Krishna decided to come to the office · Inklings

Krishna decided to come to my office one day. That is the only honest way to tell it, because I arranged none of what follows. One of my business partners' mothers gave me a lovely brass Krishna — flute at his lips, one foot crossed over the other, mid-song. A gift like that is not a decoration. He needed a place to stand.

It so happened that the organic store next door was closing down — this was during covid, when so many quiet, good places folded. I wandered in during their last days and found a small wooden table, and I knew at first sight what it was for: perfect for Krishna to rest on and watch the unfolding. The table came over. Krishna took his seat.

Then we inaugurated the second floor, and at the pooja it so happened that the priest's eye fell on Krishna — and he decided, then and there, on prāṇa-pratiṣṭhā: the establishing of breath, the rite by which a statue stops being a statue. From that day on, we have been taking care of Krishna. Or is it the other way around? I genuinely no longer know. I suspect that not knowing is the whole point.

A dark brass Krishna playing the flute, garlanded in fresh tulsi leaves with pink roses, white hibiscus and yellow chrysanthemums, small painted Jagannath figures at his feet — After the alankāra — tulsi, hibiscus, roses. One morning of many.

Then it so happened — the phrase keeps earning its place in this story — that I had to shift my base away from the office, to the coastal side. And Rani, who keeps our office running, raised her hand and said something very beautiful: that more than opening the office door, more than cleaning the floors, what she loves is to come in and first say hi to Krishna — to decorate him, to offer some incense, and only then let the day begin.

So these days the office reaches me as a morning message. After the alankāra, Rani sends a WhatsApp photo — "Good morning sir" and Krishna dressed in whatever the garden gave that day. Tulsi mostly. Hibiscus when it blooms. Today's photo put a smile on my face that lasted long enough to become this page.

A garlanded brass Krishna on a small wooden table against a grey wall, with a lit lamp in a glass, incense smoke rising, flowers and a money plant around — The table from the shop that closed — doing exactly what it was found for.

Krishna garlanded in tulsi with a white hibiscus above his crown and pink ixora at his shoulder, purple and yellow chrysanthemums banked along the painted Jagannath figures at his feet — Another morning, another garden — the hibiscus above his crown, chrysanthemums banked at his feet.

Krishna, in the truest sense, has been a witness to both my personal and professional journey — the deals and the doubts, the floors added and the bases shifted, all of it unfolding in front of that small table. I feel only blessedness and gratitude: for all that has happened, all that is happening, and all that is yet to happen. And for everyone who was part of this lovely journey — the mother who gifted him, the shop that left its table behind, the priest whose eye fell where it fell, and Rani, who says hi to him first.

ರಾಣಿ, ನಿಮಗೆ ತುಂಬು ಹೃದಯದ ಧನ್ಯವಾದಗಳು 🙏
Rani, heartfelt thanks to you.

May your day be as joyful and bright ahead.