Let go of the love that is never to come
Let go of the hate that you have become
Let go of the elixir you seek
Let go of the poison that make you weak

Let go of the memories that keep you low
Let go of the thoughts that drive you slow
Let go of the words that stab and kill
Let go of the voices that steal

Let go of the war you always wage
Let go of the peace that gets you caged
Let go of the buzz that hovers around
Let go of the silence that confounds

Let go of the feeling of letting it go
Let it go, let it go, let it go

What does it mean to be a Hindu?

This was one of the questions lingering in my mind as I set off for a 15-day Interfaith yatra organized by FURHHDL (For the Universal Responsibility of His Holiness Dalai Lama). This organization works to promote interfaith harmony and exchanges. This yatra was one such initiative for the cause.

On the very first day, we met Mehmood, a corporate professional who also doubles up as a teacher of Islamic concepts and teachings. He stressed how it was very important for the Muslims to come for namaaz. Nothwithstanding what you are doing and where you are, once the azaan is called, Muslims rush to the mosque for namaaz. What struck me in this particular religious exercise was that how it was afterall more social than religious. Such religious gathering not only promoted a bit of spirituality in every attendant of the mosque, but also promoted brotherhood and familiarity among the fellow Muslims. The same can be told for the Christians visiting the Friday mass or the Sikhs visiting the Gurudwaras. What about the Hindus!? Well, we visit it mostly for a puja, and social interactions are not always common in the temples.

When at Krishnamurthy foundation, one of the teachers asked a Buddhist monk to start a session with a prayer, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the prayer he chose quite randomly was well known not only to his fellow monks and nuns, but also to the other Tibetian college-students who were part of the group. And how reverently they sang it! Slowly it became a kind of ritual in our trip. We often used to sing the prayers before the meals.

A few days later while having lunch in a Jain ashram, our group leader Thupten asked if I could start off one of the meal with a short prayer. I was taken aback and promptly expressed ignorance of any such prayer! Did I even know a prayer completely? Or even if I knew, will any of my fellow Hindus know the same prayer to join in? Probably not. What about the prayers I learnt in school? Well, forgotten for the most part and anyways it only stroked school memories and not any iota of spirituality as I never explored their meanings. I wondered for a billion Hindus residing in our planet, what connects us all?

We saw Sikh children as young as four year olds attending summer camp to learn about their religion and Guru Granth Sahib. The Muslim children have summer camps as well as after-school centers where they are given the wisdom of Koran. My Christian friends can sing tons of hymns and prayers celebrating Christ and they have been doing so since childhood. But what about me? Or the countless fellow Hindus whom I have grown up with. We may not be able to quote a line from Gita, let alone singing hyms in praise of God!

Hindus have probably had one of the richest spiritual heritage; hidden in the Vedas, Upanishads and the multitude of other sacred books and epics. To be fair and honest, many diverse faiths, religion and culture have gestated in these wisdoms. And how proud we are in our culture, mytholgy and sacred texts!  But we need to slowly move beyond such cursory tributes to our ancient wisdom and start bringing those ‘hidden’ wisdom to the main fold. And this does not mean running to the next ‘baba’ or ‘guru’ for a day of being preached at, but to take the ownership of finding the ancient knowledge on our own volition. As the famous philosopher J.Krishnamurty said ‘Truth is a pathless land’ and given the infinite scale of wisdom we inherit, we must tread it on our own.

‘Mani‘, a  Bengali common noun which is generally referred to the maternal aunt. For me it is more than just a noun identifying my eldest maternal aunt, it meant a world beyond that.

It was a humid day in the summer of 1995. A phone-call 15 minutes back had just announced  the arrival of ‘Mani‘ at our house. Ecstatic and overjoyed, a smile remained etched on my face in anticipation. My mother shouted from the kitchen for me to go and have my bath. Usually such shouts required regular follow-ups at five minute intervals so that I do go for my bath on time. But today was a different day. In no time, I was in and out of the bathroom all ready for her arrival. The smile still etched on my face.

It was exciting time for my mother too as I could see her making the choicest of delicacies with all the love and care. Even she gave pace to her daily chores in anticipation on such days.

And then just around afternoon, the door-bell rang. My father had a penchant for the harshest sounding door-bell justifying the need to be alert and responsive when someone’s at the door. But today, it sounded like ‘nolen-gurer rosogulla’ (a typical jaggery flavoured rasgulla found in Bengal) being squeezed hard to let all its syrup flow down my ear. I knew it was the arrival of the phenomena- ‘Mani’. I flung from my bed and with a sprint that will make Olympic athletes ashamed, I caught the door-handle. And then after a momentary pause allowing all the excitement to sink in and prolonging the climax willingly, I finally opened the door. Mani, with a bag full of goodies in one hand and office-purse in the other, was standing with the most charming smile. Ecstasy.

I find that much of my childhood memory is dominated by ‘Mani‘ and ‘Manir bari’ (Mani’s house). She represented an abundance of love and joy. Similar excitement (maybe a bit more) was shared when our families met at Manir bari on various occasions. For me, her house was the temple of joy and happiness. A place where everyone was welcomed with a smile and was offered the best of hospitality. Obviously she wasn’t alone there; she had three charming daughters and a husband with the temperament of a dove- peaceful, calm and reassuring. Not to forget, the couple’s exquisite culinary skills were like a frosting in the cake.

Sometimes I wonder how much of my adulthood is going to be shaped by such pillars of love in my childhood. M.Scott Peck in his much acclaimed book ‘The Road Less Travelled’ indicates how important the love of parents and family is, for the psychological growth of a child. I probably belonged to the generation of children when the families started transitioning from living together to their nuclear existence. So it still gave a chance to be connected to our myriad aunts, uncles and cousins. Most importantly, the feeling of familial bond and love did not cease altogether. But I am afraid with the next generation of children, the signs are already grim. With fast-paced lives of the parents, children have only the company of technology and a few scant friends. Such ‘Manis‘ remain only in stories and once-in-a-lifetime visits. Either the connection is never formed, or is snapped owing to distance and lack of time.

I wonder how incomplete the life of my children will be if they do not get someone like ‘Mani‘. Each one of us must be having one such ‘Mani‘ in our life. The onus is on us to be one such ‘Mani‘ in the life of others. A Mani who can generate joy and happiness within the deepest recess of a child’s heart. A Mani whose love and care  touches the human soul. A Mani with whom one can feel a divine connect. As they say, love alone can change the world. And children are nothing but wet clay who should only be shaped by the hands of love.