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.)

Of Squirrels and Quarrels

 

At first she completely ignored me, though it was she who made the first few advances in her bouncy gait. And when I extended my hand out a little bit, she scampered away as quickly as she had come. I waited a few more seconds before resuming to read a book I had just bought from the nearby market, hoping that she would come again and stay for a while. I found her kinda cute, with a tiny face, a soft body and quick, jerky movements with which she moved about. In our five-second encounter I had even given her a name: Flitty.

Now, as I took out a bit of roti (a round, thin Indian bread made of wheat dough) from the tiffin box in my bag, Flitty appeared again before me, looking more resolute and sure. Learning from my overzealousness in reaching out to her (How I wanted to shake her tiny hand!), this time I remained calm and unmoved. Emboldened, she took a few more quick hops ahead and stood still, barely two feet away from the park bench I was sitting on. Slowly, very slowly, I dropped the piece of roti at her side, without making the slightest sound. True to her name, Flitty made a series of quick twitching turns, as if to run away again. But no, from the trembling of her tiny mouth, I could feel that she was hungry and wouldn’t mind taking the risk of being so near a human for a sweet little morsel. 

So Flitty stayed, snatched the piece of roti lying on the grass with her dexterous hands, and nibbled at it vigorously amid jealous screeches from three or four fellow squirrels who had scented food and were now gathered around us.

Soon enough, besides Flitty and friends, a flock of mynahs and about half-a-dozen crows were chirping and crowing around the trees that surrounded the bench.

I was tempted to throw some biscuits in their direction but held myself in check: it’s generally not advisable to give cooked or processed food to birds and animals as it can upset their health (besides spoiling their habits).

Instead, I sat back and watched the fun riot of squirrels and quarrels all around me.

There was a little mud pool into which some rainwater had collected. The crows, realizing that no food was coming their way, headed toward the pool. One fella hopped inside and splashed the muddy water around, followed by another black dude who seemed quite amused by the spectacle. Their numbers soon swelled into what would collectively make them into a murder of crows—though, obviously, it was frolic rather than murder on their minds. Not that there were no squabbles. Some people just want to grab opportunities out of turn, you know. 

Not far from this frolicking was a string of robust-looking garden ants making their way to the roots of an Ashoka tree. I could see a hole at the bottom of the tree trunk into which they marched and disappeared. From the same hole, another string of ants quickly emerged, carrying bits of rice on top of their heads. This seemed like an efficient supply-chain operation in which the rice thrown by someone near the tree was being supplied to where it was truly needed through a chain of smooth operators.

Like all supply chains, though, there were hiccups. I saw a pug separated from its owner chase away the ants hurrying toward their destination with a snort of its nose and some scratching of its paws. The thought must have entered its head somehow that this rice-redistribution operation must not be allowed to go on. Or so I felt. 

The dog owner soon came looking for his pet, caught hold of the leash, and gently dragged it away. Even as the pug went away, it turned its head and wistfully looked back to where it was having so much fun.

The ants barely broke a sweat and resumed their work on the double.

High up into the thicket of branches of a mango tree, a couple of parrots were fighting with each other—possibly about who had the right to the first bite of a particularly luscious mango. In their apparent struggle to peck first at the fruit, the ripened mango broke free and came to the ground with a soft thud. There it lay for a while, before it was picked up and carried off by a little girl, probably the daughter of one of the laborers working a few meters away with their tools on repaving the footpath.

The parrots came looking for it and, realizing that the object of their affection was claimed by someone they couldn’t fight, shrieked away into the distance.

I buried myself in the book once again, quietly laughing.

Image: Pixabay.com