The sky was flaming rose that morning of November 19, 1990. I closely hold the vivid memory sitting in a boat with my brother holding your remains in a sack on the Ganges River in Kanpur. Two days earlier on November 17th, your soul had left the world of mortals and the day after you were cremated on open wood pyre on the banks of Ganges. Now, we were there to immerse the ashes in the river at a place where it was almost 80 feet deep. I was sitting in the boat like a cold stone at the bottom of the river.

I don’t know why, but I feel that with each passing day, my bond with you and our memories is getting stronger and stronger. It is often said that once a person is gone, he is reincarnated in a world of memories and stories. Reflecting on your life and the way you lived gives me guidance and shines light when the pain of the path starts tormenting.

I am guilty of never thanking you for your undying love and care. While growing up, thank you and please were not part of my vocabulary. As a family ritual, I parroted thanks to Waheguru (God) without assigning any special emotion to the gesture.

I used to look forward to Sunday visits to Kanhaiya Lal Butcher’s shop with you to buy goat meat. I still see an 8 year-old kid walking while holding your hand, your freshly washed loose hair is flowing with a day old turban sitting on it unceremoniously. The butcher’s shop was in an area known as Gumti Number 5. This area was a new home to refugees from west Punjab (now Pakistan), and I would marvel at the sparkle in your eyes upon meeting an acquaintance. After buying meat, I remember sometimes going to Pahalwan’s shop to buy poori chole (fried flat bread and chick peas).

Every Sunday afternoon without exception, you would read jokes from the Urdu newspaper Daily Milap to me and my younger sister while we all sat on the bed. I remember your laugh when in all her innocence she would tell you that you have 3 navels. These were marks under your naval left by a hernia surgery.

I am now sixty-eight years old and everybody says that I look like you. I do not know anybody with a bigger heart than yours. You were ordained a sacred duty of taking care of every one on your side of the family by some divine order, and you executed your mission flawlessly. I remember that on the day of final prayer for peace of your soul, Gurudwara Kirtan Garh in Kanpur was packed with people of all religious persuasions with stories of how you had come to their rescue during financial needs. In a ritualistic sense, you were not religious, but each act of yours was pious. You know your story, but it is important for me to tell you that at every step, your story is walking with and me. I remember your visits to me when I was studying in college studying sat Banaras Hindu University. You used to come to Hindalco Aluminum factory to supply timber, and would travel extra 80 miles to see me for half an hour. The money given by you at those occasions would turn my rhyming life into symphony.

I still hear in the scenery of past, the stories of your business acumen and fighting spirit. Somehow, in social circles, you always felt awkward. I often saw you coming from a party earlier than everyone else and eat simple Dal, Roti, and a fried egg accompanied by Patiala Peg of XXX Rum from Sikkim.

Genes flower in inexplicable ways. Like you after getting up in the morning, I always sit on the edge of the bed for a few minutes and when thinking, I, like you, automatically tilt my head and rest it on my hand. My daughter - your grand daughter - is blessed with your pinkish eyes. You are going to laugh at it, your grandson like you loves to walk around in the house only with underwear on. Narinder, your middle son, left us to join you almost two years ago. We hope that he is under your good care and supervision. Between us remaining four siblings, we’ve all carved our own paths and are blessed in different ways.

Regarding me, like you I have gone through a lot of ups and downs. You always rose like phoenix, and the story of your journey is a depthless reservoir of encouragement for me. I was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer in July of 2014. The cancer had migrated to my brain. It is nothing but blessings of elders and Waheguru’s grace that supported by faith I am moving on. You had taught us that falling down is a lesson in how to get up.

After Indira Gandhi’s assassination 31st October 1984, the little empire you had built along with my brothers laid in ruins. All the factories were destroyed by the rioters using phosphorous bombs. In early 1985, after the physical and emotional stress of the riots and its impact, you suffered a heart attack and I had gone to see you. I cannot forget that when I entered your bedroom, you were laying down and the moment you saw me, you held my hand and tears rolled down from your eyes. I knew you were experiencing an intense trauma for the second time in your life. After the partition, where you resided in West Punjab became Pakistan, and you and your family lost everything. You had come to Kanpur pennyless. Now, I saw this new trauma had penetrated a deep forest of resilience. Now in your studied silence, there was a form of heartache. The mere visualization of that scene fills my heart and the banks of eyes get submerged with tears.
​
On this Fathers day, I want to lift the lid on my silence and say I Love You, and a child in some corner of my heart misses you. I feel your presence, Darji.

I feel the fragility of things in time.
From the bottom of my heart, I feel
We should cling to nothing.
Everything skips through our fingers.
All that we seek to hold on to dissolves.
Everything vanishes like mist and dreams,
Time is a strange thing.
When we don’t need it is nothing.
Then suddenly there is nothing else
 - Hoffmannsthal

To me, reading the above verse brings the image of thousands of dancing Shivas with their eye movements symbolizing unfolding events in the realm of time. The current unfolding is causing untold misery to mankind. Vladimir Lenin once said,”There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen." True to his words, it seems that decades worth of misery and death have been packed in a few weeks.

This misery is a pandemic caused by a Novel Corona Virus, less than one thousandth part of the thickness of the human hair. Covid-19 (Corona Virus Disease- year 2019) is an unceasing requiem causing an unsettling global crisis.   

Since this virus is highly infectious, we have been asked to stay home. There is unpalatable anxiety and fear in our hearts. Our fear and anxiety about what has become and what life will be is the result of our karma. It is a result of the accumulation of our ruthless and criminal exploitation of earth and its resources during the last hundred years. Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist Monk, said “Walk as if you are kissing the earth with your feet.“  Instead our violent pounding has put the earth on a ventilator. As the result of ruthless plundering of earth, we now live uncomfortably close to wild animals, and as a result we are exposed to new set of viruses. Our actions have produced four Zoonotic (originated in animals) diseases in this century including Covid-19.

We know how to measure time, but have no idea about how it will unfold. Therefore, the forces of apocalypse gathering elsewhere elude us and show up as a virus. The destructive power of this virus has brought us on our knees, deflowered our ego and undone our threads. The scare of it is so high that we fear touching our own faces.

Past is prelude. Our civilization has gone through such catastrophes in the past - such as Spanish flu in 1920’s in US and Western Europe or the plague in Mumbai in late 1800. In each incident, we were saved by combination of magic and miracles – the magic of science and miracle of empathy. No doubt that the science in near future will do its magic by finding an effective vaccine against it. I also see the miracle being performed by people with empathy. While washing hands we are realizing that one hand washes the other and in our aloneness, we are sharing each other’s loneliness. The collective activities such as making masks, serving free food, etc show that we are perfecting the art of making Mandala ( Buddhist multicolored art  depicting that the whole universe is connected by Karuna, the compassionate action).It gives me optimism that this darkness may lead us towards a gently shimmering future.

What if this darkness is not the darkness of the tomb,
But the darkness of the womb? 
Remember the wisdom of midwife:
“Breath,” she says. Then: “push”
-Valerie Kaur

It is my hopeful prayer that we will work towards restoring the harm done by us for future generations. We will not forget that while we were locked up, animals came out exhibiting their playful nature without fear of us humans. New Delhi’s air became cleaner by 70 percent, and the birds came back with full force. Dolphins and turtles have started coming close to the beaches in California. In the dark liquid of the night with the help of binoculars, one can see migrating birds. Maya Angelou must have imagined a phenomena like this before penning,”This is a wonderful day, I have never seen this one before.” My prayer wants us not go to our old ways once we come out of “Spiritual Lock Up”, so that the earth will continue to heal. It is my hopeful prayer that we will once again drink joy from the restored beauty of mother nature. The poet Kitty O’Meara, a retired schoolteacher, wrote a poem a few weeks ago. The poem went viral. It expresses the sentiments of healing beautifully. I am sharing the poem for your reflection:
And the people stayed home.
And read books, and listened, and rested,
and exercised, and made art, and played games,
and learned new ways of being, and were still.
And listened more deeply.
Some meditated, some prayed, soe danced.
Some met their shadows.
And people began to think differently.
And the people healed.
And in absence of people living in ignorant,
Dangerous mindless and headless ways,
The earth began to heal.
And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again,
They grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images,
And created new ways to live and heal the earth fully,
As they have been healed.

Come out of circle of time,
And come into circle of love
- Rumi

This month, the Punjabi’s of India and Pakistan celebrate Lohri. Lohri is a celebration of joy of life and fertility. It has a special significance for the family which is blessed with a newly born. It is observed on 13th of January every year. On this day, the Sun starts moving northwards and days get warmer. On this festival the Punjabi love for food and dance is on full display.

Traditionally, a bonfire is lit as the dusk is uncoiling at the newly born’s house. Friends and extended family members come wearing traditional cloths. The guests and the family members dance around the fire and while dancing the puffed rice, sesame seed, corn is thrown into the fire (I believe that during ancient times these were symbolic offerings to fire god Agni). This year we are celebrate the arrival of Chetan (my son) and Megan’s daughter Ahana.

I am taking the liberty of conveying some of my thoughts to Chetan and Megan through this blog on this special occasion...

Chetan, in my 68 years of being, I have learned that time is not made of things but events. In one of those events on March 31st, 2019, you and your dear wife Megan were born as parents. I still see your joyfully shimmering face when you came to us delicately holding her. I saw how the newly born had created a tender loving space in your heart and that space was already transforming you into a doting father. When we saw her for the first time, we the grandparents felt exulted like the little bird lark who in happiness fly’s vertically at tremendous speed while singing in melodious voice. For me in the deepening silence of thirsty life, she has come as a new water.

You and Megan have named her Ahana, meaning Mother Goddess Durga as well as the first ray of the Sun. It is a beautiful name for a child. She is a beaming light in our lives. Parents fervently wish to see their grown-up children reflect some glory of the virtues hidden behind their given name. I have no doubt you both wish to see Ahana grow up as epitome of the glory behind the name, and that you and Megan will walk in lock steps and provide an environment of a blessed place for her so that she can grow into her name.

In our lives, we are always behind the curve in our understanding of parenthood and perfect parenthood remains elusive. Despite doing everything right in your view, there will be heartbreaks for all involved. This is natural and expected. Fortunately, these heartbreaks will open new landscapes of understanding in your heart and transformations to new understanding.

Raising strong, intellectual, family-oriented, and worldly-wise girls is a tough job. Society does not make it easy. There will be times she will feel vulnerable. Your upbringing will teach her that vulnerability comes with courage and without courage the life does not reveal its hidden beauty.

• Give her a gift of asking beautiful questions and seek beautiful answers. An ever-present effervescent feeling of wonder and awe should be there in her life. It is “THE” source of strength and will be her guiding companion. This strength grows as flowering beauty in one’s heart with time spent in nature, playing music, painting, dancing, reading books etc.
• Live a life of “Contested Generosity”. Living with this concept will make you and Megan strive to outdo each other in loving, forgiving, and understanding with a foundation of active listening. The kids are rarely listening but always watch what you do. Just think, how many times you have told me what you saw me doing as opposed remembering what I was saying. In short, your life on steroid of contested generosity will osmotically transform Ahana.
• When she is at an understanding age, teach and show her that it is not written anywhere that all the people including her must be happy all the time. Light and darkness are woven in the fabric of the day.  It is natural to feel defeated sometimes. Wisdom requires one to move gracefully with grit towards life’s goals. It’s also important that she understands that despite her best efforts, she may not always get what she wants. Her expectations from the society and the society’s response to her will not be same all the time. Life will always be somewhere in the middle.
• When she can walk a couple of miles without getting tired, take her on the trail behind the house especially, if possible, in the mornings. Talk about the amazing fragrance coming from the wet grass. Listen to chirping of birds, especially how they follow each other in their calls. Teach her how to listen to the stream. There is blessing in appreciating the rested beauty of nature including sky, clouds. The experience of spending conscious time in the nature increases the sense of wonder which is a true source of knowledge and strength.
• It is important that she is engaged and committed to her schooling, but it is equally important that this is not her only focus. While focusing on her mind development, also give equal attention to soul development by engaging her in charity work, service in Gurdwaras and Temples. Give praise when she helps someone in any which way.
• Engage her in the simple pleasures of life like going to a neighborhood diner, farmer's markets, flea markets etc. Happiness is feeling blessed. Expensive tastes do not increase the intensity of blessed feelings.
• Cultivate the arts. Teach her piano; piano enhances neural connections between both hemispheres of brain like no other. Ahana is already showing signs of a prodigal learner. I think she has come prepared. She just needs some prodding. This art is going to stay with her for rest of her life. 
• If possible, at an early age introduce her to good literature especially poetry. One’s world is limited by the words known to them. More she absorbs more her vision will expand. The limit of one’s vision is the limit of the universe. As grand father, I want her to know as much as the universe, but I know it is not possible, but I do know a quick way to explore the mystery of universe is to read poetry. Reading a good poem under the warm gaze of night is more spiritual than any number of prayers.
• I hope that she is taught to know her roots. Pride in culture and age-old traditions is an unbreakable shield which will make her bounce back into light from dark swamp of failure and depression.  Traditional religious and cultural rituals give order and make us appreciate the rhythm of life. More importantly, we are genetic shadows of our ancestors. The traditional rituals make us feel their existence. Every time I recite a Shabad (Holy Hymn) in the prayer room, I feel connected with my mother. Create reasons for being festive.  “Life without festivities is a long road without an inn”, these words by Democritus have ring of truth.

There may be times which may test you emotionally and financially. Use your pain to transform yourself otherwise you will transmit it to people around you including Ahana. Worrying about future does not help because future always happens. In hard times she will reflect on your fortitude, will learn, and move on.

She does not know her destiny. It will reveal itself slowly due to combination of her actions and outer influences. In antiquity while throwing offerings into fire, people would say “ Aadar Aawe, Te Dalidari Jaavey “. It means may the honor come, and the ignorance, laziness, and poverty depart. Nobody knows what the destiny has in cards for her, your job is to prepare her to make any destiny blissful. A change of season is a prelude to that journey.

A change in weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves
-Proust

There is a goddess of memory, Mnemosyne;
But none of forgetting.
Yet there should be, as they are twin sisters,
Twin powers, and walk,
On either side of us, disputing for sovereignty,
Over us and who we are,
All the way until death.
-Richard Holmes
A meander through memory and forgetting
   
It was twilight on our second day at the park. The crimson sun’s rays were slicing through the dust raised by migrating animals. On the park radio, our guide heard that a couple of lions had surrounded a blue wildebeest (an animal the size of an adult cow) and were attacking it with their natural ferocity. Our guide quickly turned his land cruiser in the direction of the hunt. By rushing through the maze of dirt roads which snake through Serengeti, we reached where the wildebeest was on its last leg of battle, and within a few seconds it fell on the ground, its body ripped apart and the force of life leaving it forever. The attacking lionesses - one older and one around three years old - now exhausted from battle sat down stoically next to the dead beast. Their silent expressions were giving the illusion that they were coming to terms with raw grief of taking a life. It is said that sorrow has a voice: it is a scream turned inward and silenced. I suppose the lionesses, if in grief, had turned their roar inward. It has been shared that lions carry no memory of previous kills, so each act to them likely feels like innocence lost.
The vultures perched on leafless trees looked like monks contemplating on the nature of death. For their meal, they would have to wait. The lions were going to guard their hunt overnight.
The above episode has left a deep impact on my memory. It dawned to me that our lives are so separated from the natural actions and cycles of animals. While for me and others, this was a powerful experience, for the lions and wildebeest, it’s the natural way of the world. The poet John Fletcher said:
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan
 Sorrow calls no time that’s gone

As the title suggests, this blog post is not about the size of the park and various animals in it - Wikipedia and internet are loaded with the such information. This writing is about my memories, reflections, and the changes the visit brought in me.  

After seeing the hunt, we headed back to our tent house. The night was falling and very soon the sky turned a dreamy velvet black. Every night, the sky brought the same color. The nightly bonfires at the tent had gold, red, and purple flames dancing on the embers. In the park, the animals were roaming free and we were caged in a secured tent during nights. Every night you could hear hyenas calling each other with a full range of musical tones including legatos and staccatos.
Our guide suggested that if we wanted to see lions feasting on the dead wildebeest, then we should start by 6 am. It was still dark, but the sky was changing its color from black to indigo. The shadow of yesterday’s moon was still lingering in the sky. It had rained in the wee hours of the morning, and the vast cathedral of Serengeti was being swept off its feet by the moisture laden breeze. On the way, we saw guinea fowls (I would describe them as cuter versions of chickens) doing their sputter walk on the side of the dirt road amidst line of blue monkeys. We reached the place of the kill at around 6:45 am.  It was an unbelievable scene. There were at least 4 lions sitting cheering on two other lions, one eating the face, and the second, a child, like any curious child, struggling with the tail.  From here, we moved on to other parts of park.

The sky by now had moved from indigo to a blue which can only be experienced and not described. According to the author Earl Shoris in The Last Word ’ the Mayan language had nine different words for blue”. The loss of language has made the blue I was witnessing beyond description.
By noon the sky had turned pale blue. In the open grassland, the animals were sunbathing, and the atmosphere was like a picnic. Lions, elephants, zebras, giraffes, a few foxes at distance, gazelles, all were in proximity of a few hundred yards of each other without any fear.  I saw carcasses of dead animals in the same mix. I saw a mother elephant breastfeeding her baby, a male and female Ostridge couple taking a leisurely walk during their picnic, and lions sleeping on the trees. A few miles from this place, we saw a lioness sleeping on a big lava rock like a beautiful lady in a portrait session of sleeping beauty. Her 5 cubs were playing around and occasionally sucking on her breasts. The littlest among them was constantly hitting on her face and periodically stopping to gaze at her face possibly to ensure that her spirit was still a float in this world. The beauty of this Eden like place brought the memory of the following verse from Gregory Orr:
To be alive; not just the carcass,
But the spark
That’s crudely put, but……
If we are not supposed to dance,
Why all this music?

The story of circular migration of animals following the rains and rejuvenated vegetation is nothing less than magical.  Science tells us that the animals for navigation shave several tools like spatial memory (some genetic and some learned), earth’s geomagnetic field, and seasons. I am not as well-endowed with spatial memory as these animals. The goddess of forgetfulness is always encroaching on the memory land. I am always trying to remember as much as I can the landscapes experienced with their wind patterns and sky.  
Serengeti was a gift to us from our children - Chetan, Megan, Ashim, and Pooja. Their gift brought an experience which we will cherish for as long as the goddess of forgetfulness does not turn her eyes towards us.

Visiting Serengeti and listening to what this land was saying, a new understanding and appreciation  of life and nature developed. In conversation with the land, we create spaces in our life where wisdom arises like morning sun and our spiritual landscape expands. The forgotten experiences come back as stories to be reflected upon as something new and novel. We realized that this season of our lives is more important than any other season to cherish lived moments and stories. Most importantly, a realization that the eternal call of time is beckoning us to cherish the internal seasons of life together with the knowledge of our partner's heart's wants.
I carry your heart with me ( I carry it in my heart)
I am never without it (Anywhere I go you go, my dear)
Here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root, bud of the bud and sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grown higher than soul can hope, or mind can hide)
And this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart.
-E. E. Cummings   

Reflections on my Visit to Gurudwara Sacha Sauda in Pakistan

Charity for God’s Sake has a hundred signs-within the heart
The good deed, a hundred tokens though in Charity Riches are Consumed
A Hundred Lives come to Heart in Return
A Sowing of Good Deeds in God’s Earth and Then no Income Impossible
- Rumi

In Pakistan, we spent our first night in Lahore. The persons traveling without a companion were assigned a roommate. My roommate was a short and stout Sikh gentleman from Indiana, USA. In the morning at around 3:30 am, the whole air space in the room started reverberating with the sound of beautiful recitation of morning compositions of Gurbani (Guru’s Words). Sitting on his bed, the gentleman was reciting in hypnotic trance. Like the pied piper, he had taken me into the wordless world of elevated state of mind. Over the next nine days, we would end up developing an enigmatic warmth for each other.

After having breakfast, our group of 37 or so people headed out to Gurudwara Sacha Sauda. According to the legend, Guru Nanak’s father was not happy with his ways and wanted him to be productive and earn money. One day, he gave him 80 rupees and asked him to strike a true bargain with the money and earn a very handsome profit. He sent his friend Mardana with him. Instead of doing what his father wanted, Guru Nanak bought food, and cloths for beggars, persons discarded by society, lowest among the low casts, and sick to no end. Both him and Mardana distributed the food and clothes with sheer joy. The Gurdwara is built on the very site where Baba Nanak showed us the path of giving to needy.

I found the Gurdwara to be beautifully maintained with manicured lawns and clean buildings. We all sat in the prayer hall and listened to the Kirtan (sacred hymns) by the priest as well as some members of our group. We were served Langar (food from the community kitchen) after the end of singing and prayer. To my surprise, two of the servers were Muslims and while serving they were reciting Sikh chants. There were also two little kids age around 6 or 7 distributing food.

There was a big berry tree on the right side of the main hall’s entrance. The tree is believed to be over 600 years old, and it is believed that Baba Nanak used to sit under the tree and muse about the nature of God. The locals believe in the healing power of its leaves. Almost all of us took some leaves.

Reflecting on this episode, I realize that even at the young age of 18, Guru Sahib had a compassionate heart. Reading about the episodes of his earlier life, I (we) know that he had mind of his own. He objected to wearing of sacred thread, did not want to perform in rituals, questioned rationality of society’s beliefs and actions and did not want to indulge in any activity which did not allow him to grow spiritually. In short, he was a non-conformist. He was like a boat which in order to navigate stays in contact with the water (society/community) for travel, but in order to keep itself moving, does not allow societal ills to seep in.

In discovering his true nature, he did not follow his father and mother’s aspirations. Baba Nanak throughout his life taught that the true human bliss is in service of living beings. One shall choose the path based ion his/her calling. Baba Nanak was not an arm chair teacher but walked the path.

He made giving and service (Daan) as one of the three pillars of the Sikh path. The other two he shared were Meditation (Naam), and living a virtuous life (Isnaan). Jesus who lived centuries before him emphasized service of mankind as one of his principle teachings. Jesus spent most of his time with lepers, persons discarded by the society and prostitutes. Baba Nanak also like him spent his time helping poor, needy and sick. In Sikh teachings, while one is encouraged to help the needy and sick, the healthy and capable persons are scolded for begging. The following lines clearly show Guru’s thinking:
Is Pekhe Thavuh Girhe Bhala Jithoh Ko Varsae
(Instead of wearing the beggar’s robes, it is better to be a householder, and give to others)

The teachings remind us that service is gratitude which brings grace into the life. Service is humility and any giving of items of no use to the giver is not a true act of charity, but more an ego filled feel good activity. In the old Hindu scripture Katopanishad, Nachiketa tells his father that giving up old useless cows to Brahmins with fanfare was self-aggrandizing and an act frowned upon by Gods.
He emphasized that service should not only be a duty but should become a habit. In Guru Nanak life time, inspired by his teachings, there was spread of community kitchens far and wide. The care of needy and sick was done by his followers and showing the path to the existence to move onto more enlightened path. When I think about it, the following words ring through my ear:
Sage does nothing but nothing is left undone
-Lao Tsu

I was writing these last lines around the time of sunset. The orange sky and green lawn together had created a picture evoking nostalgia for the place and mind was being ambushed by the memories of my visit.

I recently had the privilege of traveling to Pakistan to honor and learn more about the birthplace of the Sikh religion.

It was 4 am on November 17th, and the Turkish Airlines flight (where I was joined with my sister and brother-in-law, among others) was slowly gliding down on its approach to Lahore Airport. The lights of Lahore had started to come out from oblivion. Fear and excitement were running through my veins. I was enchanted by memories of the stories my mother told me about her childhood in Jhelum and those my father told me about his undergraduate days in Lahore at Khalsa College, but that was clouded with the horror of 1947. Leading up and through the partition, the violence and fleeing caused unforgettable pain to people who built their lives together for the past 5000 years. While leaving west Punjab (now Pakistan), the people of my parents’ generation and older would have never imagined they would forever leave the only place they knew of as home.

I thought of my mother walking miles with torn chappals (sandals) holding the hand of her three-year son (my eldest brother) and carrying another six months old son (my other brother) in her arms. Her caravan of 100 people walked over 50 miles to reach the safety of Amritsar in India.

In 1947, on both sides of Punjab, there was no oxygen, but only blood in the air. It seemed as though a hapless God had escaped to deep dungeons of Earth amid war cries of Allah ho Akbar, Bole So Nihal, and Har Har Mahadev. Fundamentalists were looking at heaven for redemption from their violent acts while creating hell on earth. It seemed as if Satan, the sorcerer, had made the sun emit black light under which disarray and malice conquered all.

The haunting memories created by the stories of partition were coming to me like a ceaseless vertigo of pain. I was born after partition, but I realized that the stories of partition had become a legacy of suffering and an important part of our family history.
I was lost in my own world when the plane landed. The immigration was a hassle-free process. After clearance, we were greeted by friends of the pilgrimage organizers. They took us to a hotel in an area called Liberty Market.

The morning was filled with a lucid stillness in the air, and the tangerine sun had started smiling from the east. Voices sharing the Punjabi hospitality greeting Jee Ayaan Noon (heartiest welcome) and sounds of Punjabi accents similar to my parents (Punjabi spoken in Pakistan sounds different than the one spoken in Indian Punjab) were everywhere. Even though my parent’s generation suffered during partition, they didn’t let their good memories of the land and the people be stained by the memory of bloodshed. I was beginning to breathe a sweet mist of my parents’ nostalgia of good times and as a result slowly my cocooned self was beginning to grow wings.

At around noon, we went to Liberty market. The sounds, smells, and hawkers looked very familiar.  The overwhelming feelings generated by the familiarity of things made me question the senseless bloodshed of 1947. The welcoming tenderness in the corner of everybody’s eyes was beautiful. It is said that if one finds peace in the air, water, and land of a new place, then it is because the person’s hereditary consciousness dwells in that area. I didn’t have to convince myself about the validity of this belief.

By the afternoon, most of our group of 38 had arrived to Lahore. We assembled in the hotel lobby and then got onto organized buses for a visit to Gurudwara Dehra Sahib – the place of our fifth Guru’s, Guru Arjan Dev Ji’s, martyrdom. His martyrdom took place in May of 1606 (according to the Gregorian calendar).

According to 17th century sources, including contemporary poet and theologian Bhai Gurdas Bhalla (a Jesuit priest who was in Lahore at that time) and the Mughal Emperor Jahangir’s own biography, the Guru Ji was martyred due to fear of his rising popularity among masses. Jahangir felt threatened by other religions gaining power. He asked Guru Ji to convert to Islam and change a few verses of Adi Granth Sahib – a religious compilation of Gurus’ teachings. The order was refused. Guru Ji was tortured, and it is believed that he disappeared in the Raavi River after torture. There are fictionalized stories that came about in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries involving other characters and ideas behind his martyrdom, but these stories hold no historical truth.

The place where Guru Arjan Dev Ji is believed to have disappeared is now dry land where the devotees have built his Samadhi (a structure commemorating the union of soul with God). A weak person like me cannot comprehend the moral strength of Guru Ji and his unwavering faith; at the age of 43, he gave up his life, refusing conversion to Islam. Looking at the Samadhi, I imagine the scene when Raavi was full of water and Guru Ji entered it with hundreds of onlooking devotees. Heavens cry through human eyes. Flowing tears of devotees must have made Raavi’s waters salty for a good amount of time. I remember a couple of lines from a poet requesting the waters of Raavi not to push around, because my lord has countless wounds (burns from the torture):
                Raavi deya pania thokraan na maar, mahi dey shareer ute chale beshumar

Guru Arjan infused the core of Sikhism – morality and ethics - with warriorship. He was the first martyr in the religion. The path shown by him led to a line of thousands of Sikh Martyrs.

I was marveling at his accomplishments. At a young age of 17, he became our 5th Guru. In the short span of 26 years, he completed the construction of Harmandir Sahib (the Golden Temple), wrote the highest number of hymns of any Guru, compiled the Adi Granth Sahib, organized Sikh sangats (congregations) and langar (free, community kitchen) at broader scale, etc.

​In the evening, my mind was entrenched in a web of thoughts as I reflected on his execution, the sacrifice of martyrs, and the rich history of Lahore (including contribution of Sikhs). In the Gurdwara, I saw a Muslim, Pathan couple from Peshawar eating langar (as shown in the picture below). There were many Muslims serving and eating langar. I could not escape the lingering thought that had Jahangir not ordered the execution of Guru Ji, our relationship with Islam would have been at a much different plane of understanding. I also believe that our historians did a very poor job of presenting facts, which complicates things and creates mind myths.

Lahore’s history is a labyrinth of blood shed, invasions, court intrigue, Sufism, etc. It would be easy for me to get lost in deep, tangled thoughts, but my Guru Ji lifts me out of this and reminds me I may never get the answer I’m seeking. Live this moment and relish the time here. The past is nothing but how you imagine it. Rotate the kaleidoscope and the picture will change. His beautiful composition of Sukhmani Sahib came to my mind, and I reflected on the following excerpt:

           Sukhmani Sukh Amrit Prabh Naam, Bhagat Jana Key Man Bisram (Rahao)
           (The name of God is Peace ( Jewel) of mind,  (By Contemplation)
           The mind of devotees abides in restful state, Pause and Contemplate 

I Declare with Perfect faith, That Prayer Preceded God
God Created Human Beings, Human Beings Created Prayer
That Created the God, That Created the Human Being
- Yehuda Amichai

The above poem on initial reading may appear very acentric, but on close pondering, it is a beautiful expression sharing how we experience God through prayer.

Reader - a few weeks ago, I went on a bike ride in Fairmont Park of Philadelphia. It was a misty morning and softly penetrating the mist was the morning moon, which was looking bigger than usual. The pines in the park were sacrificing their fragrance in honor of this beautiful late September morning. It was indeed a perfect day for biking. The freshly pressurized tires of the bike were kissing the trail with exquisite vivacity. I have always loved the ride on the gravel path in the park, which is sandwiched between tall trees on both sides, and on its northeastern side is also flanked by the sparkling Wissahickon Creek. The playful water provides the magical sensation of a soothing balm. The creek would have been more enchanting had man not interfered with its meandering path. On and off, I kept on thinking about various type of prayers, why we pray, and whether prayer works. Reader, I’d like to share my collection of thoughts with you.

Rumi’s words of wisdom often allow me to stretch my thinking. I recalled this poem:
Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and frightened
 Don’t open the door to the study and begin reading.
Take down a musical instrument. Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are a hundred ways to kneel and kiss the ground

It is liberating to learn that prayer does not have to follow a structure. Actually, prayer should have the mark of originality, like our fingerprints. This originality brings us into our being and allows us to become one with our true self.  A prayer with active listening leads to equanimity; otherwise, it is a collection of words which escape without their footprint.

Prayers can take so many forms.

• There are some traditions where prayers happen in a very specific rhythm for a specific purpose. In Islamic Salat, five times daily prayer is performed at specific prescribed times of the day.  The tradition believes that the practice leads one to dissolving of the self (fa’na) and finding the divine within (ba’qa) thus leading to divine unity (tawhid).
• Sometimes, there are prayers that, while albeit a routine, are often individualized. The Hindu Praise of River Ganges and Aarti (a prayer with lit lamps expressing highest love toward gods) in temples are choreographed with improvisation. Each temple and person performing has some freedom. In my teen years, I with my friends used to go to a Hanuman Temple. Hanuman helped Lord Rama (a Hindu deity) recover his wife Sita from demon king Ravana, thus restoring Shakti (power) to Lord Rama. Hanuman is a very inspiring symbol of service and devotion. In the evenings during Aarti time, I recall that each priest performed aarti in his own distinct style. The captivating ambiance enhanced by cresting and ebbing rhythm of bells created during the ceremony hypnotized us.
• We might invoke prayer in times of suffering, pain, loss of dear ones.  Any amount of prayer does not change the realty - it is cosmic law. However, prayer does provide therapeutic balm of healing and emotional reconfiguration. It helps us change things by changing our perspective. It gives us hope so that we do not live in fear. There are beautiful words written on this aspect by Christian Theologian Reinhold Niebuhr. It is called Serenity Prayer:

                                          God, grant me the serenity
                                          To accept the things, I cannot change
                                          Courage to change the things I can
                                          And wisdom to know the difference.

• Meditation and meditative prayers are in vogue these days. There are meditation retreats. While I have never been to one, I believe long-term benefits of such retreats can only be achieved if the attendee makes mediation a daily part of his/her life. But, it can often happen that, as with many practices, we lose interest or give up within a few weeks. I admire the discipline of those few who go on to a true and deep meditative path.

In prayers, we strive to have freedom from fear of heaven and hell, and free from fear of life. Religious texts talk in detail about this fear and how to get rid of it. Guru Nanak, the first Sikh Guru, gives directions in his prayerful writing, Japjee Sahib (Pauri 38), on how to develop God Consciousness in your total self – mind and body - thus releasing yourself from fear:
 Jat Pahara Dheeraj Suniyar, Ahran Mat Ved Hathiyar
Bhau Khala Agan Taptau, Bhanda Bhau Amrit Tit Dhal
Karihye Sabad Sachee Taksaal, Jin Kaur Nadar Karam Tin Kar
Nanak Nadri Nadar Nihal.            
(Free flowing translation: In order to find eternal bliss one needs to make himself/herself worthy of almighty’s grace. For that one needs to mint coins of “The Word.“ Such minting can be attained by strident effort which is coupled by patience, anvil like intellect, hammer like wisdom, fearful caution, firesome discipline, and with this effort you pour gold coins of virtuous teachings with love in your mind.)

Often, we invite the higher spirit into our life by performing special prayers at home, at places of worship, and at satsangs (holy gatherings), But, we may forget that God is always present in our hearts. It is we who are missing from our hearts.  Therefore, a big chasm remains between our true nature and imagined self.

For me, spending time in nature and listening to its beautiful sounds is nothing short of prayer. While I have deep appreciation for ancient hymns, I find the need to ground myself in the simplicity of nature as well. The following poem resonates with me:
Every day, the priests minutely examine the law
And endlessly chant complicated Sutras
Before doing that, though, they should learn
How to read the love letters sent by the wind
And rain, the snow, and the moon
-Haiku By Ikkayu ( A Japanese Poet)

Reader, I remember when I was a child in India, we used to sleep on the roof and since the future sky of light pollution had not arrived, we could see thousands of stars. We used to name the stars. I recently came across a prayer like poem written by Lin Manual Miranda (of Hamilton fame) for the animation film, Moana - about a voyage of a child across the Pacific.
At night we name every star
We know where we are, we know who we are.
Through nature, we learn that we are whole only if we consider that surroundings are a part of us. Seeing the lifeless leaves on the ground during on my fall biking trip, I am reminded that we are all connected in death. It is said that the second law of thermodynamics is the first law of life - literally meaning that everything in this universe is moving towards a higher degree of disorder (entropy) and destruction. I was thinking that I am also slowly coming apart at the seams, with death slowly percolating through my body.  I was somehow finding comfort in those dead leaves; they were my therapeutic allies.                 

I looked up and saw a few large birds gliding up and down with oceanic rhythm in the sky. Lost in wonder of their play with the sky, the mystery of existence was deepening. From this depth a deep sense of prayful gratitude was emerging. Around the same time, one of the birds with a big whistle like sound started soaring higher and higher. Reader, the bird’s whistle reminded me of the following poem by David Whyte titled “The Bell and the Blackbird”. It came to me like a message nothing short of a prayer.
The sound of a bell still reverberating
Or a blackbird calling from a corner of a field
Asking you to wake into this life,
Or inviting you deeper to one that waits
Either way takes courage, Either way wants you to be nothing,
but that self that is no self at all
Wants you to walk to the place
Where you already know, how to give every last thing away
 
 
 
                  

Like the reflections of the bridge
In the flood waters,
dance with great abandon.
Keep your feet firmly on the ground
and while forgetting yourself----
just dance and let go

The above lines are translations of a ghazal (a form of poetry) by 19th century Indian poet Mirza Ghalib. Mirza Ghalib was a Muslim and like many poets from his religion were fascinated by the image of dancing Shiva. According to scholars of his poetry, the allusions to dancing Shiva in this ghazal are unmistakable.

A few months back while in Shivaliks, these lines kept on reverberating in my head. The sweet fragrance of the footsteps of Shiva and his consort Parvati permeates through all of these low-lying mountains forming outer edge of Himalayas. You cannot escape thinking about the their stories and philosophy. We visited the 15th century temple of Naina Devi (another name for Parvati) situated at the height of 3434 feet. After the temple visit, we stayed at Kandaghat Resort, situated at a height of 4667 above the sea level. The resort is breathtakingly beautiful. The glaring blue of the sky tirelessly untames the nature burdened by human activity. Shiva and Parvati temples enchant the whole cosmos of the area to no end.

Visiting these ancient places brought back the memory and desire of elemental quest, buried under life’s trials and tribulations. Visiting Shiva and Parvati’s stories in my head while walking on these mountains, rekindled that fire. During the long walks, the image of Shiva and Parvati playing chausar (a form of chess) with dice kept on flashing in front of me.  The image implies that death is certain, but timing is not. I marvel at the thought process of Indian mystics. God of death himself is playing dice. The famous astrophysicist Stephen Hawking once said “Not only does God play dice, but... he sometimes throws them where they cannot be seen."  The image teaches that the life is governed by laws of intolerable, permanent uncertainty.  The image says leave your questions open and be prepared for unpredictability.

Every fortnight, I visit my oncologist and every couple of months I have brain and lung scans. During my visits, I notice that some faces have gone forever only to be replaced by new ones. I am part of the caravan of violated bodies seeing death not so quietly percolating, creating arid pain and morbid gloominess. I realize that to look at Sun (Shiva, the transcendent) one must stay under shade (completely aware of mortality). I hear Shiva, the dispeller of fear, saying that the struggle and end of life will happen whenever the time is ripe. So during your brief sojourn on this planet walk fearlessly and take whatever is given as prasad (blessing).  Again, Ghalib using the image of Shiva, says:
If you have the motivation, then why do you talk of ending your struggle,
Forget the speed and dance, listening to beat of ‘dra’,
and let go.
On the formless substrate of this music which produces thousands of moving emotions sits immovable Shankar, the abode of joy. The depiction tells us that life and death are joined like lovers journeying together. Shankar (the abode of joy) is another aspect of same reality known as Shiva (the one who is self-illuminated and pure consciousness).  This unmistakable symbol tells us that life soars to high skies on the wings of death.  Enjoy the flight and celebrate the dance with full abandon. That is the only way to get drenched in life’s nectar at every moment of your breath. Mikhail Bulgakov in The White Guard expresses same sentiment using different words:
"Everything passes away-suffering, pain, blood, hunger, pestilence. The sword will pass away too, but the stars will remain when the shadow of our presence and our deeds have vanished from the earth. There is no man who does not know that. Why, then, will we not turn our eyes toward the stars? Why?"
In Hindu mythology, Shiva is the only god who is a householder. He and his consort Parvati (daughter of mountains) have three sons, Ganesh, Kartikeya, and Ayappa. To keep the world in perfect balance, their marriage is a union between Wisdom (Shiva) and Compassion (Parvati). This combination is the most appropriate response to needs of life. Shiva is also known as Somnath (lord of mind), and Parvati is also known as Gauri (Intellect). Mind cannot function in an optimal manner without cultivated intellect. Indian literature is full of stories of Shiva’s compassionate actions upon the cajoling of Parvati. Under cathedral of mother goddess Parvati people were witnessed and heard thus calming their internal roar.

I get tremendous solace while looking at Shivalinga sitting in non-emotive silence with my inner turmoil.  Sitting In that silence, you hear Shiva saying in words which cannot be said in words. One understands that the journey of faith does not give you answers but gives you acceptance and peace with the bubbling questions.

Shiva Sutra ( teachings of Shiva) says “ Hriday Chittasanghatad”  meaning that once your heart and mind are in union every being appears to belong to you. Shiva’s teachings emphasize non-ritualistic spiritual journey. According to teachers of Shiva Sutra, the teachings of Shiva were given to everyone without consideration of color, cast, and creed. You see pictures of Shiva surrounded with animals and simple poor people of lower casts indicating that Shiva dwells in horizontal relationships. Shiva’s teachings tell us that supreme consciousness lives in every form and every form is perfect in itself. Man has no business of thinking himself as someone on top of the heap of evolution.

There is a story that consummate lover Shiva embraced and made love to Parvati and half of her body fused into him. For that reason he is also called Ardhnarishwara (half women and half man god). The symbol behind the allegory is unmistakable. A real man must cultivate and imbue himself with women’s sensibilities. That is only way to achieve good understanding and balanced life.

As mentioned before, Shiva is self- illuminated and beyond death. Contemplating on non- dualistic nature of Shiva, the primordial light, and acting according to virtuous instructions, one attains perfect bliss. These words of Rumi connect so beautifully with Shiva:
I am the real world, giving it endlessly away
Grow rich, flinging gold (to) all who ask
Live, empty heart of paradox
I will dance with you cheek to cheek.

While writing these lines, my thoughts went to a an uplifting and soothing lines from Shiva Sutra:
Namah Sri Sambhave, Svatmananda Prakase Vipuse
( I bow down to the wealth ( Shiva) that brings peace and joy )
While thinking these lines, I find myself uttering Shivoham, Shivoham ( I am Shiva, I am Shiva)
 

Gaze in wonder at ever circling stars, as if you were floating among them; and consider the alteration of elements, constantly changing one into another. Thinking such thoughts you wash away the dust of life on earth
 - Marcus Aurelius

My wife and I recently took a trip to India, during which we attended a Sikh Wedding (Anand Karaj) out in the open airs of Goa against the backdrop of Arabian Sea. The whole affair was organized elegantly with love and full respect to the holy Guru Granth Sahib (Sikh holy book). It was late morning and the waves of the sea were lazily playing with each other. On the far-right end of me, a rivulet was rejoicing its union with the sea. The birth and death of waves was reminding me of a quote I once heard likening us all to butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever. The salt-laden air was adding sugary sweetness to the sound of religious music being played. The combined effect of amniotic pull of the vast expanse of the sea and the soulful rendering of gurbani (spiritual hymns) had levitated me to a different plane of consciousness. It could have been a satori (instant enlightenment) moment, but regardless, I was awakened from my trance by the words, “let us take a walk”.

On the same evening, the wedding reception took place. For my antiquated ears, the music was loud and incomprehensible, so I left the hall earlier than others and went for a walk along the beach. The night was cool; stars in a communal honeymoon spirit were out in full force (something you do not get to see in Philadelphia). The words “let us take a walk” were still ringing through my head. I recalled that these words may be from a book which I have been reading titled “Walking with Nanak” by Pakistani author Haroon Khalid. In the book he has chronicled the places Guru Nanak visited in West Punjab (now in Pakistan) during his life time. The thoughts about Baba Nanak were pulling me into a spiritual discourse with myself like a moth being pulled to the flame.

For a moment, I thought that I am quite often drawn to fuzzy spirituality. A fearful thought sprang - what if my ego is playing a pious fraud with me? However, the thought that I must regardless heed such a calling won over my trepidation. I decided to walk into a world of thoughts illuminated; even if it turns out to be a mere bohemian meandering, it will still be soul lifting if I focused on Baba Nanak’s words.

While thinking all these thoughts, I was gazing at infinite patterns of shapes created by clusters of stars. I thought that the sky must be something like this for him as well. When standing on the shore of cosmic ocean and earth, he may have marveled at the beauty of the universe and asked where is the place from which you take care of all the celestial beings including fire, water, human beings and so on and so forth (so dar keha,so ghar keha - SGGS,P7). In this beautiful thought he sent countless salutations to the intelligence behind the universe. The musical cadence of his thought process was dancing in my head. The voice in my head was telling me that Baba Jee’s words of wisdom are like seeds of awe following of which ing would lead to wonder and experience of mystery.

Baba Jee recited that there are thousands and thousands of universes. The wisdom says that there is no end to the universe. Universes come and go as a matter of routine. His mystical vision had taken him to the other side of the infinity, and he could see this scientific truth hundreds of years ago without satellites with microscopes.

For next couple of days, I kept on thinking that Baba Nanak gave us a very simple panth (path) for liberated living. The tapestry of beautiful hymns gifted by him is interwoven with the concept of Naam, Daan, and Isnaan. It is the essential foundation of Sikhism and the code that dictates a Sikh’s moral and ethical life.

Naam stands for mindful awareness and whole-hearted acceptance of divine presence in every sentient and non-sentient being. The vision that we never separated from source and thus from each other runs through Sikh Philosophy. The central belief of Sikhs that all beings belong to same race and everybody is equal in creators eyes is rooted in the principle of Naam.

Daan stands for touching lives that are not ours in a benevolent and generous ways. A good Sikh is supposed to deliberately effort towards cultivation of generosity with gratitude for evolution of higher consciousness.

Isnaan stands for living by high ethical and moral principles of humanity leading to good deeds resulting in cleansing of body and mind from passion, anger, greed, attachment, and jealousy.

Naam, Daan, and Isnaan in their definition include practice of virtues such as kindness, forgiveness, contentment etc. The practice of this principle in life sculpts the human clay to its most exalted form:

Saach Varat Santokh Teerath, Gyan Dhyan Isnaan
Daya Devta Khima Japmali, Sey Manukh Pardhan
- SGGS P 1284, Raga Sarang, Guru Nanak
(Those who hold truth as their fast, contentment as pilgrimage, kindness as their deity and forgiveness as their rosary-they are the most exalted ones).

During the same visit to India, I went to several historical Gurdwaras. I saw Sikh worshippers taking a sip of water from the place where worshippers wash their feet before entering the shrine. It was at the Gurdwara Sisganj in Delhi (Guru Tegh Bahadur, 9th guru, was martyred here). I saw old men and women working selflessly in the kitchens making food for the worshippers. I saw handicapped men doing circumambulation of Golden Temple by being carried by their grandchildren. At the Golden Temple in Amritsar, I lost myself in the beauty and magnetism of hymns being sung by hymns singers.

I was sitting on the second floor in the Golden Temple for some time. I was about to get up when the singing of the following hymn from the fifth Guru, Guru Arjan Dev Jee started 
Haun Aya Dooron Chal Key, Main Takee to Sharnaye Jiyo
Main Asa Rakhee Chit Meh, Mera Sabo Dukh Gavae Jiyo
-  SGGS, P 763, Raga Suhi 
(I have come so far seeking the protection of your sanctuary, My mind has put hopes in you that you will take away all my sufferings)

A vulnerable looking middle aged lady who was sitting across me started crying at the onset of this hymn. I do not know whether the tears were expression of melancholic joy or outpouring of all the pain and sufferings. For me, I saw my Baba Nanak in her tears. While leaving the complex of Golden Temple, I turned back to have a last look at the glittering temple and thought of devotees of all kind praying and giving meaning to Naam, Daan, Isnaan in their own unique way. Each one of them, as Baba Nanak said,  effable representation of ineffable. I thought of Baba Naank as someone beyond comparison and my eyes could not hold the pride in my heart. The following couplet came on my lips:
Aaina kyon na duun k tamaasha kahein jise
Aisa kahaan se laauun k tum sa kahein jise
(Maybe I should give you a mirror, so that you can watch your own spectacle
 Where can I find another, whom people will consider magnificent)
-Mirza Ghalib
 
 

In the deep glens where they lived, all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.                                                                                                                                                       Cormac McCarthy, “ The Road”

The morning of December 11th, my wife and I, along with our four and half month old granddaughter, were walking along the shore of Pacific Ocean in San Diego. My wife was ecstatic, enjoying the weather and scenery while holding our granddaughter in a baby carrier. As if by alchemy, my granddaughter had transformed my wife into a child. She had a permanent smile etched on her face, beaming with joy while the waves washed her feet, and asking everyone who passed to take pictures (and they obliged generously). I was enjoying these beautiful playful moments.

The waves were cheerfully playing and rolling over each other. In their play, the waves were magnifying the mysterious humming sound of everything in the cosmos thousands of time. It occurred to me that this beautiful tapestry of sounds has been playing since the creation of this universe. In Indian philosophical texts, the humming of the universe is called Anahat Nad (unstruck sound), and this bell is ringing in every living and non-living object. Our earth is perpetually expanding and contracting with the vibrations caused by this hum, The vast expanse of wonder laying in front of me was creating a labyrinth of joy from which escaping at that moment was unfathomable. The ocean oblivious to the presence of people at the shore was working effortlessly to please everyone and anyone.

This reminded me of the following lines from the movie Color Purple:
“I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it. People think pleasing God is all God cares about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back.”

Last week an observatory in Chile got a fingerprint of a massive black hole 800 million times more massive than our sun. Its humming signal took 13 billion light years to traverse the realm of space and time. The signal was generated when the universe was only 690 million years old (current estimated age of the universe is 14 billion years, and age of planet earth 4.6 billion years). One cannot help but marvel at the intricacy and beauty of our inter-connectedness. This humming is like a continuous song of praise and gratitude for the mysterious energy and spirit which is behind this magnificent order.
The existence and experience of the rhythm of the unstuck sound as life giving force made Indian Sages say Aham Brahamasmi (I am the force of the Universe). The songs of praise sung by us quench our thirst for the mysterious and wonderful and connect us with this sound (energy). Every religion realized this aspect of our yearning and incorporated hymns of praise and wonder. In fact many religious thinkers of all faiths believe that the purpose of life is to sing praise(s).

We sing praises for providing reset to our mind and resynch it with that mysterious bell which is ringing in all of the cosmos. In Sikh Holy Book, Sri Guru Granth Sahib, there is a hymn which says that the praise of the lord is my prayer:
​
Gurmat Naam Meraa Praan Sakhaaee, Hari Keerat Hamree Rahraas
May the divine enlightenment obtained through Guru’s teaching be my support of life and the Divine Praises my way of life.
Guru Ram Das, p. 10