When I was in college, I took a literature course in the Afro-American Studies department. One of the books on our recommended list I never got around to reading but always remembered because the title was so poignant and haunting: “Their Eyes Were Watching God” by Zora Neale Hurston. This picture of Moy Moy brought it back to me in a rush and I thought as I looked at it this evening how fine a line it is between joy and tragedy, between a life of suffering and a vision of the divine. Believe it or not, Moy Moy is having a seizure in this photograph. What she feels while going through one we cannot know because she cannot tell us, but I look at her and I see a calm and peaceful face. Her eyes seem to look beyond what is in our view to something deeper and further along.
Cathleen called tonight to talk to her and after she hung up, she sent me a quick email: “She’s our ‘Keeper of the Joy’, Mom!”
Dear Jo,
This post reminded me of an experience I had during evening ‘aarti’ at the Sai Mandir on Rajpur Road. There is a lady who frequents the mandir, referred to by the pujaris and regular visitors there as ‘pagli’. She comes there for alomost every ‘aarti’-smiling to herself and oblivious to the stares of the crowds, she can be seen dancing and swaying to the ‘bhajans’, immersed in a rhythm she alone is familiar with. The expression on her face is one of sheer bliss, as if she is in the grips of a higher experience, that us lesser mortals can not even conceive of. Watching her provides me with a strange sense of peace that is becoming increasingly rare in our motor-driven lives.