An advatin's dream

I dreamt last night that I am cooking tehri, (a khichdi with vegetables thrown in), for Ramesh, in his home.

For some reason he wasn't talking, and the satsang crowd slowly dispersed. I stuck on, and he called me to him and told me that he was hungry.

I have never cooked for him, although I have wanted to.

'This is delicious.' he said, in the dream, 'Blogit.'

I must ask Ramesh, next time I meet him, if he knows what is blogging. He probably does.

Anyway, dream or real, Guruadnya is an order one gets when one is lucky.

So here is the recipe:

Tehri : A nutritious, quickly made, complete meal.

1. Wash and soak half a bowl of rice and half a bowl of lentils. (arahar dal works best)

2. Take a pressure cooker and pour two spoonfuls of oil into it and turn on the flame.

3. Start chopping the onion, tomato, capsicum, spinach, fenugreek, potatoes, carots, beetroot, etc, in this order.

4. Put in a few ground nuts as the oil gets hot and fry them on a low flame for three minutes.

5. Put in half spoon of jeera and black rai in the hot oil and let it splutter. Add the onions and fry on a low flame. Add half a spoon of turmeric, cumin powder, garam masala, black pepper, salt, jaggery, and mix.

6. After onions are done, add the vegetables as and when they are cut. Tomatoes and potatoes can be cut in big pieces. Keep mixing.

7. Put in the soaked rice dal inside the cooker. Add twice the amount of water (two bowls) , shut the lid and let cook on a low flame for fifteen to eighteen minutes. If your cooker works like a traditional, then two whistles, I suppose.

8. Serve hot with ghee, or milk, or curd,with lemon pickle, papad, and salad.

Play this video and say thanks to the Guru for making sure you do not forget him. Bonapetit.

an advaitin's poetry

A man called Sukabrahman called on King Janaka for spiritual advice.

'I am a seeker of truth,' he said. ' What can you tell me?'

'What did you see when you were coming here?' Janaka asked him.

'I saw houses made of sugar.'  answered Sukabrahman.

'I saw streets made of sugar. I saw trees and flowers made of sugar.

I saw animals made of sugar. I saw your palace and it was made of sugar.

Everything I saw is made of sugar.

As I stand here, I can see that you are made of sugar and I am also made of suger.'

Janaka laughed and said,

'You are a ripe soul. You don't need no spiritual instruction. You already are a jnani.'

(From Annamalai Swami's Final Talks, Edited by David Godman)

Hello my loves,

(begins this email message from Wayne Liquorman, an old time sweetheart)

One of my favorite quotes is: "Life is like licking honey off a thorn." It points to those twin qualities that make up all of existence. There is no pleasure without pain, no joy without sorrow. To deeply realize this is to come into harmony with What Is.

Ramesh's words in this month's newsletter (look towards the end, below) point to the fact that this deep realization comes from a "bold, clear look" into the Essence. One of the most direct avenues into this looking is to start with what is there in front of you....your experience of the moment, your breathing, your sense of aliveness....any of these will do. If you find yourself spinning off into philosophical speculation....what does it mean? why is it happening?...come gently back to the experience in front of you.

With Grace comes a dissolution of the Problem of Life leaving an unobstructed view of life's ongoing problems and joys.

With much love,
Wayne

Send a blank email with ONLY the word SUBSCRIBE in the subject line from the email address at which you would like to receive the newsletter to: subscribe@advaita.org

Let life flow

This is the second news update on Ramesh Balsekar's health.

And this time, it is second, not third person account. Sanjay Inaamdar just called me from Mumbai to say that he just met Ramesh in the hospital and he is doing very well.

He is out of the ICU, he was sitting on his bed, walking about, and he talked with visitors for about twenty minutes.

And when the nurses came in and asked him how he was, he asked them back, 'That you should tell me. You know my reports.'

And a couple of minutes ago, I got an SMS from Rupa, saying 'Ramesh is doing well and will start talks by month end.'

Here is another video of Ramesh, a western rendering of one of the bhajans we sing at the end of the satsang.

And he is talking a lot!

This is a news update on Ramesh Balsekar's health.

I have been wanting to put up this post since a week.

Ramesh has had a laser surgery a few days ago, some problem with his gall bladder. Though he is still in the ICU, he is much better.

It seems he told Heiner, an old timer, 'I am not going just yet. I am going to be around.'
The report is, that he is up and about, and, he is talking a lot!

Here is a recently updated video of his, from his daily talks in Mumbai.

The absent colours of Advaita

How hard can you be hit by Love?

Sometimes I forget the name of the beloved. Sometimes I forget that white has all colors in it. Sometimes I confuse white with black. Yesterday I forgot that my Guru has a teaching.

Everyone, including a pup, has a mind. Ok, some people may have a worn-torn bundle of thoughts which they drag along, but hardly ever is it empty.

We were sitting on the lawn of her home, seeking answers from each others bundles. We were trying to understand 'the individual's responsibility' in a world where God does everything.

'So Ramesh does not ask you to be mindful, to be aware?', she asked. (Read Ramesh Balsekar, advaita teacher in Mumbai.)

'Nope.' I replied.

'Then he must be a jerk.' she said.

'Well. You could call him that.' I said, half conscious.

'Then even you are a jerk.'

'I maybe.'

On my way home, the tube light lit. Ramesh does have a teaching. A method to understand the teaching. A spiritual practice. Just because I never questioned his basic, Fatoti theory, (short for Functioning of Totality), I never bothered to go through the doership inquiry method he prescribes. I always thought, Oh, thats for the intellectuals. I can chuck this class. I can happily go on with my life.

Being happy can lead you to being called a jerk. Which I don't mind, least of all from a friend. But my Guru, he ain't no jerk. He can talk the most head heavy seeker into silence. In hindi, bolti band karaa dena.

And the spiritual practice that he preaches, is not even compulsory. If you are used to a spiritual practice, and you want to know, 'Yes, Ramesh, I agree with you that there is no individual doer, but, till the time that this understanding reaches my gut, is there anything I can do, to ... pass the time?' (This is the politically correct approach. If you ask, can I do anything to speed up to the big E, he will say Nope. Can a particle of dust speed up to get out of the dust storm?)

Here is the doership inquiry : Take twenty minutes off, in the evening, or whenever you have the time during the day, sit in a comfortable position (not with a straight back, this is not a discipline). If you need a cup of tea, coffee to be comfortable, have it, if you like beer, you can have that too. Switch off your mobile, ensure that you are not disturbed, and go through the events, the deeds of the day. Single out a few actions that you feel proud / guilty of, that you are convinced that you have done, and find out if it was you who did them.

Well, I don't need twenty minutes. I get Fatoti out of my bundle in a second. Yes, it gets tossed and lost in the storm, but occasionally, we collide.

This is a Ramesh take on Ramana Maharishi's self-inquiry, 'Who am I ?' I am so and so because I do such and such. I am, because I do. So question what I do, and bit by bit, if you are lucky, if it is part of the Fatoti, the doer fades out and only 'I' remains.

If I were in Mumbai,

If I were in Mumbai today, a second Saturday, I would go meet my longstanding sweetheart, Ramesh Balsekar.

I would get up early and catch a local train to Bombay Central. Hopefully the train wouldn't be crowded, but even if it was, it wouldn't really matter.

I would scan the big clocks on the passing railway platforms, to make sure I am not too late. Ramesh usually starts his talk by nine, and I am usually late by an hour. But thats ok because I have heard him talk since 1996. What appeals to me, and what I still need, is his presence, which is imbibed in the remaining one hour of the talk.

Besides, Ramesh has a clock in his house, with all the numbers having fallen down and the words, 'Who cares ?' inscribed on it. Look for it, you will notice it in the video below.

So my train would reach Mumbai Central by nine forty, max. I would get out of the station, at the west side, and take a cab. At this hour I would probably be his first customer and if I am lucky, there will be flowers and smell of inscence burning...

In twelve minutes, we would climb up Navroji gamadia lane and stop outside the Mountain. Sorry, I mean the Sindhula apartments. As the lift would ascend, so would my anticipation, my heartbeat.

Since Ramesh is ninety plus, it would be a relief to see the shoe rack overflowing. I would quickly remove my sandals and gently push open the door to his voice.

Weekends are for the Indians, so it would be crowded. But I have a special place, on the floor just in front of the chair near the door. If I sit with a straight back, I can see his face. If I feel like chilling out, I slouch and listen. Sometimes, I can see his face in the window of a video camera and thats good enough.

I love the feel of the bare floor in this house. It gently cools down my fatigue, my pain, my thoughts. My Guru's house is inside the ganga.

After half an hour of advaita, Ramesh would signal the end of the talk by asking Murthi to come and sing bhajans. A small re-shuffle would happen, with people in front going back and making space for us to sit in front of Ramesh.

Ramesh would give me a hello smile, and I would smile back, but not completely because the tears may start. I would sit very near to his feet, so that I can touch the wooden patla on which his feet rest.

He has the most beautiful pair of feet in the world.

I would make sure I don't sing too loud, wouldn't wanna make the old man deaf. We sing the same bunch of bhajans since a decade, so its more like humming along in a school prayer. However, like the talk, one word, half a sentence would unknowingly enter the heart and fertilize, and become bigger and bigger.

After the Panduranga's are done, the best bit would follow. Touching those feet in silence.

If I were to translate into words what my tears say again and again,

It's not thank you guru for giving me god,
but, thank you god for giving me the guru.*

If only, I were in Mumbai....




* Quoted without permission from 'A Homage to the Unique teaching of Ramesh S. Balsekar'.