that kind of cleaning environment. So what we needed to actually do to make our furniture better was to encapsulate the legs of everything, to invent new lacquers and new foil techniques to be able to do that. And then, if you would have been a normal company you would have stayed with those things within India because that’s typically for the Indian market. But we saw that bringing that to the rest of the world would make IKEA pieces of furniture better in the rest of the world as well. So taking learnings in different parts of the world and making them global — that’s one of the ideas and is part of the curiosity-driven approach.

Democratic Design as a language
Now, if you want to be a design-led company — and IKEA wanted to be a design-led company — then you have to find ideas that you could come together about. Democratic Design was actually introduced more like a tool for product development from the very beginning but what we understood along the way was that this is not [just] a tool. It’s actually a language. It’s a common language around design that makes design important for everybody within the company no matter if you work with sales or if you’re an engineer, a designer, or an interior designer. You could talk about products in the same way. The way we talk about it at IKEA was those five pillars [of Democratic Design]: form, function, quality, sustainability, and low price. And of course, you can see that the different pillars attract different parts of a company. It makes people come together to solve that impossible thing, the impossible task of making a product which contains all five.

I’ll take you through an example. This is one of my favorite products — a water carafe. It doesn’t look like much but it is so good. First of all, the starting point for this water carafe was not to make a water carafe. It was actually to make people use more tap water instead of buying water in bottles. So that was the starting point for the project. If you look upon the form of this one, most water carafes have a narrow neck just because you want to have that, you know, [traditional] cluck-cluck sound when you pour water because that sounds nice, but there are many drawbacks to that. Usually, it makes the body a little bit more fat. What we started doing was actually how could we make people use more tap water: in most countries except for China maybe you want the tap water to be cold. So you have your water carafe inside of your fridge and in the fridge you have it mostly in the doors. That’s what we saw from all of our home visits. So what are the sizes of the doors? We researched all of the door sizes of fridges all around the world to get the right kind of diameter that made the shape of this carafe. On top of that, then, you have the function. Function, if you’re a Scandinavian designer, goes very well together with the form always and the shape is also actually from out of the function. We saw that one of the problems with not using water carafes and buy bottled water is actually that it is hard to clean a lot of the water carafes. So could we make one which is easy to clean? And that’s all about the neck, to widen the neck a little bit and to make the height right for being upside down in a dishwasher.

When it comes to quality, we said from the very beginning that we want something which should be long-lasting and age in a beautiful way. So glass is a super good material. It’s also sustainable and on top of that, what would make the perfect stopper that has been used as a stopper for all of those years? Cork, of course. Everybody understands that cork is a stopper and cork also happened to be, from an IKEA point of view, a really good material at the time since all of the wineries had started using plastics or screw corks and there was too much cork in the world — and the cork industry didn’t harvest the cork from out of the trees as they should. If you don’t harvest the cork from the trees, every six-year or so the trees will die and you will not be able to harvest at all. And, of course, since there was too much cork out there, the prices were low and IKEA loves low prices. Sustainability wise, too, cork is a really good material since it is a natural material and you could reuse it over and over again.

[Now], if you have such a great water carafe or such a great idea in terms of design, you want to make it accessible to the world. And we have learned over 70 years or so within IKEA that the number one thing to actually solve if you want to work toward accessibility is to lower the threshold for people. Make it possible to buy good design.

Design and communication work together
There’s a saying that marketing is dead. I also believe that marketing is kind of dead in the old way. I believe in sharing. I believe in transparency instead and telling it how it is. So instead of, you know, [first] doing products, then the product developers and designers brief some kind of marketing department about what the intents were with this product and then the marketing department briefs an agency…Some kind of a whispering game, you know, and everything happens afterward when everything is ready.

What about starting from the very beginning? Sharing what you do and, say, design and communication going hand in hand? So when you start off doing your design development and your communication, you actually start off sharing from the very beginning. And we have five different phases we talk about. A common starting point where you actually agree upon what you want to do, then we talk about claiming the idea, that is, to tell the market from the very beginning we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this in this way, we haven’t done it yet. What’s good with that is if you say that you’re going to do something, you have to do it. So it makes the organization deliver and deliver faster. Then we share the process. Take them along to all of the trips to Vietnam or to the United States and the production sites or meet the designers…actually, have your collaboration partners or your external designers talk about how good the process has been and how good it is to work with IKEA and how good this product is and the idea behind it is — and then you launch it.

This means it’s actually six times that you talk about the product instead of once when you just launched it [straightaway]. This means that you ramp up the interest before your sales start and this means that you won’t need as much marketing at the end.

Not just make things — make things better
Now, in the next phase of my life, I work with democratic designers and I work with those tools every day. I have my own agency, Skewed, and what we do is actually three different things: one part is an agency, another part is a small media thing, and the third part is our own brand. We say that we’re not in the business of making things: we’re in the business of making things better — that’s a huge difference. I’m not interested in products; I’m interested in change. I want to change stuff. Sometimes, change comes out of products. Sometimes, it comes from other ideas. Among others, we’re working with a company called Unyq and we’re rethinking stigmas through how to design prosthetics in a completely new way, building a value chain that is totally digitalized. Everything is done with generative design tools and by actually cooperating together with the end-user. For instance, we use this generative design tool that uses biometrics and turns that [material] into a brace for scoliosis — which is really a big stigma for young girls in the world. And it looks beautiful at the end of the day. (Editor’s note: scoliosis is an irregular curvature of the spine.)

We are also taking that line of thinking into gaming gear as well, to tackle the huge ergonomic problems that gamers face. Another thing we’re working on with Democratic Design thinking is actually fish. You know, one of the biggest shifts in the world is going to be the protein shift and everybody is talking about vegetables. But one of the most efficient ways [of getting protein] is fish. So to find new ways to introduce fish to people and to package it in a more sustainable way is also something that we work on.


[Note: I wrote this blog post as a member of the corporate marketing team of Freshworks and it was first published here.]

How to Sustain Your Meditation

(Image: Ralf Kunze from Pixabay)

Sometime back, I had written a post titled How to Sit Down in Meditation. Well, I tried following my own advice – and discovered that I was able not only to sit down in peace but do so for a longer period than before.

I understand that a lot of people do take the plunge into meditation but find it difficult to sustain their poise. They either get distracted easily, become fidgety after only a few minutes, or exhibit downright impatient behavior. Yet others, who can sit down longer, feel bored and keep wondering if they are indeed progressing in their meditation practice.

Before I proceed further, a disclaimer is in order: I’m no expert on meditation and do not advocate any particular type of meditation. What I’m sharing here is based on my own simple practice – one that I have been experimenting with and self-checking on for the past six years or so. Sometimes I wish I had a guru who I could look up to and who was accessible to me for accelerating my own path – and since I don't, I content myself with taking guidance from the inner light each one of us has.

Maybe this post will nudge some fellow seekers and practitioners to offer their own tips and suggestions.

As for me, I have usually observed three phases to my meditation routine. The first one is indeed sitting down quietly and comfortably (to the extent possible and that you can accept in your heart). In this phase the focus is on kind of “settling down” amidst the turmoil around – and within – you. In my experience, this phase can be as little as a few seconds to as much as five or even ten minutes.

The second phase, or the middle phase, begins with longer, steadier breaths, accompanied with fewer and less distracting thoughts.

Here, let me take a little detour into the human mind that is like a non-stop factory of thoughts: before you’ve dealt with one, another thought emerges. Even in sleep, our mind keeps fabricating all sorts of thoughts in real and surreal scenarios. So it’s quite a feat to “empty your mind” of all thought.

As such, the “strategy” I personally adopt is not to vigorously fight the onslaught of thoughts. Doing so makes you unnecessarily agitated, making the quietude of meditation even more slippery. Instead, what I do is “engage gently” with the thoughts. Why did such and such thought occur? Why now? What does the thought “want” from me? Can I lay it to rest without dwelling too much on it? Such “thinking about thinking” often takes me to the root cause or a better understanding, allowing me to retire each thought to a gentler, rather than violent, end. Alongside, I also bring my attention back to the process of meditation – sitting comfortably, and breathing gently and deeply.

Sometimes, I just let the thoughts be and merely nod or smile internally in their direction: gradually, they become fewer in number and fade away of their own accord. Perhaps they realize that there’s no further nesting ground for them “in here”!

This middle phase is rather tricky and may take up a significant portion of your meditation time. My personal goal has been to keep it within 10-15 minutes – but sometimes a rogue thought or two get the better of “me” and keep me in their tangle much longer.

Let us now come to the third phase – perhaps the whole point of why we are meditating in the first place.

In the second phase, you have a fairly good awareness of and, possibly, concern about your environment. A noise here or there bothers you, the thought avalanche has subsided but the mind is still fizzing in its Ego-bubble, and your body demands to be adjusted every now and then to ease out any discomfort. However, the third phase of meditation is when you surrender yourself wholly to the beauty of your being. At some point of the second phase, you hear a voice in your head: “Now is the time – to stop time in its tracks, as it were.” Somewhere inside, you realize that your mind-body-soul is ready to go deeper in its meditative state.

So you say goodbye to the last approaching thought – of bodily or mental discomfort, of your social life, of your surroundings… – and turn completely to your inner, here-and-now reality. Sitting. Breathing. Unthinking. Even the image or mantra you were using to concentrate should ideally dissolve into what I can possibly call your “meditative consciousness.”

At this moment, your senses become keener and your awareness, clearer. A feeling of peace and deep love begins to spring forth from every atom of your being. From deep within you, a realization sweeps across your arteries and veins that this state is where you have always wanted to belong: it’s your innermost natural tendency, to be shorn of any pain or attachment or fear. You want to remain in this peaceful, meditative state for God-knows-how-long.

While I have tried to describe this third phase, words often fail. And I must admit it without any reservation that reaching and sustaining the third phase continues to be challenging. Body-mind aches or erstwhile-overcome distractions often make an unwelcome appearance just when you think you have nailed it.

The reality is, there is no nailing; there’s only scaling – the ever-subtler, ever-peaceful, ever-joyous heights of what’s come to be known as meditation.

Keep at it, my dear meditator, keep at it. I know I will :)

(Also read – Beyond Asana: Yoga, its Ancient Roots…)

Horn NOT OK Please!

There is so much nonsense on social media these days that I almost felt like an idiot keying in these thoughts.

But then I recalled this line I once saw on a T-shirt — and it made me smile and go ahead with this post. It read: “I may be an idiot but I’m not stupid.”

As you can possibly appreciate, it takes a little knowledge of English, some intelligence and a sense of humor to “get” the true import of those funny, satirical words.

While social media is full of English, especially of bombastic, jingoistic and highfalutin type, the other two departments seem to be lacking in the upper storeys of most.

Take the current fulminations about politics and politicians.

I can see a lot of angry young-and-old men-and-women write black-and-white, this-that, either-or posts.

“Oh, so you are a Congress libtard, that’s why you say so!”

“But Modi bhakts would not understand.”

“Kejriwal is the only honest politician left, but nobody allows him to work.” 

I squirm uncomfortably, sometimes clenching my teeth and often scratching or shaking my head, even as the lies, damn lies and statistics lie all around me that no Swachh Bharat or broom can sweep clean.

The worst part of this cacophony going on in social is that the gazillions of Indians who WILL VOTE (and decide the fate of candidates equal to or worse than them) can neither read what has been written nor care. (Sad, for they wouldn’t read this either, but hey, this one is for YOU.) They will go by the advice or diktats of their local leaders, bahubalis (disgusting use of a word to mean goondas), mullas, monks, pandits, padris —or whoever holds influence in their respective biradaris!

Meanwhile, in the television studios of the country, pictures of three, four, five, six, seven and sometimes even eight or more “talking heads” will keep popping up on your screen. It will be a continuous, abominable scream. Cheekha-chilli, with every political party rep brazening it out like a Sheikh Chilli.

And the crux of their argument? “We are not as bad as the folks from other parties are. Remember what they did when…” (Even if many of them have changed parties several times.)

I want to tell these guys: All of you are the worst. Unfortunately, you are all we got.

The best minds of the country have either been brain-drained to better economies or prefer to do good without jumping into politics or just watch this circus quietly from the sidelines.

Whoever comes to power is likely to grab it with both hands and restart the loot engine chugging and thugging along in this godforsaken country for decades and decades on end. (Also read: "India and the Morality of Corruption")

Looking at the politicians’ past record, I can guarantee you that long after the current elections are over:

- Cows will continue to roam the streets, eat plastic and roko rasta (rather than go to Rome and eat pasta — just for rhyme’s sake, for reason has long been butchered).

- There will be more hoardings about cleanliness everywhere but the shit and piss and dust and stink will continue to smother India right under our pinched noses (look at most public urinals in Delhi and Mumbai, for instance).

- The bewildered, brash, helpless, uneducated, TikTok-watching youth of this country will have no idea where to look for jobs — or how to do them properly if they happen to get them. (Skill India? Shut the F*ck up, go look at how many masters and doctors still apply for and agitate for peon-type jobs, not to mention the “unemployability” of our engineers.)

- States and the “strange caste of people” inhabiting them will continue to fight for backwardness and reservations.

- Farmers will continue to hang themselves under debt and distress — and politicos will continue to shed crocodile tears, insulting the reptiles in the process.

- Education will continue to be mistaken for school buildings and health, for insurance policies.

- Black money will continue non-demolished (and non-demonetized) like illegal structures and the so-called legal high-rises.

- Women will continue to be worshipped — and mocked and raped.

- Cases will continue to pile up in courts and criminals will continue to get the benefit of doubts (and power touts).


So, don’t be stupid. Remember this popular line of Hindi TV anchors: “Iss hamaam mein sabhi nangey hain.” (Everyone is naked in this bath-house.)

It’s another matter that viewers have also noticed that it is these same anchors who put more soap into the slippery hands of those shameless bathers, causing more froth and bubble to emerge.

Will this bubble ever burst?

I think I’m being rationally non-exuberant.

NOTA-chance.

“Khatam” (The End)

The Many Kinds of Silence and Why They Matter

I have written a few notes on meditation, so tackling silence should be no problem. Or so I thought—until my fingers, poised on the keyboard, began fighting the majestic pull of silence welling up in my mind.

“Why are you doing this?” it chided me even as I managed the first sentence. “Haven’t there been enough books and articles already on the power of silence, its significance in our increasingly noisy lives, and other such?”

The questions gave me pause and I fell silent for a moment. But the answer as to why I must put down my own ode to silence had often hovered in a quietening corner of my mind—in several of those daily meditative sessions that have become an inseparable part of me.

I remember reading and reflecting on the author Vikram Seth’s reply to the question posed to him, besides other intellectuals and celebrities, by an Indian magazine: “What does luxury mean to you?”

You know how Mr. Seth responded?

He said, “A quiet mind.”

Vikram Seth is a highly recommended, prolific author but these are the only three words of his I have read: a quiet mind. And I don’t think I’ll ever need to read another one uttered or written by him to appreciate the depth of meaning this ‘Suitable Boy’ can infuse into his writing (though I’m not saying I won’t :)

Those three words—a quiet mind—have haunted me ever since. And as my experimentation with meditation reached its own gradations of quietude, I knew that this ‘connect’ was real.

There is a constant flicker of movement and noise in human life—and, thanks to humans, in animal life too. If you are stuck, like me and hundreds of millions others, in a messy, nerve-jangling city, there is no long-term solution other than to reverse-migrate to far-off, less-maddening places. That, however, may seem impractical, unviable or, to those currently in their city-addiction phase, downright silly.

Modern tools can of course give you some reprieve: for instance, recall the ad of that specialist glass wall or window showing a woman sitting by its side and peacefully watching the traffic pass by on the other side of the pane, promising to keep the noise out of your home. Or think of those noise-canceling cutesy earplugs. Or some other contraption perhaps.

But what of the noise in your mind?

I think meditation is a time-tested tool that can bring your chattering mind to silence’s soothing shores—and with a bit of nudging, help it drink the nectarine waters of calm. As I have written in my book, Strings of the Soul: “Meditation takes you away from the torrent of oppressive thoughts into the inexplicable joy of stillness.”

The stillness, the silence, the here-and-now nothingness that permeates everything that is or can be.

The quiet that gives you reassurance each time you run into its arms from the ever-chasing loudness. The silence that envelops you in its embrace of joyous wisdom.

Just as there are different types of meditation or meditative techniques, there exist several forms of silence—and their varying levels or intensities. Most of us may instinctively know the different types we practice or encounter in our daily lives, but American novelist, poet and psychotherapist Paul Goodman very eloquently described the nine kinds of silence in his book, Speaking and Language:

“Not speaking and speaking are both human ways of being in the world, and there are kinds and grades of each. There is the dumb silence of slumber or apathy; the sober silence that goes with a solemn animal face; the fertile silence of awareness, pasturing the soul, whence emerge new thoughts; the alive silence of alert perception, ready to say, “This… this…”; the musical silence that accompanies absorbed activity; the silence of listening to another speak, catching the drift and helping him be clear; the noisy silence of resentment and self-recrimination, loud and subvocal speech but sullen to say it; baffled silence; the silence of peaceful accord with other persons or communion with the cosmos.”

(The above passage has been reproduced from a post by the curator extraordinaire of all things great, Maria Popova, from BrainPickings.org.)

I’m not sure if there is any sanctity to the number 9 but the idea is that there is a lot of breadth—and, in my experience, depth—to silence.

Meditation, in my humble opinion and experience, allows you to experience, evaluate and elevate all kinds of silence.

There is a constant interplay of speech and silence in the universe. Buddhist monks around the world, as well as mystics and yogis in ancient India, are known to have appreciated it and effectively used this seeming ‘duality’ to enhance their meditation practice.

Where does sound figure in meditation that is usually done with closed eyes in a noiseless environment?

Let us first look at sound from an ancient perspective. There are varying interpretations but, according to Vedic philosophy, there are four stages or levels of sound or speech. Ranging from gross to subtle, speech can be Vaikhari, Madhyama, Pashyanti and Para.

Vaikhari is represented by the spoken language or uttered words. Madhyama is the stage when the thought has formed in the mind and the object of the thought has been associated with it—but it is not yet uttered. Pashyanti represents thought-visualization in the mind’s intrinsic capacity; it is the level at which thinking “begins to happen” universally—regardless of whether the person is a speaker of Chinese, English, Sanskrit, Yoruba or any other language. And Para, which literally means “beyond”, is the highest, subtlest form of sound that is transcendental, bottomless, limitless, boundless…No, there is no contradiction there: highest in terms of its stature and subtlety; bottomless in terms of the depths from where it arises—pure consciousness or pure energy, take your pick.

It is at the Para level that even the best of scribes and the most accomplished of mystics fall short of words—for it is beyond words and can only be understood or experienced in the utmost meditative state. Acknowledging my own failure to describe it (more so perhaps because I’m still a novice meditator), let me dare say: It is silence incarnate.

In this backdrop of subtleties of sound, speech lies somewhere between the two ends of silence. Words, I believe, are conceived in silence and ultimately dissolve into silence: what remains in the interim is meaning—intended or perceived—in a given context and spacetime.

For the most part, we human beings hover between the most gross and the most subtle. Which is fine and has seen humanity through the ages. But this age—the iPhone-Android-Netflix-TrumpKim-Facebook-SUV-Airbnb-Alibaba age—is making mincemeat of our brains.

Take Norwegian explorer Erling Kagge, for instance, and his quest for silence amid the urban din. An NYTimes.com piece recounts how he went around New York City looking for quiet nooks and crannies—and, thankfully, he did find some. But that does not surprise me: as a (not-really-idle) flaneur, I have often discovered peaceful little oases ensconced within the chaotic sprawl of Delhi.

The silent sucker-punch for me in the story was the revelation that Erling, who became the first person to ski unassisted to the South Pole in 1993, disconnected the batteries from his emergency radio on the day he reached there—and he was there, alone, for FIFTY days.

How he narrated that quiet time to Steven Kurutz of NYT left on me an impression akin to Vikram Seth’s words. Here I’m reproducing the passage verbatim:

“When you start, you have all the noise in your head,” Mr. Kagge said, adding that by his journey’s end, “You feel your brain is wider than the sky. You’re a guy being part of this bigness, this greatness. To be alone and experience the silence feels very safe, very meaningful.”

In words like these, you see not only the letters of a learned man but you can actually feel the wisdom-soaked spell of silence.

It is my belief that if you try to listen to the sounds of silence, without straining yourself but just attuning to its inner rhythm, it talks back to you like a long lost friend.

Not everyone can bear silence for long, not always. In contrast with Erling, a correspondent of The Economist signed up for a seven-day silent retreat in a monastery in Mingaladon, Yangon, but lasted “a bit less than 70 hours.” Nevertheless, it was quite an experience for that correspondent, who came away wiser and produced a highly readable and insightful commentary on “the power and meaning of silence.”

Today’s connected age has, ironically, lost some of its connections to the essence of human existence and communication: silence.

Maybe it is time to speak up on behalf of silence. And the best way to do that is to be quiet more often.

So just sit down. Take a deep breath. Meditate if you will.

Quiet. Please.