Skip to main content

Ode to Gulab Jamun




Ode to Gulab Jamun


‘Tis the season to be jolly

Music, dance, sweets, and dolls 

Balls of calories nicely fried

Help! deep in the hot oil, they cried.


A holey spoon is dipped in the oil,

unaffected by the nonstick coat, the spoon,

compassionately picked them,

dropped in the sugar syrup

Left them to immerse in the nectar


Restless jamuns bob up and down,

wanting to run around the city and town

In that process, some may brake down

while others soak patiently until dawn


Fried balls are the jivas in the oil of samsara

Holy Guru takes them out of the notion of samsara

Knowledge of oneness is the three-string sugar syrup 

Soaking in it, are the sweet Gulab Jamuns!


Vedanta Dindima Class- 1




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Just Be ( Summa Iru)

Just Be (Summa Iru)  As I sat in the weekly satsangs on Ramana Maharshi, Bhagavan’s question echoed within me: “When are you coming to Tiruvannamalai?” That question did not remain a question for long. It ripened itself. The long vigil of Maha Shivaratri, chanting the Ramana Tamil parayanam and the 26th chapter of the Ribhu Gita, deepened the saṅkalpa into something steady and irreversible. After a week-long Vedanta camp in Rishikesh, the journey unfolded almost on its own. Flights were booked. A car was arranged from Chennai. For the first time, plans were made not for the world or family, but for the Self. And in that sincerity, something remarkable happened: the universe did not resist. No one in the family objected. It was as if life itself stepped aside. Despite war and unrest disrupting travel across the world, when asked, “Are you still going?” the response arose effortlessly: “If it has to happen, it will.” In the bustle of Rishikesh, the mind wandered through sense objects...

A Tale of Two birds

  A   Tale of two birds Old Īśvara had a farm, And on this farm He had a tree, And on this tree there sat a bird, With a  coo coo  here, and a  coo coo  there, Here a  coo , there a  coo , Everywhere  coo coo ! This bird eats the berries, Some are bitter, some are sweet. Fluttering here, fluttering there, Restless in its endless search. Old Īśvara had a farm, And on this farm He had a tree, And on this tree there sat a jīva, With a  glub glub  here,  and a  glub glub  there , Here a  glub,  there a  glub   , Everywhere  glub glub   ! The jīva whines in sorrow, The jīva whines in fear. Forgetting its true nature,  It suffers birth after birth. Old Īśvara had a farm, And on this farm He had a tree, And on this tree the jīva met the Guru, And the jīva turned into a bhakta. She asks, “Give me this, give me that,” She prays in sorrow and distress. She makes her bargains and deals Slowly c...

Tiger’s Nest Monastery Hike — An Adventurous Awakening Journey Within

Tiger’s Nest Monastery Hike — An Adventurous Awakening Journey Within Paro Taktsang , famously known as the Tiger’s Nest Monastery , is one of Bhutan’s most sacred and breathtaking places — perched on a cliffside at an altitude of around 3,100 meters (10,200 feet) in Paro, Bhutan.  It’s not just a hike; it’s a pilgrimage.  We began our hike from the base around 7 AM. Wooden walking sticks rented from locals in hand, Strava app turned on, and spirits eager, we followed our guide, Kinzan, who kindly guided us along. We took a “before hike” photo — smiling, unaware of the lessons waiting ahead. The winding path stretched ahead, shaded by tall trees, strings of prayer flags, with hundreds of steps ascending through the forest.  Around us, travelers from all over the world climbing along—each group led by its own local guide. Step by step, one foot before the other, the hike began.  With every upward step, doubts crept in —  Will I make it?   The walking stick ...