[Note: This poem is about ISABS, the Indian Society for Applied Behavioural Science, estd. 1972, that is currently in its 50th year.]
The moment has no history
But creating it takes long.
In Labs days, in ISABS years.
Many reached the epiphany
Of the moment’s subtle, total truth.
Who knew it first or best?
Nachiketa, Gautam Buddha,
Bodhidharma, the Qoheleth
Of the Ecclesiastes, Omar
Khayyam, the Existentialists,
Kierkegaard, Albert Camus,
J. Krishnamurthy, Watts, Tolle?
Tales, sages, seers, many, great,
Illuminating, in their own light,
Mindful paths to the very present.
But Lewin inspired his nerdy team
To be group experimenters in Bethel.
Uncovering dynamics, not new but
Never, with such patience, studied.
Most innovative this: not by them alone,
But the group, participant-scientists all.
Thus to life a new experiential science,
Born in mid-1947 (just days before
Our own longed-for tryst with freedom!).
As its fame spread eastwards, to NTL
Went our own nerdy, young, and keen
Professors of mind & management,
Turning to the west in search of self-
-Knowledge's new-fangled Lab. of How.
Returning with ropes, pulleys, axes,
For more to hike, stiff and awkward,
Eerie terrains, no maps to see ahead,
Climb rockfaces to hazy heights of Now.
They founded a social entity, a Ladder,
Like the structure so recently trod.
No simple ladder at first, more a game
Of ladders and snakes, sharp pitfalls
For bright but angry minds, fazed,
And egos hurt, enough for the ladder
To topple, even break in two, before
What was left held for its vertical path
By and in whom good heart and firm,
Loving hands saved the day, adding
To the years that followed, many!
Events unfailing every summer, winter.
In Hyderabad, Agra, Goa, and Jaipur,
And in Regions too, not to forget Cyber
(When viruses swarmed the outdoors),
Drawing thousands to a focus on what
They never believed could happen, i.e.
‘Human processes’: all strangers at start,
Turning scholars of each other and self,
Via silence, strife, passions, thought, and art.
Finally, all data analysed, ideas validated
(Or not, variable: how much one takes part),
And in humanity’s generic pot collated,
The moment lulled in awe of Insights’ heart.
25, now 50 years, the frame today
Feels sturdy. Fewer gurus, shishyas,
Divas, primas, camp followers, foes.
Facilitating talent spread wide, thin
Or thick only mountaineers know
The truth themselves, and those
Who assay their climb alongside.
But keen ISABS professionals all,
Doubtless with issues unique
And often troubling, yet clear-eyed
On the ladder's firm and upward
Slant. Hail, as campers’ numbers grew,
Could spirit of community not renew?
Celebrations, music, shayaris and song,
Adventurers enjoying they all belong.
I wish we reach our moments faster,
Turning red tapes into friendly ropes,
And technologies helpful, humane.
Saying ‘No more’ also to the bane
Of today's age: politics, the blocks
To flows of process by power, prejudice.
That too is unmomentary, let it go.
May our climbers be diverse, more.
And if dashed their precious hopes
Against crags rough from the past,
Or asunder by jagged anxieties
Lurking elsewhere in their present,
I wish they gain from our ladder,
Even while seeing slip their grip,
Glimpses of their peak, unique,
In a moment completely free,
The truer me they dimly see,
The happier one they want to be.
Hope we ISABS sherpas multiply,
So many treks, hard climbs ahead.
A rush of climbers almost certain
As news spreads of Mt. Moments’
Group expeditions, mountain ranges
Trekked, or, in manner of speaking,
Conquered, by way of a transformation,
Aweing them who scaled the top,
And those that see them sudden new.
Keeping faith in our humble tools,
Useful meetings, and simple rules,
The ladder's aimed now at the sky.
Another 50, another hundred years,
No more vertigo, and an end to dread
Of Hereness, kindness, greatness,
And the prowess of our Nowness.
True, the moment has no history,
That semi-mystical fount of mystery,
No memory, no shy need to belong.
But what joy, in the years of effort,
Of generations come, going and gone,
Who've built the ladder to it strong,
From its rungs wrung love and truth and tears,
Added myriad moments through the years.
Hold fast, raise it higher, cherish long!
Sanjib Basu 