Lines on my palm

 

Arun Kumar

When going through occasional rough patches in my life, I look upward towards the sky for solace, but if the day is cloudy, I turn to find comfort in the lines crisscrossing my palm.

According to palmistry, different lines indicate different traits in our life — health, intellect, dominant nature, fate, sensuality, marital happiness, etc. etc.

These lines on our palm are supposed to commence from one side and terminate on the other with the beginning of the line foretelling our years in childhood and ending of the line our outer years. It is hard to conceive how the notion of beginning and ending of a line came about. After all, beginnings and endings, left and right, up and down, are all human constructs.

If a section of a line is clear and unblemished, the corresponding trait during that chronological period in life is supposed to be heightened.

A set of clear lines, like a not so busy highway, bodes well for our journey in life.

Although as training I am a scientist, having grown up in India and surrounded by astrology, palmistry, seeing people wearing all kind of gemstones on their fingers for better luck or to ward off the bad influence of rouge planets, occasionally do I get swayed by their power to foretell the future and want to a peek to see what is coming.

Sometimes during periods of stress, I will gaze at my palm, and relying on my rudimentary knowledge of palmistry, try to find a silver lining.

Is my action just an example of wishful thinking; an attempt to draw comfort and seek a straw to hang on to?

I look at the lines on my palm and search for solace that life is going to be all right.

A sense of finding comfort is heightened by the fact that my father had a good knowledge of astrology. He had prepared my astrological chart and based on the alignments of planets, gave me his interpretation for what my future may entail. His interpretation included a summary of timeline of major events in my life (marriage, education, general health etc.), and by whatever reason, coincidence or because major events in life occur for most of us around the same time, some of his readings about my future, and timing of events were close to what he foretold.

Maybe by interpreting my chart he was also trying to comfort himself that even though I did not seem too bright when young, in the end I am going to be fine.

Bits of memories of those conversations with my father sometimes also provide me with solace during periods of stress. Perhaps in his wisdom he also knew that someday I would need the comfort of his words and wisdom that in general, my life would be okay.

Is my tendency of drawing comfort by looking at the lines on my palm any different than if I was religious and had the faith that brought me comfort and provided me with anchors to hold me in place?

Granted that astrology, palmistry, reading tea leaves are vastly different from tenets of organized religion — no social interaction, no following ten commandments, no full day fast during certain phases of the moon, no daily rituals, no specific attire — and yet the purpose is the same: what I seek is some sense of comfort that I am going to be okay.

I don’t quite know how palmistry, astrology etc. came about or evolved over time. It is hard to imagine that over the millennia of human civilization, a group of people built up a huge sample of lines on palm, plotted the corresponding trajectory of lives of people they belonged to, ran an AI/ML algorithm or just simple regression analysis to draw general conclusions about patterns of lines and the corresponding events in life.

Was it purely an exercise in fitting a regression curve, or doing a cluster analysis? It is hard to conceive of that possibility.

Even now with access to scientific and computing advances, study of human traits is difficult to perform and interpreting the data can be fraught with errors.

Maybe the origins of palmistry, astrology and other occult sciences reside in our innate desire to reduce uncertainty in the future, to find meaning and purpose for our blip of an existence in space and time. It is the same desires that led to the birth of to various religions around the world.

One common thread connecting the origin of occult sciences and religion could be human suffering in the present moment and our attempt to find solace by some means.

Maybe Buddhism or palmistry are inventions to alleviate our suffering and an attempt to reduce the measure of uncertainty where we might be heading.

We may never know how the notion of palmistry evolved over time but in the end, if palmistry gives me a blade of grass to hold on to and keep me from getting blown away during a storm in the darkness of night, that is all that matters.

Ciao.

Really, there is no place like being home

 

It is not easy be a guest, particularly,
when you are always feeling
a need to tiptoe around,
and be apologetic for the sound
your feet make,

or when

you are the first one up in the morning
rummaging through the kitchen cabinets
trying to find a pot to boil water
and have the first cup of Earl Gray,

but one rebel
decides to turn over
and lets out a loud clunk
it has been holding within
to make someone,
someday jump.

Few more days
of feeling chained,
and somewhat constrained
trying not to breathe too loudly
or have a hearty sneeze
that opens portals to your soul,

one relearns the truth
that there is no place
like being home.

The lost ritual of shaving

 

Arun Kumar

It is a beautiful day outside. One of those days when one wonders why the powers to be not wake up, take some time out from their political bickering and declare it a national holiday and give their citizens a chance to celebrate life. Doing so would be a nice boost to their own political rating.

Looking outside, what greets the eyes is a stunning blue sky without a sliver of cloud to disturb its pristineness.

High above, there are few contrails though. People sitting in the belly of a metal contraption that transport them from point A to point B. Some are traveling to see their loved ones, some to get away from the drudgery of life and escape to Maui hoping that few days in the paradise is the balm that their soul needs. 

Whatever it may be, almost everyone has some hope in their heart except for a few who may be rushing to beat the dying breaths of a loved one or are on the way to attend the last rituals of someone they loved, or are leaving a promised land behind which did not turn out to be so promised.

It has been six months of winter and along with the crisp blue sky there are other signs of spring. New leaves on the honeysuckle are beginning to open bringing promises to spread their aroma in the summer mornings in a month from now. 

Daffodils have already sprung up and are gazing proudly at the world around them.

An anticipation of spring is also a time when vague nostalgia of times gone by stir inside. 

The transition of seasons – from summer into winter and then from winter to spring – rekindles the awareness of the passage of time. The feeling is so much stronger than what happens on a New Year's Eve. The rituals of that day are so formalized and orchestrated that it hardly stirs any emotions anymore. 

New Year's Eve no longer holds promises of mysteries to come, or of memories of the moments gone by.

In the nostalgia brought up by spring I am transposed to the days of transition of summer to winter while growing up in India. When that transition happened, there was something different in the air. A distinct feeling that time and life are on the march. 

In that nostalgia I also see a man sitting on the verandah of our home about to start one of his rituals. The ritual of shaving. 

In front of him on a table sit the sacred items that are part of the ritual – a razor blade, a box of shaving cream, and the centerpiece of show, the shaving brush. Alongside there also sits a small bowl with warm water in which the shaving brush is tipped over to get its bristles softened up.

After a while, the precise steps of the ritual begin.

The man picks up the shaving brush and let it travel across his face to moisten bristles. Next the brush dips in the shaving cream, and when enough foam is gathered at the end of its tips, starts to decorate his face with a whiteness that looks at odds with his brown skin.

After foaming of the face comes the next step of using the razor blade; with smooth motions of his hands the bristles on his face start vanish, and with that, paths of clean-shaven skin emerge.

The fun part of the shaving ritual is the gestures he makes to get to the hard-to-reach parts of his face - the nook and crannies under the chin and the nose. Accompanying the effort are odd facial expressions in attempts to stretch the skin taut so the blade can run smoothly over the skin.

Finally, the ritual is over and there is a twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes; the pride of a job well done. Yet another ritual performed to its perfection. No nicks and cuts and the task is accomplished.

That man sitting outside on the verandah and going through the ritual of shaving is my father. 

I wish I had the foresight to take some snapshots of those moments and frame them for posterity. 

I have inherited his beard, the bristles that every couple of days, if not every day, need tending, however, I have lost the ritual of shaving.

For me, shaving is no longer a standalone task as it used to be for him. For me, it is using my fingers to spread shaving foam on my face. After that, wait for a minute and use a supposedly high-tech blade to get the appearance of the smooth skin back.

Instead of being a twenty-minute ritual it is now a five-minute chore. For some, it could be using the electric razor while waiting for the red light to change. I have seen that happening too.

Living in the cities and maybe living in high-rise apartments, many similar rituals of life have been lost. One no longer burns sage and hope to push negativity away. When warm drops of summer rain come down, we no longer step outside and feel its touch on our faces.

So much is lost or has changed. Remembering my father going through the ritual of shaving, however, something may have survived in my subconsciousness. It just happened that a few days back I had the urge to buy a shaving brush, and as always, Amazon was there to oblige. 

Now, I am a proud owner of a shaving brush. Perhaps over time, I will bring back one of his rituals, and in some ways my father's memory will carry on.

Ciao.

Newton’s Fourth Law

 

It is the advice
we give to others
that sooner or later
comes back to test
our own resolve.