Are you being served?

I am Indian. I have grown up in an environment teeming with people and life. And so, I am quite accustomed to the impatience that is characteristic of us Indians, as also our gross inability to queue up patiently for anything. Being from the educated middle class though, my sister and I were trained to wait our turn patiently, make way for the elderly and the disabled and facilitate their needs. Since mum is a teacher, I have unknowingly imbibed her righteous, strict, school teacher-ly way of telling people off.

Often, I found myself in an uncomfortable situation, turning back to glare at a jostling crowd, while I patiently allowed a person to go before me at a queue in a cinema, or at the bank or provident fund office. My self-righteous glares were met with looks of insolence, frustration and impatience.

At the hotel where I worked, we did up complex statistical studies on queuing theory, to ensure that wait times in any queue did not cross the miniscule threshold of patience possessed by the Indian customer. Therefore we had multiple service counters at peak hours, better technology and improved layouts to ensure the best ergo dynamics. Strangely though, it never seemed to help. It was almost as if people’s capacity to wait shrunk to match our improved processing times. How long a minute truly is, depends on which side of the counter you stand.

Interestingly though, I saw a simple resolution to this problem very recently.

A few days back, on a grey, bitterly cold and wet afternoon, I queued up for a bus home. I think all the passengers were unanimously awaiting the warm dry interior of the bus. The bus came along and we stepped forward expectantly. There was a little old lady at the top of the queue. She was hard of hearing, slow and finding it rather difficult to manage her things, find some change and buy a ticket. All around me people were irritable and shifty. I cringed as I heard the gentleman ahead of me mumble to himself in annoyance. I felt the same annoyance and righteousness well up in my blood.

The bus driver was a petite, smiling, blonde-haired lady. As she patiently dealt with her aged passenger, she looked up and beyond at us, assessing the scene in a flash. Finally she dispensed a ticket, and got the lady seated on a seat close to her. Smiling, she beckoned the rest of the queue to step in.

“Thank you so much for your patience and for allowing me to assist my first passenger for longer – that was most understanding”, she announced cheerily, looking pleasantly at the gentleman ahead of me in the eye.

Her words brought on an almost instantaneous transformation in everyone – me included. We boarded the bus – taller and happier – for once, part of the solution and not the problem. It was a wonderful feeling. Mr. Grumbler clambered in ahead of me, tilting his head sideways as he crossed the little old lady. Not surprisingly, he rushed to her aid, to assist her disembark from the bus at her destination.

Righteousness has no place in such situations. We all want to be part of a positive change – we just need to be reminded of it sometimes!

Meditation class

“Are you a religious person?”

I goggled across at the lifestyle counselor when she posed this question of me. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and I had decided to try out the counseling services offered by the university to all its students.

“I am Indian”, I said slowly. “So I guess you could say that religion is embedded in every thing I do, even though I am not consciously aware of it”.

“I see. So do you attend prayer meetings, or listen to devotional songs on a regular basis?”

“No. No,” I answered. “I mean, I respect all prayers. But I guess you could say that I am more spiritual than religious”. I was pleased as pat with my answer.

“Hmmm…” She did not appear impressed. “So do you pray at all?”

“Oh yes, all the time”, I said emphatically.

“And how do you pray?”

“Er…how do I pray?” I was stumped. “Well, you know…nothing formal. I just keep having an informal chat with God as I go along my day”.

She shook her head at me.

“You are probably analyzing everything under the guise of talking to God. That is not praying.”

I felt indignant.

“And do you have any hobbies?”

“I write a lot. I even maintain a blog”, I finished proudly.

“That is probably more analysis there. Don’t you do anything restful at all?”

“Oh that’s easy. I love to read…I read incessantly”.

She looked up – pleased for the first time in thirty-five minutes.

“Really?”

“Oh yes. In fact I read at least three books simultaneously”.

She looked more defeated than I felt.

“That is not relaxing. So you work and study – both of which individually would be a full load. Then you read like a maniac, write, analyze and socialize. But you have never learnt to relax or meditate?”

I shook my head – at a loss to explain.

“Well, we did undergo guided meditation frequently when I was training. But I found it really hard. My brain would not shut down. It was like someone wanted to chain down my legs and arms. I felt the need to drum my fingers or wriggle my toes incessantly”, I finished helplessly.

Her look was almost pitying.

“I want you to find a guided meditation class that focuses on breathing exercises. Stay with it for four weeks. If after four weeks you do not find it beneficial, you can come back to me, and we shall try something else.”

I can be almost dogmatic about something, once I get started. And so, even though I had my doubts, I found a convenient weekly meditation class in Brisbane. As was to be expected, I did not experience any great benefits in the first visit.

But it was a pleasing environment in the class, conducted by the Brisbane River on Thursday evenings, with soft music and group chanting of simple Hindu mantras. Besides I have never been one to fail or give up without a battle. So I stayed with it.

And it truly was a battle. Sometimes I think that we make out simple concepts to be harder than they actually are, when we are resistant. And so, I’d experience a ticklish cheek or an aching leg through my deep meditation hour, while all around me people looked flushed, rejuvenated and deeply relaxed.

Last night was my fourth week. Resigning myself to yet another two hours of slow torture, I decided to at least make myself as comfortable as possible. And so, I placed a cushion under my knees, an eye cushion on my eyes and took a blanket, as it often got very cold. Closing my eyes, I chanted the mantra absently, listening to the music and my voice.

I awoke with a start some forty-five minutes later…and I say ‘awoke’ for lack of a better word. I was not asleep, and yet was not truly awake either. It was a most puzzling sensation for one who is so used to being in control all the time. Almost like being lost for an indeterminate period. And then being found.

I lay there in the darkness and tried to evaluate my experience. But it was not to be evaluated. My mind was too busy floating around in the quiet. For once, it was completely stilled. All around me, people were silently listening to their breathing. As the music faded, we turned on our side and rose.

I saw rosy, rejuvenated faces all around me. For once, I felt like a part of them. The yoga teacher smiled a special smile across to me. She understood.

Letting go of everything is a restful feeling. I now saw what the counselor wanted me to experience.

I floated home, the stillness in my head still lasting.