stillness is a manji…or charpai…
March 31, 2013
Still Sundays.
I am still convinced yesterday was Sunday. I should have written yesterday. I felt stillness bow from the edge of the horizon to the fingertips of the wind. I should have written yesterday. Today is not yesterday. Today has clouds and nostalgia is not as sweet; the aftertaste of memories has a vengeance. The best stillness is in which you are aware of the only truth that is real: there is only now.
Today I will share about a manji. Also known as manjaa, charpai, charpaya, and charpoy.
Here is the Wikipedia definition thanks to the internet: char “four” + paya “footed” is a traditional woven bed in the subcontinent of southeast Asia.
Dictionary.com offers that it is a noun that is a light bedstead used in India, consisting of a web of rope or tape netting.
Of course, also thanks to the Internet, we can charge $500 (or more, depends how much you can afford in your efforts to impress imaginary people who don’t really matter to you) for something that actually costs $2.00 to make in the country of origin. Owning these as decor—not actual use, heavens forbid!— also serves as novelty for the plutocrats. Ironically, often the people who use these cots are villagers who can’t afford anything better.
Digression:
The other day while passing through Los Angeles, I overheard a group of men (producers?) discussing their possible pitches to the funding gods in the entertainment industry. Their topics included: a “reality television” series where plastic surgeons compete for make-overs; a “reality television” series where people buy houses without seeing the neighborhood; and one other asinine idea which I am now forgetting. I was shocked by two things: 1) Their unawareness about the privilege to quite possibly bring their ill conceived ideas to something quite real which the general public will end up watching and 2) One of the middle-aged men was wearing a shirt that had one word on it, ‘unemployed’.
I watched them finish their $12.00 sandwiches and then saw the “unemployed” man drive away in his very new B.M.W. I don’t doubt he has never worked a day in his life. I know this with certainty because his idea wouldn’t be so trite if he had.
Here is an example of a writer talking about a manji in a blogpost:
I bought this cot from an Indian store. It was too expensive I thought but my mother said it is great quality, very durable. The colors are simple and it really is strong. It brings me such joy. I can feel the cool breeze when I just rest on it. I love drinking my coffee on it. That is so divine. I find it so interesting that the very people who look down upon those who consider this their bed in villages in the Subcontinent of Asia are the ones who like to have one in their houses but not to use—only to show!
Here is an example of a poet talking about a manji in a post:
“Manji”
the knots that hold me/I can feel the hands who made them/ like earth/ I understand the sky.
Here is an example of an aspiring author writing about a manji and it might have taken him or her three hours to put it all together, and yet these words may never be seen by anyone even if they did find context to breathe in a proper, finished form:
Neelo hadn’t seen a manji since she stood on the balcony of the haveli and accidentally saw her father kiss the forehead of the young girl who was brought over the night before as a possible bride for her brother. The manji sat in the center of the brick veranda as two peacocks trod around it, almost knocking the bowl with water in which almonds had been resting overnight. She could hear the fan moving as fast as a spinning top, the blades indistinguishable. The adage “if these walls could talk” is not applicable in some parts of the world; some structures are built so there is no need for secrets.
What would I write or say about a manji?
Stillness is a manji, made of the same material I feel on 108th and Broadway.
I leave you with some words I was playing with earlier this week:
Coffee With Jesus
I would like to take Jesus out
for coffee.
Who else would he invite?
He would probably laugh at my prayers.
I don’t want to save the planet;
Just myself would suffice.
We would talk about plagiarism:
“Look at the damage it can create!”
Jesus would exclaim.
I would laugh at his aggravation.
I have bigger problems, I’d say.
This Easter Sunday I am grateful to my father who protected us from religions, taught us to question all books, including his words, so we would grow up to still believe in One Law—called by various names all over the world—as we continue to shine our doubts.
A joyful Easter Sunday to all.
It was a delight to read this Sunday as usuall. Especially reading about menji took me to my own childhood . When we would come back from school. We would sit on menji with Amma and enjoy oranges with the afternoon sun and sharing with her our day at school. Telling her good and bad things that happened that day. She always praised the good things. But made sure we heard her say “bad things don’t last, hard work never goes unrewarded. Patience and resiliency is the skill to succeed in life”. Thanks Annie for making me visit memory lane at chance. Since now a days we have a ‘to do list ‘ for every thing. Even if we have to pass in memory lanes. This also reminded that we associated oranges with winter. Sine back home we only had seasonal fruits. (The other day I asked a guests kid which season oranges grow. He looked surprised and confused, and answered” this is not a right question,as we have oranges whole year round!and walked away).
Thank you for your thoughtful comment and sharing. 🙂
Such a delightful and great read. Great medicine for this sickly, tired reader of yours. This post brought me back to the land of the living for a couple of minutes. Love what you and Jesus would discuss over coffee.
Thank you! 😀
I love me a manji! Great post Annie 🙂
😀