Deepam Chatterjee takes you on a journey of mysticism & music through his book
The book is published by Penguin eBury Press
Team L&M
The Millennial Yogi, the debut book by Captain Deepam Chatterjee, a former officer of the Indian Army, hit the stores today. This is a book that mixes mysticism and music to take readers on a journey of awakening. Deepam was compelled to leave the Army due to a spinal injury after a mishap in Siachen Glacier which left him paralytic. He then embarked on a journey of healing and self-exploration under spiritual teachers like the HH Dalai Lama and Sri Sri Ravi Shankar.
Excerpts from The Millennial Yogi Page 2-5
“. . . I know, I know! he can do the meeting next week, and you will manage all the paperwork. but that doesn’t help, Sagar! What if he changes his mind tomorrow? We are slogging our asses off. you know that. it’s not my bloody fault that the flight is delayed, bro. My Mumbai meeting is also very important. i can’t cancel it. I shall only be able to catch the twelve o’clock flight back now. Which means I’ll be back in Delhi around one thirty at the earliest!”
As Jay continued talking agitatedly, a middle-aged man walked up to the table. In one hand, he was carrying a small plate which had a couple of sandwiches, some fruit and a paper cup. In his other hand, the man held a strange-looking wooden instrument that seemed vaguely familiar. Jay eyed him curiously while continuing to talk on the phone.
The man had a gentle smile playing on his lips, and the moment Jay stopped talking to hear Sagar out, he pointed to the empty chair and mouthed silently, “May I sit here?”
Jay grudgingly assented, nodding wordlessly. The man was wearing a cotton dhoti and a cream bush shirt. He appeared to be glowing with serenity and peace. Jay noticed that under the plate, precariously balanced, the man was clutching what looked like his passport and wallet.
The man smiled as he reverentially placed the wooden instrument to his left, gingerly kept his plate down in the centre, placed his passport and wallet on his right, almost at the edge of the small table, gently pulled the chair out and sat down. He then picked the paper cup and placed it next to the instrument, before once again picking the plate up and offering the contents to Jay, who refused, distractedly shaking his free hand as he talked on the phone. As Jay watched him from the corner of his eye, the man slowly sipped water from the paper cup, took a small bite from one sandwich and then began to gently twist and untwist some kind of wooden knob on the odd-looking instrument, alternately tightening and loosening its single string. The man’s slow, zen-like actions seemed strangely calming to Jay.
“. . . look Sagar, you’d better get the guy to meet me in the afternoon . . . Tell him, otherwise the deal’s off . . . I will not give him a single rupee . . . I am ready to meet him as soon as I land. 3 p.m., 4 p.m., whenever. but I cannot meet him tomorrow morning. I have other engagements . . . To hEll WiTh his guiTar Class anD his high TEa!” Jay banged the phone down angrily, and ended up knocking the man’s wallet and passport off the table. The man gave a start, and the string of the instrument snapped with a loud twang. “oh! I am so sorry!” Jay mouthed, in nearly the same high pitch that he had been shouting in a moment ago. He realised that it was his angry outburst that had caused the chaos. He quickly bent down to pick up the man’s passport, which seemed quite thick. It lay open on the floor, face-down, and a sheet of paper had slipped out of it. Jay picked these up, and his eyes caught the man’s name as he put the piece of paper back inside and closed the passport. Ashwini Kumar Singh. The man, too, bent over and picked his wallet up.
They both straightened up, and Jay handed the passport back to the man, who was still smiling gently. Jay once again said, “I am really sorry.”
“Don’t worry at all,” the man replied. “Often, when we get angry, we lose awareness of things around us.” He went back to his instrument and gradually began to unwind the broken string from one end.
The man was completely engrossed in his work. Jay hesitated a bit before he said, “I will pay you for the string.”
“Don’t worry, I have a spare. The string needed changing anyway.”
Jay watched the man curiously as he removed the string.
“You know why the string snapped?” the man asked, without looking up.
Jay replied with a question, “because it was old and rusty?”
The man said, “Old, yes. It has been a while since I changed it. But it wasn’t rusty. I have been playing it continuously for days without giving it any rest.” The man spoke of the instrument as if it were a living thing, Jay thought.
“Maybe the string had become too tired and decided that it was time to go.” The man laughed. “but more importantly,” he continued in a serious tone as he worked on the instrument, “the string snapped because it was taut, and suddenly, I tightened it further, instead of loosening it.”
“Yes, all my fault,” Jay said.
“Yes and no,” the man said with a smile, looking up. “I too should have been more careful.”
Oddly, Jay felt a bit calmer as he talked with this strangely unperturbed man. There was something familiar about the lined face. Jay felt that he had met the man before but couldn’t seem to place him.
“Just like this string, we all need tending. When we are tense, we need to find ways to loosen up or we just might snap one day.”
