The Shimla Class

Next in the series of guest posts on Shimla Gallimaufry is one by Varsha. 

Varsha writes a superb, deeply knowledgeable and really useful blog titled Wholesome Options. From Varsha, I have learnt to look at wellness as a way of life, learnt that healthy habits and fitness can be incorporated in daily life without any sacrifice or extra effort. Aside of being a full-time mother and wife, a wellness guru and a fitness maniac, Varsha also takes a wonderful Poetic Break from her bureaucratic life every now and then. She speaks here of lessons learnt from our common love, Shimla: 

The Shimla Class

Hills have a way of teaching you to slow down.

Of drawing you in the web of alluring sunsets, sun-dappled valleys and mist draped mountains. Of using that oldest means of transportation – your legs. And escaping at least partly from the whizzing world of honking cars and seething road-rage.

When I recall my Shimla days my best memories are about nature.

I was living with a bunch of strong-willed and rambunctious colleagues in extremely cramped quarters. Tempers frequently got frayed and patience wore thin. Walks were a way of escape-getting away from it all- initially. They became a balm and an addiction soon. A way of tucking in the splendid perfection of the Himalayas in different seasons and moods.

What did I learn in the Shimla Class (presided over by the old man Himalayas)?

Putting things in perspective.

I was incredibly lucky to be able to see the glorious Himalayas from my window on waking up each morning,

They always overwhelmed me. They gently reminded me everyday that I was not that important, my petty problems were not that important, nor were the shiny trophies of the rat race that important. The mountains would stand there even if the damned deadline was not met or if I did not ace some silly test.

The art of Appreciating beauty.

In Shimla, it was so easy to meet the perfect creamy rose-bud or a round, plump wild strawberry, a  sudden stream bubbling after the rains, an old friendly tree, clad  one fine day in magnificent bloom, a spectacular evening live show of the thrust and parry of the dying sunset and the ascending night. One had to stand and savour it reverentially. I learnt that when you see perfection – you must acknowledge it.

When we move in the bubbles of our own self-importance and obsessions, we become far too busy and blind to beauty around us. We must open our eyes, see it and savour it.

The art of inner Quiet.

Shimla also taught me to have a holy communion with nature. To get away from the noise around me I needed an inner quiet. I learnt being quiet with myself, by myself, for myself.

The art of appreciating History around you.

Any walk around Shimla is full of heritage and History. One keeps coming across rambling cottages with quaint names and distinguished ex-residents. There are majestic buildings scattered over the place. Steeped with tales of a faded era and set against the backdrop of the timeless Himalayas these gems of a bygone age taught me to appreciate History as well as the blip that my small lifetime is in it all.

Poetry is a matter of life, not just a matter of language.

"An empty mind is the devil's workshop", I have been repeatedly told since I was a child. Yet, it was on one of those very empty evenings that it struck me that I could invite a friend, or maybe even three friends to write a guest post. The one thing that I love about my friends, whom you shall meet by and by, gentle reader, is that they are always game for an adventure. This is Part 1 of that enterprise.

I've known Asha for longer than I care to remember. She breezed into my life and stayed back as my rock, my sounding board, and the shoulder on which I would cry on countless times.

Asha is an expert trainer and has worked with some of the world's biggest corporations. Deeply interested in issues relating to the development of self, she writes a wonderfully thought-provoking blog called Self Leadership. In her blog, she manages to raise issues that we all need to ponder on, but about which we rarely stop to think systematically.

However, here on my blog, she writes not on leadership or decisions or self-awareness, but moves to our common love, poetry. Her thoughts are placed below:

Let me start off by saying that poetry is not one of my current ‘can-dos’. Would I like to compose poetry? Yes! Have I attempted it? No! Having said that, I love reading poetry and one volume that I’ve perused a few times ia ‘Ariake’ – a collection of poems of love and longing by the women courtiers of Japan.

The foreword by Lisa Dalby summarises ‘Ariake’ as follows: “Ariake or ‘the waning moon at dawn’ was an image associated foremost with love in the ancient courts of Japan. Few societies integrated poetry into daily life as devotedly as the court of Japan’s Heian era (A.D. 794 – 1192). The most renowned poets of this era were women. They were passionate and demonstrative – a far cry from the typical portraits of passive objects of desire drawn by Westerners.”

A few samples from this rather fascinating collection!

Were you a string of beads

I would wind you about my arm,

But since you are a man

Of the actual, mortal world,

You are hard in the winding.

~ The Elder Maiden of the Otomo of Sakanoue ~

Look at this keepsake

And remember me, my love;

All the gem-bright year,

Long as its thread of shining days,

I too shall think of you.

~ Lady Kasa ~

As night succeeds night,

I seek in vain to decide

Where my pillow should go.

How did I sleep on the night

When you appeared in my dream?

~ Anonymous ~

My favourite Indian poet is Sahir Ludhianvi. A deeply passionate man, he lived and died a tortured soul. A genius with words, he demonstrated how a lot could be said with very few words. There are so many of his poems I love, and here is one of them.

Maine jo geet tere pyar ki khatir likhe

Aaj un geeton ko bazaar mein le aaya hoon

Aaj dukan mein neelam uthega unka

Tu ne jin geeton pe rakhi thi mohabbat ki asaas

Aaj chandi ki taraazu mein tulegi har cheez

Mere afkaar, meri shaayari, mera ehsaas

Jo teri zaatse mansoob the un geeton ko

Muflisi jins banaane pe uthar aayi hai

Bhookh, tere rookh-e-rangeen ke fasaano ke ivaz

Chand ashiya-e-zaroorat ki tamannai hai

Dekh is arsaagahe-mehnaton-sarmaaya mein

Mere naghme bhi mere paas nahin reh sakte

Tere jalve kisi zardaar ki meeras sahi

Tere khaake bhi mer paas nahin reh sakte

Aaj un geeton ko bazaar mein le aaya hoon

Maine jo geet tere pyar ki khatir likhe

Last but not the least is a piece from Harold Monro on ‘Solitude’. I know Geetali has done a post on ‘Solitude’ earlier. I picked this out of An Anthology of Modern Verse that was gifted by my friend Irene Hawkins. If you ever come across this post my friend, know that you are in my mind and that I miss you.

When you have tidied all things for the night,

And while your thoughts are fading to their sleep,

You’ll pause a moment in the late firelight,

Too sorrowful to weep.

The large and gentle furniture has stood

In sympathetic silence all the day

With that old kindness of domestic wood;

Nevertheless the haunted room will say:

“Some one must be away”.

The little dog rolls over half awake,

Stretches his paws, yawns, looking up at you,

Wags his tail very slightly for your sake,

That you may feel he is unhappy too.

A distant engine whistles, or the floor

Creaks, or the wandering night-wind bangs a door;

Silence is scattered like a broken glass.

The minutes prick their ears and run about,

Then one by one subside again and pass

Sedately in, monotonously out.

You bend your head and wipe away a tear.

Solitude walks one heavy step more near.