Of late I have been having issues. Well, don't we all! My issue is pressure.....blood pressure to be exact. Never did I have a reading that did not bring a smile on my GP's face till about this time last year. I figured that there could be half a dozen reasons, all genuine. Or maybe a dozen reasons if I can throw in six non-genuine ones. Let me get serious here. We are talking about the silent killer (as it is commonly called).
I have tried fixing my diet. Tried excercise (watering the garden or sitting on my garden swing and swaying my head back and forth like a pendulum to keep the swing from losing its swing!). Having even tried remaining calm and happy by ignoring all my domestic chores be it laundry or dishwashing or making up my bed every single day. I remember one bright kid of mine suggested that making one's bed was a real waste of time as it would get unmade again that same night when we have to go back to bed!
I think I may found the true culprit that has found its way from my heart to my head and back to my heart and all the arteries and capillaries and veins in my body. This culprit resides in my mind and never for a moment shows any desire to go away.
It is a thought - the thought that I should go to India and as soon as I deplane at Mumbai Airport I should discard my dress pants and cotton/polyester shirt and socks and my shiny black leather shoes. I should put on some nice wooden sandals and a pure cotton 'dhotti' and march of into the India of my ancestors to witness first hand where my great grandpa plowed the land and my even greater grandma made chappatis on a charcoal burner for him.
Alas, but times have moved and maybe where my great ancestors toiled the land and made their modest homes has been reduced to a city of concrete - 'western' style.
Maybe I should keep my dress pants and all and check into an ashram. Ooooom Shaaaaanti.
Once, I sat Maa down and asked her for whatever details she knew of our ancestors in India - she told me that they were from Porbandar, and I wondered if I would ever have any desire to go there. Last night I picked up a book about Gandhi and in the first couple pages learned that the Mahatma's family is from Porbandar too. That connected me to India in a strange way: knowing my ancestors and his may have spoken, toiled together, interchanged bits of their lives. You'll make it to your India.
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