On Apu the monkey, a Zen tale, Two seasons, a Poem and a book on the Singer.
Issue #002 of Brief Notes on Life
01.
Shadows never truly go away, thought Apu. They simply hide for some time.
The little monkey Apu was enthralled by shadows. His eyes followed the curious dark shapes resembling trees and rocks and his own tail. Sometimes they remained still - quiet, waiting and then suddenly they moved, as if they had been spying on him for a long time and knew exactly how he would act. They liked to tease and mock him. Apu would throw twigs and stones at the black shapes and when that did not work, he took a long stick and poked at the little dark monsters, striking them. But to no avail. The cunning creatures were shape shifters. They would become smaller and smaller till they were only a puny blob. And then as the evening approached, they would elongate till they assumed the shape of a humongous Giant.
After sundown , Apu remained close to his mother, clasping her firmly, hanging around her neck. Though chained to their owners during daytime by some magic, the shadows were free at night. Apu could not sleep for who knew what mischief those infernal shadows would be upto. Amma calmed him down saying , 'The shadows never appear in the night. They return to to their homes in a faraway land.' But Apu remained sceptical.
One night, ‘it’ came in his dreams. The monkey shaped shadow. In the world of dreams, it was not to stuck to Apu’s feet. The shadow was resting on a tree. Apu approached it warily. The shadow looked at him for long, and hopped on to another branch. Apu hesitated a little and then followed. In that (non-existent) afternoon that they spent jumping around branches and throwing berries at each other, the Shadow and Apu chiseled away at the strangeness that separated them. It was as if someone had discovered at last - that two sentient beings need not hate each other. As consciousness slowly began to rise in the back of Apu’s mind and he was about to get awake, the shadow told Apu that it’s name was Tambo. And in another world, Tambo was the monkey and Apu was it's shadow.
From then on, Apu was nicer to his shadow and even dropped little berries at the dark shape when Amma wasn't looking.
02.
Somewhere in a village where the forest of Zen begins, at the feet of the snow capped Tranquil hills, a novice approaches an Old man. A mane of tender white hair fills the old man’s face. His eyes shine of wisdom, of have witnessed wonders far beyond human powers of comprehension.
Novice: Master, how may I attain Enlightenment?
The Master gets up, and silently walks towards the forest. The novice follows. They stop somewhere deep within the forest. A heavy wind has thrown off a nest from the branches. that still contain a few eggs. The mother sparrow guards the nest. The Master watches it at a distance, earnestly waiting. The student maintains a respectful silence.
A tiny crack appears on an egg. As the crack spreads out, the egg breaks open and a tiny sparrow pokes out its head, looking at the forest for the first time.
The Master sighs. The novice folds his palms and bows. All the universe waits for the fledglings to take flight.
Before Enlightenment, chop wood, carry water;
After Enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.
~ Zen proverb
03.
If you really think about it, there are only two seasons. One - where we are happy, filled with syrup like joy, smiling, and dancing like leaves in an autumn wind. Speaking of hope and courage and all the monstrosities that make us believe in the inherent greatness of man. And then, there is another season. Blander than autumn and harsher than summer. When cards are dealt by the hard, callous hand of Fate.
When we are humbled of our bravado. When all joy seems to be, but a mist of a distant past. A dream, a play act that was never meant to be true. Before the vast obscurity, the consummate blackness that surrounds man, all songs, all Beauty seems to be a fleeting wisp like dream. Kindling hope appears as hopeless as fireflies/glow-worms trying to lighten the world on a moonless night. And then and only then, (in that unpierceable blackness), can we truly see the Stars.
04.
In this world of unbearable misery,
As all hope fades,
Lord Thy name, be my lone succour.
05.
I first discovered Bob Marley when I was on the wiser side of thirties. Thirty three to be exact. Quiet late to be hearing Bob Marley for the first time. I am not agnostic towards music, but growing in a small town in India (in the pre internet-explosion age), my musical preferences and sensitivities were shaped by Folk Bhajans, Bollywood, and Indipop, and the Sufi-Bhakti Sangeet.
It was a book that would lead me to the Singer. A few weeks ago, I finally made good on my commitment to start reading the book that been in my TBR list since long (I have not finished it). The 2015 Man Booker Prize winner, 'A Brief History of Seven Killings,' by Marlon James. The yellow, green and black jacketed book (the colours of Jamaican flag) is a book centered around the events leading to the attempted assassination of Bob Marley.
Marlon James narrates a troubled and wounded time in Jamaican history by giving voice to the people who stories will never be documented in any book of history. In a way he gives the mic to Jamaica to tell her story. This is a tale of a country bleeding in the height of cold war, a gazelle torn apart by jackals, a people trying to breath amidst gun violence, extreme poverty and police brutality. Kingston, the Jamaican capital is held by two rival gangs who in turn are supported by the two rival political factions and a very active CIA office. Amidst this madness, one man is considered Sacrosanct, whose house is a sanctuary of peace. The Singer. No matter which political faction or gang you belonged to, the Singer's house is an abode of Music. Throughout the novel Bob Marley is referred to as The Singer. And then the unthinkable happens - the assassination attempt on Bob Marley. I would highly encourage you to watch the Netflix Biography on Bob Marley - ‘Who Shot the Sheriff?’ with this book.
There are more than 75 different voices in the book and we travel across their perspectives with each chapter. The gang lord ‘Papa Jones,’ the teenage gang member, ‘Bam -Bam,’ Nina, who is pregnant with the Singer’s child, a CIA operative, a dead Prime Minister, all get to tell their stories. The language itself changes with a number of characters speaking slang laced English with sentence structure influenced by Jamaican Patois. The book is extremely violent, disturbing but so is the history it professes to depict.
"The title misrepresents its heft and its body count. This vast fictional history which spirals out from the politics and gang violence of 1970s Jamaica is exhilarating in its range of voices and registers: swaggering, brutal, elegiac, sardonic, humorous, tender and profane. And what a story - it knocks your socks off."The Judges of Man Booker Prize.
The Brief History attempts and succeeds in telling the story of an extremely violent period in the history of Jamaica. In doing so it gives voice to the ordinary people who often end up as statistics in official figures and scholarly research.
“Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.”
~ The Singer Aka Bob Marley
And here we have reached the end of Issue #002 of Brief Notes on Life. Thanks for reading. I leave you with a beautiful song by Bob Marley. I wish I had heard it earlier.