By What Name?

Names are sacred, because they are associated with the very identity of a person, so much so the name is equivalent to the person. We no longer hold the theory that the names have something very significant to tell about the nature, characteristics of the person concerned. Some (numerologists) go to the extent of finding the link between the name of a person and his/her qualities, characteristics and even foretell the future of the person. But one thing is true that most of us have no choice of choosing our own names! We are given names.

There are very few in our society, who are privileged to choose their names. Most of our names are given by our parents, relatives, and in some cases even elder siblings. Once a name is given, it is hard to change; even as adults if we wish to change our names to something better sounding and reasonably more intelligible, we have no choices, except to make an affidavit in the court of law about the change. But even then we cannot be sure that all the people whom we know would call us by our new name.

Whatever be the name given by our parents, there is bound to be some reason why they chose these particular names. There are cases when for Catholics, illiterate parents would ask the baptising priest to give a name on the spot, and the priests who had a host of their favorite names, would be only too happy to name the children as he liked. Given a choice to change our names, at least half the humanity may prefer to have a different name. If that is the case with our official names, there is more problem in store with our pet names, how we wish to be called! Because as we grow older, the pet names might become just obsolete and new names have to be invented.

We live in a society, where juniors are not expected to call their seniors by their names; there are folk traditions in many parts of the country, where a wife may not be permitted to utter the name of her husband, and so might refer to him only as the father of her son! That is a taboo. But what about addressing a senior person, at least a few years elder! If the persons are advanced in age, then we might address them as uncle, aunty; or too senior, then grandpa, grandma. The ones from college or English medium school may address as Sir or Madam. But still the problem does not end there.

Sometimes friends who are working in the same firm or office, but one a higher post, and another junior post, how would they address each other? Often the senior post is looked upon as a respectable one, while not the junior one, but among friends, should they follow these formalities? Ultimately the pet names are to come from the heart; those who are in love with each other are able to find creative and meaningful names, and either of them would love to be called by the partner with that name. The name, however stupid it may sound to others, is the sweetest of all names, when there is love and admiration!

Two sides of the coin

The arrogance to think that there is only one way of looking at reality, is nothing new to humanity; while nature teaches us that is not the whole of reality, when we enter into our formal school system, we are taught otherwise, and sadly the precious lessons we have learned from nature is throttled, even before it matures and bears fruits. When a child stumbles and falls, it gets bruises, and the grandmother may grab a shrub, rub the leaves, and apply it on the bruise, and lo, the gushing of blood stops. Nature remedy. But it is not the prerogative of just one shrub to do that magical healing; there are many, and you get what is close to your hand! Nature always provides us with multiple choices, and all of them good and equally valid.

Sticking to the gun is a favorite hobby of most of us, and we draw a lot of pleasure in it. When I called up my friend the other day, she was in tears, because her mother had been quite sick, and my friend was worried about her. But my mind was worried about something else. My friend had not asked me how I was, a formal question, which sometimes gain too much importance! And my world was crumbling there and then, though I would not dare tell her. But my heart was heavy, for no reason. Why did she not ask me how I was?

Surely it has taken my friend sometime to understand that she was helpless about the situation of her mother, who by then was improving, and was beginning to be cheerful, and that was the time, out of the blue, I throw the bomb-shell: I was upset yesterday, because you did not even bother to ask me how I was! She was not prepared for my statement, and she could not really understand what I really meant! I even told her that her worry for her mother was unreasonable, while all the time I knew that what I was expecting of her was all the more unreasonable.

She did not mean to hurt me (but was I really hurt, because she did not ask me how I was?), but was not in a position to turn her attention to me; and I did not mean to be blind and deaf to her worry for the mother, but was somehow pushed to feel a certain sense of 'jealousy' for the attention my friend was giving to her mother. My mind was not ready to admit : I want you to give more attention to me than your mother! She could not think I would take things this way, and was spending painful moments, just because I had expected something more than I can rightfully demand of her.

But that is what life is – a web of events and incidents, expectations and demands, which may drive us from one mood to another. If only I had been a little more on guard, much of the mental tension I had created for me and for her could have been avoided. To empathise with another person is not only a noble task, but a sacred one too, where I don the robes of the Almighty, who is good to all, ready to dirty his hand, in order to raise the fallen, and be happy to be of help to the needy. Empathy makes us all divine, if only we dare to dirty our hands!

Touch of the Sacred

One of the most absorbing moments while sitting at the room of St Ignatius of Loyola in the heart of Rome, beside the towering Il Iesu church, was that sanctity was all around me. Beside me, over me, before me and after me, and I was shrouded by an aura of holiness that I felt utterly unworthy to stand in that place. Sactity and holiness never die, but they envelope everyone who comes in contact with them, knowingly or unknowingly. I remember the accounts of the earliest encounters of Swami Vivekananda with Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa. There was something so very special in Ramakrishna that Narendra, as Vivekananda was called before he became the disciple of Ramakrishna, could not resist himself. I would not dare say that mine was such an experience, but I was quite moved at the simplicity, and even the wretchedness of the saint, who but had things which were all too simple and beggarly.

The pair of sandals and the cope that St Ignatius used were on display, and looking at them I felt terribly ashamed of having the best of things, while the saint had things worse than that of beggars. One thing was evident that saints transcend the material world, and live in an altogether different world; the worldly matters do not much matter to them, and that is the true mark of sanctity. What to eat, what to dress, and how to present themselves to the world around – these are not their concerns. A distancing from the world makes them closer to the other world; even as they lived in this world, their hearts were in a different world; they were truly like the lotus leaves, which are not affected by the rain drops; the water splashes and flow across. But we live in a world where each one is called to be alike a sponge, which would attract the water drops that may fall on them, and our world slowly becomes heavier and heavier, until we feel it is too heavy for us to carry on.

Visit to the room of St Ignatius has another surprise for me. We sat around the room the celebrate the Eucharist, we about 23 of us were huddled in the small room, and had a simple Eucharistic celebration. Before the mass, our guide had informed us that it was in that very room that St Ignatius has breathed his last, though his room was next to the one where we had the mass. Before his death he seemed to have moved to this room, and in a corner of the room, he died. After the mass, one of the Sisters of our group who had earlier visited the place, came to me, and moved the chair I was sitting on, and lo and behold, there was a small marble slab which said that St Ignatius had died at that very place. The sister said, See, the faithful son sitting on his father! And I retorted, it is truly a privilege for the son to sit on the lap of his father!

During the mass I prayed that while getting in touch with an aura of sanctity and holiness all around us, sanctified by several holy men and women of down the centuries, we may be able to carry a little bit of that sanctity to our worlds. There is also evil equally all around, and we can never be spared from their influence, but if we are surrounded by the aura of sanctity through coming in touch with the presence of several holy men and women, we can be safe, even when living in a world that is corrupt and evil. A lotus can retain her beauty and splendor even in the midst of the dirty and ugly looking slush, and will not allow the slush tarnish her beauty. That is the role of every holy men and women of our age, they help us strike a balance, so that the evil in the world may not over take our lives, and bring an end to all that is good and sacred.

Today I would like to pause for a while as I bow my head with respect and reverence to all the holy men and women who had touched my heart during the day, as I walked along the streets they had walked centuries ago, the very places they had sanctified by their presence, while alive and in death. I would like to be touched by the high voltage of their sanctity so that my body and spirit may get attuned to their sanctity and holiness that I may keep myself at a safe distance from the world that can only think of the passing glory and honor and riches. All saintly men and women had fixed their eyes on higher values and nobler riches, and I too wish to aspire for such high and noble values and riches. Sainthood is a free gift from God, and not many of us are really worthy of beholding the glory, but I would only wish to be touched by the sanctity of these holy men and women, so that I may radiate a spark of that holiness. (Rome)

When Work is Worship…

Someone had said, work is worship, and I would add another word at the end of this much used-abused adage : sometimes. That is, work is worship sometimes; but it would be quite erroneous to think that all the time, work can be considered something holy and sacred. After going through three marathon sessions of meetings, each time lasting for about three and half hours, I feel such “work” if I may say so, is far from worship. To put it in other words, what is reasonable and normal, may become something sacred, provided it is carried out with a proper framework of mind. In fact, no work can automatically become holy and sacred unless the “worker” makes a conscious and conscientious effort to make it so. Maybe someone may think that if he/she is a non-believer, how the work can become something holy, since he/she does not believe in the very concept of the sacred. Here we have to expand the meaning of holiness or sacredness that we are used to, in order to include certain amount of authenticity and genuineness to the work being accomplished.

But there are works which are killing and sucking the life energy of people. Generally it is understood that the manual labor is very tiring, slowly draining all the energy of the workers, but we should also realize that sometimes mental works can also be equally killing. We also often hear about the dignity of labor and May first is celebrated all over the world with aplomb, especially by the Marxists, in order to uphold the philosophy that the world belongs to the laborers. Work in order to earn a living is not sufficient in order to make it holy and sacred; we need to go beyond the mere subsistence providing labor. Work can become noble and sacred only when we begin to enjoy the labor, irrespective of the fruits it may produce. It is in other words an art, which comes so very naturally to us.

I would be a laughing stock if I were to suggest this to a villager, who has to work all the daylong in order to earn his daily bread. If he does not work on a particular day, he may starve, or may go to bed with half-stomach. Is it ever possible that this person one day begins to enjoy the work he does, just like an artist is immersed in the painting he/she does, or the singer lost in the world of music? Unfortunately we are involved in so many kinds of works, where drawing enjoyment is a remote possibility. A man exposed to the hot sun throughout the day, cannot enjoy his work; all that he might enjoy is the shade of a tree and a mug of rice soaked in water.

While a good majority of the population may never begin to enjoy their work, a small per centage of the people would take great pleasure in the work they are involved with, even if it is manual labor, and involving a lot of painstaking physical work. For such people, the fruits of the work or the consequence is only secondary; what they are interested in is the sheer joy of getting immersed in the work. Even if the manager were to say that there was not enough money to give his wages, he would still offer his services, because there is a pleasure he might draw from the work, which he cannot get from anything else, not even a peg of beer, or a mug of country liquor.

I would not hesitate to equate the real joy that we may be able to draw from the work we may be involved in, with ananda, the sheer bliss; the formless, nameless joy. It is very much possible for us to enter into such a state of bliss, even if it is for a moment. In fact, it would be hard to sustain such joy and bliss for a long stretch of time; however the joy that we may gain out of the job or work may be able to sustain us for a long time, even after we have shifted gears to some other work, or chores. Therefore today I pause for a moment, in the middle of the work I am busy with… and ask myself how do I feel as I mechanically do this job! Am I cursing my fate for doing such a job, or am I happy to do this? I am happy to do this job, is it because I have to do it, or because I enjoy doing it? Those who enjoy doing their job may not look at their watches five times in fifteen minutes, and they often would realize that the time has passed away too soon. That is the true mark of making our work holy and sacred. If I have a tendency to check the clock too often, to see how soon I would get out of this place, then I need to realize that my work is far from being holy and sacred. And the more I feel the work as a burden, it will keep increasing, until I become too tired of it, and look for alternatives. If I enjoy the work, then there is nothing I should want!