Tag Archives: India

Homage to The Cockroach Man. With thanks and affection

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Notes from the Hermit’s Cave is what this blog is called. I promised to publish musings or notes of all sorts: your regular text blog; photos or other pictures; poems; and other assorted bit and pieces.

Well, I’ve rediscovered a poem that I think would be great to share with you.

Looking through some posts saved from old blogs no longer active, I came across theaforementioned poem. It’s about a guy I met in a cafe in India back in 2006. This person kept me and a crowd of other travellers spellbound for a couple of hours one monsoon afternoon. Not to mention the many conversations focused on him that followed in the next few days and the several pages in my Journal recounting the whole experience.

Anyway, as soon as I saw this poem again, I thought I just have to post it here. That trip was a big step for me in my own healing and spiritual journey. And meeting this guy has played a part in all that.

So, please join me in making this small offering of thanks to that guy, whose actual name I never learned, and who forever will be known to several very fortunate travellers as the Cockroach Man

THE COCKROACH MAN

This is what he said.
He’d lived many years in India,
and, in that time he’d done many things.
Even, he said, for a while he’d trained with a yogi, his guru.
This is what he said.

Yogic training is not easy, he said,
In fact, he said, one aspect made him sick
for a year.
This is what he said.

His Guru put beings in his head.
Beings like parasites he said.
Yes, yogic training, it made him sick.
This is what he said.

Parasites implanted in the head? A part of yogic training?
No. I don’t think so.
Actually, inserted was the word he used.
‘inserted beings in my head.’
This is what he said.

All gone now, save one, he said.
Only one remains—it’s like a cockroach.
And it’s still in him making him sick.
This is what he said.

At night, he said, there is sometimes relief.
The cockroach leaves and floats just below the ceiling.
Well, its astral body leaves his head and floats above his bed.
This is what he said

‘You’re a healer. You understand,’
is what he says as he turns to me.
Umm, no. Actually I don’t.
But this is not what I said.

Where is he now, the Cockroach Man?
‘It’s winter soon. I’m gonna give blankets
to the villagers.’
This is what he said.

He’s known suffering, he said.
And you could tell he was tired
from fighting the cockroach.
‘I’ll feed the poor.’
This is what he said.

What I learned from a Glass of Chai

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One of my favourite things to do India back in the days when I still spent hours in cafes was to drink tea. Or Chai as it’s called there, very often served in a glass. 

Most of the time the glass is filled to a level that leaves a small space at the top of the glass cool enough to allow the drinker to pick up the (usually) super-heated glass.  A great idea really because Chai is best imbibed at close to boiling point!

However, occasionally, a glass will arrive full to the brim with scalding hot but sweet and tempting Chai. With no cooler glass at the rim, how is the desperate Chai addict going to get to that sweet and satisfying liquid?

Well, obviously, the only way is to take the rim of that glass as gingerly as possible between one’s toughest and most calloused two fingers and just lift that glass and finally taste the flavorsome nectar contained within.

Of course there is another possible response: our Chai drinker may fear the painful consequences of taking hold of the hot glass, so will either leave the glass to cool or will reject the Chai completely.  Neither of these outcomes would ever satisfy a true Chai aficionado.

Now, how does the cliché go? This is a lot like life isn’t it? Well yes it is.  How often have we been confronted with an obstacle that’s preventing us from achieving something we want, or that is keeping us away from finding peace or love or some other condition we want in our lives?

Those problems, those obstacles, they are simply the hot glass blocking our way to the good things we want. Perhaps this is a good time to go ahead bravely, grab that hot glass and declare that for you there really are no problems that are (ready for another cliché?) too hot to handle. 

Lighting Candles, Learning Lessons

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Not many people know this, but I’m a big fan of clichés. Not always, only when they serve a purpose, make a point, illustrate an idea, or have some other relevance or meaning. I remember an occasion when I witnessed a perfect illustration of a favourite cliché.

Once, many years ago I was sitting in a café in the Himalayas on a late monsoon afternoon when the clouds hung low and the lights were on so people could see. Suddenly, the lights went out.

A collective groan from the full café: people writing in journals, reading books and so on (no smartphones or laptops in those days), had to stop what they were doing. Although not an uncommon occurrence in those parts, lights going off was a bit of a pain for us spoiled tourists.

Anyway, one of the waiters fetched some candles, and began lighting one on each table. I think there were perhaps ten tables. I watched him as he moved slowly around the packed, but tiny café. As he lit the candle on the very last table, the electricity came back on.

Again the collective sighed, this time in relief, as light flooded the café. I heard one voice say something to the effect of: ‘he shouldnt have bothered, I mean the lights came on eventually’ .

‘Well, you know, if he hadn’t made the effort to make some light for us, maybe the power wouldn’t have come back so quickly’, I commented casually.

Another collective sigh and murmurs of, ‘Yes true’, and ‘far out’, ‘never thought of that’ and ‘so profound’. All this as response to some off the cuff, random remark by me.

And the cliché?

Its better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.

This cliché goes so well with something I like to say that has become a bit of cliché in itself (because I say it so often):

Just look at what you can do, not what you can’t do.

Of course, I didn’t invent this one, but still, to me it makes sense. For example, In the little scene described above, we couldn’t do anything to turn the electricity back on, but one of us (the waiter) could fetch and light some candles.

At Dictionary.com, it tells me that a cliché is:

a trite, stereotyped expression; … usually expressing a popular or common thought or idea, that has lost originality, ingenuity, and impact by long overuse.


Rubbish I say! Overuse? Why does using something a lot make it bad? Why should an idea or thought be robbed of its meaning or power, simply because its been around for a long time? There’s no need to overthink the topic; I’m not saying we should always use clichés. But at the same time, clichés have usually become clichés because they are true, or say something in a succinct and accessible way.

Anyway, this post isn’t about grammar, it’s about lighting candles and looking at and realising what you can do, and not cursing the darkness and being pulled down by thinking about what you can’t do.

Does it help? The lighting of candles? The realising of what you can do? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Nothing, not even a cliché, is perfect.

Love and blessing from me to you.