The writer reflects on his daughter’s (now a TV actress) childhood, capturing her casual one-liners and innocent remarks suggestive of Zen wisdom.
During her childhood, Mona often surprised us with penetrating insights that casually rolled out of her mouth in everyday conversations, offering glimpses of her innate wisdom. Allow me to recount some occasions encapsulating our daughter’s intuitive understanding as a child.
The Ganga Aarti
In 1989, when Mona was six years old, we planned a trip to Haridwar-Rishikesh. However, she was hesitant to join, as she cherished evenings playing games with friends on our vibrant street in West Delhi. The street came alive in the evening with children’s shouts, giggles, and cheers. Their camaraderie was something to behold. Understandably, she was unwilling to sacrifice the known delights of her evening games for the unknown pleasures of the Haridwar-Rishikesh trip.
Despite her reluctance, we managed to coax her along. Upon reaching Haridwar, we visited the Ganga in the evening just in time for the spiritual extravaganza known as the aarti. We found ourselves amidst a mesmerizing spectacle marked by the sounds of conch shells, bells, cymbals, the melodious chanting of mantras, and the flickering glow of earthen lamps floating downstream adorning the river. The atmosphere crackled with an ethereal vibe. The mellifluous aarti was a treat for the ears. The fervor peaked. The flickering flames painted the evening with an otherworldly radiance – a sensory experience that gladdened the heart and uplifted the soul.
It wasn’t bad. Had Mona been in Delhi, she would have missed this. And now that she savored the Ganga experience, she doubtlessly missed the thrills of her evening games. This was when she casually voiced a thought that struck her: “We love two different situations equally. But it is not possible to experience both at the same time. It is either one or the other at a given time. To embrace one, we have to forgo the other.”
Mona’s innocent insight triggered my thinking, too. What she said was poignant reflection on life’s inevitable trade-offs. Often in life, we are torn between equally valued options. It is akin to standing before two doors, both leading to something fabulous, yet only being able to walk through one at a time.
The inherent challenge lies in the exclusivity of these experiences, forcing us to make choices and inevitably miss out on one while savoring the other. This dual sentiment of the pang of missing out on one experience while reveling in the chosen one echoes a bittersweet aspect of our existence. Is it a limitation of life, or does it underscore the richness and beauty of having opportunities worth choosing between? Within this tug-of-war between options lies the very essence of how our lives shape up based on our decisions. Once a choice is made from the available options and action is taken based on this choice, there is no going back. This is valid for all minor and major decisions like career and marriage. There are no U-turns in life.
Ingrained Positivity
When Mona was two years old, we were at a function where many of our relatives were also gathered. For some reason, she started crying, and her cries gradually intensified. Since she was the only baby in the group, everyone was concerned. We all tried to soothe her — some made funny faces, others tickled her, and some baby-talked with her. But nothing worked. Her crying continued unabated. When no usual distraction worked, someone suggested, “Get her a bar of chocolate or some ice cream.” Others echoed the suggestion, but no goodies could be found. While still crying, she saw everyone searching for something to offer her but coming up empty-handed.
That is when she did something that astounded everyone. It was so beautiful and unexpected that everyone marveled at it. Suddenly, she stopped crying, wiped her tears, smiled, and said sweetly, “Rehne do chocolate. Mein chup ho gyi hun apne aap!” (Don’t bother about the chocolate. I have quieted down on my own.) What was it if not ingrained positivity and instinctive consideration for those unable to help her?
Life’s inevitable trade-offs are like choosing between two equally enticing doors or roads. Embracing one, we have to forgo the other.
What Sickness!
When Mona was about five years old, she had a bout of loose motions. A visitor came to our house, and during the conversation, we mentioned that Mona was not well. Immediately, she shot back, “Loose motions can’t be called sickness. When you feel like going to the toilet, go to the toilet. Where is the problem? Where is the sickness?” What a perspective! She challenged conventional notions, displaying a refreshingly pragmatic outlook and reframing life’s minor inconveniences.
Zen Koan
When Mona was five years old, she stumbled upon a captivating anomaly. She observed that human experiences, from pain to joy, evoked similar sensations in everyone. When they got hurt, they all felt pain in the same way. When their bellies were empty, they all felt pangs of hunger similarly. When they achieved something, they were all happy in the same way. Their responses to various stimuli were universally shared.
Yet, amidst this commonality, Mona noticed a singular exception. She realized that in taste, people responded differently to the same food. What one person savored with gusto, another might dismiss with disdain. It was as if each individual possessed a secret code known only to their taste buds that dictated their unique culinary preferences and aversions.
Interestingly, Mona did not ask why it was so. She just marveled at the fact that it was so. Come to think of it, I had never given a thought to this phenomenon. So, I, too, wondered along with her. Wasn’t this yet another enigma of life, akin to a Zen koan inviting us to embrace the ineffable wonders of existence without the need for logical explanation?
In Mona’s innocent musings, I found a reminder that amidst the complexities of life, sometimes the most profound truths reveal themselves in the simplicity of a child’s wonderment.
Another Zen Koan
Mona was around three years old when she crafted a whimsical joke on the spur of the moment. One evening, while we were having tea with biscuits, something struck her, and she humorously asked, “Why can’t we eat tea and drink biscuits?!”
She started giggling, and her innocent jest delighted us. We giggled, too. For several days, she kept repeating this joke with unrestrained giggles, finding something mysteriously amusing in this statement.
It occurred to me that it was more than a child’s joke. It could well be a Zen koan uttered by a 12th-century Zen master, worth pondering! I am still pondering it decades later. She had a penchant for making seemingly absurd statements, which could be seen as Zen koans, inviting contemplation.
The above article is an extract from P.S. Wasu’s work-in-progress, ‘The Wisdom of Being Flawed and Fragmented: Random Reminiscences.’
Illustrations: Navni Chawla
