Wednesday, July 29, 2009

A memoir to Sharada

For those of you who haven't read my novel, Wayne Liquorman is an old friend I met at Ramesh Balsekar's Satsangs / talks. I subscribe to his newsletter.

This is a letter he has written, a letter that allowed my eyes to water for Sharadama.

Hello my loves,

About a week before I reached Mumbai for Guru Purnima, I received the sad news that Ramesh's wonderful wife, Sharda had died quietly and peacefully in their home. What I will always remember about Sharda Balsekar is her hands. They exist, frozen in my memory, fingertips and thumbtip gathered into a point, suspended over a plate of puri batata, as if sprinkling magic, fairy dust. And it WAS a sort of magic, fairy dust...if you can call love, magic, fairy dust. Because that is exactly the ingredient that transformed those mundane components into something truly sublime. Sharda's love infused everything and everyone she touched, transforming us and enriching us.

Sharda lived in my home and I lived in hers. For twenty-one years our paths crossed yearly, sometimes briefly, sometimes for months. She was always the epitome of graciousness and subtlety. She was both interesting and interested. She had the ability to make me feel as if I had her complete attention.

Another image that will remain fixed in my mind is of her standing high on the slopes of Mt. Haleakala on the Hawaiian Island of Maui, sipping giddily from a glass of champagne, the helicopter that had brought us there standing ready in the background. Her eyes sparkled like the wine and I could see that in that moment she was truly, truly happy, almost like a little girl who had been granted a forbidden pleasure.

More than anything...Sharda cared. She cared for her family and for mine. She cared for me and for all us who were graced with a little of her time here on Earth.

I loved her.

I shall miss her.

With love,

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