Sorting done

'Can I have two minutes, please?' I grab his hand and look at him intently. 'It's serious'. Hubby doesn't have a fire to put out, so he gives me half a minute.

He stands by my comp and asks in a hurried tone, 'What?'

'I wanted to sort out our passing away.' I say.

'Not planning to die for many years. Conversation postponed.' he says, looking hopefully towards his laptop.

'Me neither. In case of accident, dumbo.'

'Ok. Shoot.'

'You remember when we were courting? You remember you had said we will chill with Shiv and Parvati? Does that still hold ?'

'Mmmm... I think I will sit next to the coconut water seller. Yup. I will meet you near the coconut man.'

'Ok, fine. That is for later. What if one of us is left behind for a long time?'

'You can use my laptop.' he says, sneaking one more look, struggling to go. I grip him tight.

'I will give your laptop to Pavan.'

'Whatever. Or to your husband.'

'You give me permission to marry? I am not giving you the permission to marry. ' he looks crestfallen.

'Ok, you can marry.' I say, slightly sad.

'But take care of Pavan, make papad for him every time you make tehri. I will make sure he paints every now and then.'

'Yes, Pacca. Now can I go?'

'Wait. Take care of my family, I will take care of yours.'

'Yes.' he almost goes, then comes back and cracks a joke and I laugh. (Joke too personal to be shared)

'Make yourself laugh every now and then, otherwise you will get a big ego.' he says.

'Yup.' he leaves for the laptop, to the adjacent room.

'And I want to go with all the proper rites.' I shout.

'You can throw me to the vultures, the Parsi way.' he shouts back.

'I will not. Throw my ashes on the Mountain.' I say, and realize that I am done.

That wasn't so hard. The sorting is done.

Leaving you with three posts today. Probably am taking the creative writing class on my own heart.

Prayas has been playing this song all day, probably with a foreboding idea of things to come.

Saaiyaan, tu jo chule, pyar se, aram se mar jaoo...

Sorting out the passing away of the other

Yesterday morning I got an email with the sad news that Sharada Ramesh Balsekar passed away in her sleep.

I felt bad, but it did not really sink in. Sharada was a beautiful lady, very dignified in her fresh white sarees. I always saw her smiling, welcoming. About ten years ago, I had given her a foot massage.

We had once discussed the writing of a cook book, titled 'Recipes for Enlightenment.' I think Ramesh dissuaded us, as he was always against recipes for enlightenment. :)

I searched the net for a photograph of hers, but couldn't find it.

I connected with an old friend, asked him to go meet Ramesh and let me know how he is. It was his email that brought home the pain.

It is one thing to be prepared for your own death. But how on earth does one sort out the passing away of the other? And yet, it must be done,....

Hi Manju,

I went to satsang today. Rameshji did look fragile but the regular guys said that he was looking much better than last week. He had to be helped to his chair by an attendant. He was otherwise very calm and collected. His voice was weak. He came in at 9.30 am and was there for about an hour. He answered all questions put to him - but he answered them with a certain preciseness, wasting no words. His message was very concentrated. The regulars were saying that for three days before Sharadaji went he had spoken about death. There were several occasions during today's satsang when the entire group dropped into a really calming silence, sometimes for over three minutes.

All in all, it felt good to be there with him. Once again, deep gratitude arose for his Teaching and an irrepressible love surged for him in this form.

From what I hear from Shivdas (their son), Sharadaji complained of uneasiness the night before and the doctor gave her some medication. A little before 3 am she was uncomfortable and within half an hour she had passed away peacefully at their home. Someone else told me that once she had passed away, Rameshji calmly lay next to her with his characteristic 'hand-under-the head' posture. Don't know if that's true. But Rameshji said at today's satsang that they had both sorted out the passing away of the other, among themselves, ten years ago.

Here is a beautiful song that is sung every morning at Ramesh's satsang.

May your form be in my heart, and your name on my mind.

the writing continues

after the person passes away, me thinks. At least, the mischief continues. As he left us, Habib Tanvir played a practical (or rather, mystical) joke on three of us: Tom Alter, David Israel and I.



'May I have Tom's phone number please? Habib Tanvir has passed away and I have to tell him the sad news.' read an sms from David. I immediately smsed him back Tom's number.

A couple of days later, I got an email from David, one of those which is addressed to someone else and you are added in the address:

Dear so and so,

An interesting / amazing little incident, or story worth telling. This followed from your phone call to me yesterday with news of Habib Tanvir's passing away -- and suggestion I convey the news to Tom Alter.

Initially I'd tried telephoning Tom. Not getting through, I tried sending him an SMS message. Here, too, it wasn't clear if it had reached its destination (status "pending" per Airtell). So I tried phoning him again yesterday evening . . . and indeed
I reached him. BUT . . . the manner of reaching was unusual.

He picked up the phone, I addressed him, he said -- "How did you get me here?" We spoke further: I asked if he had yet received the news about Habib Sahib. He had not -- and was thankful to get the news (while naturally sorry to hear it). . .

But what was peculiar was this. He was not answering on his own mobile phone (which I had dialed). He was instead standing in an STD booth at the airport in Bombay, answering on the STD land line! He told me he had just picked up the
phone intending to dial my friend Manjushree Abhinav (in Bangalore -- our mutual friend who'd introduced me to Tom).

Instead -- without the phone so much as ringing -- he simply suddenly found me on the line addressing him.

There is absolutely no physical / electronic explanation for this -- or none I can think of. Evidently, Habib Sahib had (as one may say) "put the call through." Or this seems a reasonable surmise from the evidence.

It struck me as a pleasant hat-tip from the dear man -- and perhaps a sign of ongoing, good-natured mischief.

I was a little surprised, but not totally convinced of the 'miracle.' I know that Tom does not carry a mobile phone with him, and I had sent him the number that Tom called me from. I was sure David and Tom had had some misunderstanding. Till I got a mail from Tom, which explained the mystery.

dear manju -- i do not think i told you -- the day habib tanveer died, i was at bombay airport on my way to delhi -- i was at the same std booth from where i had called you the day i flew down to bangalore for your amazing reading -- i think you had given david that number thinking it was my home number -- anyway -- i pick up the phone -- and without hearing any ring, i hear david's voice asking how i was -- and telling me that habib-sahib had passed away -- manju, it was if a voice from heaven had reached me -- i had met tanveer in bhopal soon after the reading as david had told me he was very unwell -- then, on the day of his death, david reaches me at an std booth where the chances of reaching me at that very moment are one in millions

it really, truly happened -- it is all to do with your energy -- love, tom
Post script: Mom just called and told me that a song I loved as a teenager, taught by my grandmother, is in fact written by Habib Tanvir.

These are the words:

Din dooba dharati per chaayi raat,
gagan ki thandi chaya mein,
aman ki koyal gaan
jung na hone paye

the day has sunk, and the earth is shadowed by night
under the cool sky,
a gentle song for peace
let there be no war

Now that I know you, I weep for you, Habib. I have loved your song so much. It has touched, caressed, stroked and healed a wound so deep that I have forgotten where it came from. The art has knit itself around my heart, the artist was forgotten.

Wall.e, I am not!

Ever since they came back from the Pune trip, father and son are suddenly the best of pals.

Where Papa would first get fed up with the brats questions during a film, now there is a parallel dialogue track continuously going on and on. If I would have recorded it, and added the track to the cd, it would have made the movie 'watchable for the idiots'. There are hardly any dialogues in the film, so this continuous explanation of what, how, where made it quite a rich experience, I must say.

Wall.e, a Pixar animation movie, is a love-story between two robots.

700 years after the earth has been destroyed by humans, destroyed meaning so bad that its rubble after rubble of debris, and not a single green leaf, only cockroaches and a robot called Wall.e are left.

Wall.e is so called because he is a self appointed maker of walls. He collects trash, squeezes it in a cube form, and uses it like a brick. He is also a kabaadi, means a junk collector. For ex, he has a lighter but doesn't know how it is used or what it is used for. He lives in a 'house', where he watches the same video day after day, and wonders why the characters hold hands.

The humans, that is the Americans, have all left in a spaceship, and over the generations, have forgotten many human traits. Like walking, talking, relating to each other. They have all grown fatter with every generation, and they all sit in an arm chair (meaning all the time, since they are babies), with a video screen in front of them.

Every few years, they are programmed to send a robot back to earth to see if it is now re habitable. The robot is to collect pictures of the earth, and her mission is accomplished if she sees a plant. She is glamorous, a newer version, quite cruel, and initially dumb. 'Her' name is Eva.

I ussually cant stand watching a film with too much machinery in it, without any green patches, definately not without a shahrukh khan singing to a kajol. But this movie I recommend to all you romantic souls out there.

Look at the sky! There is a big space out there for romance!




After the baccha slept, we discussed the movie, how it made us 'think'. We thought that yes, we live a more sedentary life than our parents, we are always in front of a screen, even if we want a break all we can think of is another movie.

After a whole day of poking his belly, he suggested something I had to agree, since it better than doing nothing: let us both join a gym! Anyone out there who can tell me how to get the hubby to learn to swim, to dance, to barefoot, join a circus even, anything but doing a robotic thing like joining a gym.

Ftii, I see you today

For the first time in his life, my kid is visiting my alma mater today. He is breathing under the wisdom tree. His feet are touching the girls hostel steps.

Raju (my younger sister, also from FTII) has come down to Pune from Mumbai to meet him, although she met him just a few weeks ago. She must have shown him the huge studios, he must have looked up and seen a flashback of his mother in her pink pants, climbing the dangling ropes on the studio's roof, where from the babies (hmi lights) hang quietly.

He might have visited the Editing Studio, and looked through a negative. He may even have picked up a can of film, being the helpful and over enthusiastic kid that he is and felt its weight, and also its magic.

I wonder if Raju took him up the projector in the MT. Most important, did he sit and watch a film there, and notice how comfortably everyone sits in the dark theater? I really hope someone shouted Frame! Or at least Sound!

Did he watch a shooting in progress? Did he hear a clap? Action? Has it entered his mind that there is something beyond cartoon network? Or the something behind the screen?

I was trying (hopelessly) to teach him how to manually focus in a still camera just before he left. Did he meet some camera fellow who taught him?

And why am I going all mushy with these thoughts? Film Institute, why didn't you call me too? I would have come, honest. Just because I don't look like this anymore doesn't mean you forget me.

Music festival at home

Call me mad, call me crazy, run away from me.

But I will continue to listen to this song over and over and over again.

Two days back, life was normal. Then I got a phone call. From Air tel. They played the beginning of this song and then went blah blah. I immediately searched on you tube, for the words, Dil de diya hai jaan and that was it.

In Marathi this process is called 'Dallann.' In the old days the ladies used to sing the same song over and over again as they ground grains. When ever we used to play the same tape more than once a day, mother dear would yell at us to stop the dallann.

But who will stop me now? My heart beats irregularly each time I listen to the words, after such a long long absence of music in my life, I am discovering, enjoying a hindi film song.

Hubby and kid have already left me. They have gone to Poona for a short workshop, leaving me with a 15th August that is stretching for four days.

I hope the landlords upstairs are immune to dallann, or I will have to take to singing aloud on the streets. For I cannot live without this song for a single waking minute.

Please listen to the words carefully, then turn them around. It's not a man singing to his beloved, asking forgiveness for being unfaithful. It is a devotee singing to the Lord.

It is grasshopper singing to her mountain.

Creative writing workshop in Bangalore

Please note:THIS IS AN OLD POST ABOUT CREATIVE WRITING. NEWER POSTS ARE UPLOADED HERE: www.storygram.in


I am happy to announce that I will be conducting a workshop in creative writing, one of my favorite things in life.

Writing is a tough and lonely job, not to mention thankless and confusing. At least thats what it seems in the beginning, middle and ......well...every single time one needs to lay me down on that blank page, it stares back mutely does it not.

But its also the happiest moment when I need nothing else in the world except to write the next word. To see a painting emerging out of just two colors, white and black. To hear the rhythm from just one instrument: the tapping of the keyboard. To see the story unfolding on the biggest screens of our time: the mind.

More than anything else, writing has cleared my mind and heart of an extra baggage: the self-esteem issue. Who cares if what I write is good or trash. When my written words are in synch with my path, I feel like I have a sakhaa, (dost, friend) to whom I can confide my darkest fears, who will never betray me, and who will forgive me everything except giving up writing.

And so, a workshop in creative writing is one of the best ways I can think of spending the weekend.

This is the announcement in Times of India:






Manjushree Abhinav, author of the recently published novel, 'A Grasshopper's Pilgrimage', will be conducting a Creative Writing Workshop on the last two weekends of June. This workshop would benefit beginners as well as those stuck in the middle of a book. It's main purpose is to fuel the love of writing towards an intense and natural discipline. For details, contact manjushree.abhinav@gmail.com or call at +91 9945192862.








Schedule: The next batch will be a weekend in July.

I will post the dates here as soon as I get them confirmed by TOI.




Venue: Times Of India , MG road, Bangalore.




Fee: Rs. 2,000/-


Author's profile :

I am a recently published novelist of A Grasshopper's Pilgrimage. This book should be available in most of the Crosswords and Landmarks. You can read reviews of this book on this blog. Just type the title in the search box.




I am also a film maker. I was trained at the Film and Television Institute of India, Pune in Film Editing. I have made several documentary films, and taught the various aspects of film making at NID (National Institute of Design), Ahemedabad and also at the FTII. I have conducted a creative writing workshop at the Srishti School of Art and Design last year.




I write for the creative outlet, deep fulfillment and clarity of mind that sometimes comes as a gift with a good session of writing.

A tentative structure of the work shop :




class 1: in the beginning was the word




What is creative writing? How is it different from other kinds of writing? Creative writing is that aspect of writing in which the other, the reader, is not more important than the writer. All through childhood, we learn to write for the teacher. Our understanding of ourselves is rooted from what others think of us and tell us, again and again. An artist is a person who can look within for inspiration. The inner space has to be cleared of all the baggage, by emerging out of the layers of parental and societal conditionings. Writing becomes an art when, and only when, it comes from an unselfconscious space. Creative writing happens when the writer has transcended the need of appreciation of anyone except herself or himself.




We shall begin with an exercise, a ritual for overcoming the writers block, or to get started. Participants will be given blank papers, with a manageable word limit. Lap tops will not be needed.




We shall do more exercises to stretch the mind and work the writing muscle.




class 2 : the short story





The class will read out a couple of their favorite short stories and we will analyze the story-line and compare it to the structure. Then we will work on a short story structure. To begin with, we will write a short story with a straight narrative, and then we will play with the structure.




Those who have a story in mind will write their on their own. Others can follow a guideline.




Completing this story will be the take home assignment for the week. You can mail me the drafts and we can continue to work during the week.





----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


class 3: Writing a novel




Everyone has a novel inside. Lets write ours. How does one write a novel? The masala formula. Or, the nine rasas.




The kind of education we have had, the information overload, the media inputs, have made intellectual zombies out of us. We think with our brains, not with our minds.




Which is why, the first step is to become aware of what 'rasa' one goes through when writing something. Writing is a lonely job. Words have to become alive, they have to gain the power, a power more intense than a human ear, a sense of fulfillment more satisfying than an orgasm.




Where do novels come from? What is the essence of the novel?




class 4: Elements of the novel:




Characterization: The back bone of a good novel. Class will read out the characters and discuss their difficulties in creating an imaginary human being from words.




Exercises: Two different approaches to creating your character.




Understanding the synergistic effect of music, dance (or any physical activity) and writing. Identifying the enemies of writing: the idiot box. Replacing old habits with new ones. Sell your TV and buy a pen.




--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------




Note: There is a limit on the number of participants, so please register by calling me @ 9945192862.

Hide and Seek in the darkness

Are you afraid of the dark? Of course not. You can walk at midnight on a totally dark road without increasing your speed, right?

Well...

Swamiji touches the tantra aspect in this video.

He brings me closer to Ramakrishna's Kali. Kali is darkness, he says. Look up at night, if it is a cloudy sky, there She is! Ever penetrating, the mother of light, there is nothing as deep as darkness.

Kali is the basic energy, the mother energy, on which the whole world is moving. She is the form of forms. Means, the form of every single object, the planets, the stars, we are all moving in darkness.

Space is darkness, the color of thoughtlessness is darkness.

This technique, of making friends with darkness, of not going to sleep as soon as you switch off the light, can heal insomnia, chronic fatigue and depression. This is the promise of Nithyananda Swami.

After I saw this video, I suggested to my kid that he call his friends to play Dark Room (hide and seek in darkness)! Since he could get only two of them from the neighborhood, he asked me to give up my comp and join them. :) It was very exiting, slightly scary and heart racing. I realized that as children, we flirted with the fear of dark by playing this game. Darkness is an essential, and equal partner in this game. We played with darkness, in darkness. It's beautiful, to visit childhood through understanding, and not just plain longing.

Tips at how to win this game: Stay put in your dark corner for the longest time possible and others are sure to come out of their holes and get ice-spiced.

Tips for how not to get hurt during this game: Don't run and try to dhappa by racing with the denner. Not if you are a fat mommy.

Why is Kali Maa standing on poor Shiva?

'Ai, tell me no. Why is Kali Maa standing on Shiva?' asks my eight year old, again and again.

'I don't know, kiddo.'

'Search on Google.' he tells me.

'Ok. This is what they say on Google. Kali Maa was on a war with the demons, and she wouldn't listen to anyone, she was so angry, so Shiva lay on the ground just in front of her and she stepped on him and suddenly went, oh my God, and put her tongue out and stopped.'

'Oh. I see.' he said. 'But why did Shiva want her to stop fighting?'

'He is her husband, no? He has to look after her.'

'No, Shiva is Parvati's husband.' he corrects me.

'Same thing, kiddo. Parvati is Kali when she is angry, when she needs to be in the action. Two names, two avatars, same person.'

'I see,' he said.

But I wasn't too happy with this interpretation, and so I talked to a devotee from the Nithyananda ashram. And I got a lovely interpretation, presumably that of Swamiji himself.

'When a person gets enlightened, he is as good as dead. For all practical purposes, there is no ego left in him, no 'life' as we understand it. So Shiva's body here is a 'dead' enlightened person. And Kali Maa standing on him is the Goddess or Prakritti that functions 'through' him. '

I was thrilled with this thought until I tried telling the brat about it.

'When a person gets enlightened, ' I began...

'What is enlightened?' he asked.

'When a person becomes, no meets God, he kind of dies.'

'You mean a person dies and then meets God, no?'

'No, I don't mean that death, this is a different kind of death. I mean death of the ego.'

'Oh. What is the ego?'

'Umm. . . Well. . . Forget it, will you? '

Anyone out there knows how to answer these questions when an eight year old asks them?

the healing tower

I attended a Kalpataru on 1st October last year, and 75% of my health problems were solved within the next two months. Mysterious things happened, like I became a partial bare footer, etc.

Some other miracles include surviving in Bangalore without a proper job, with the freedom to stay at home and watch swamiji's u tube videos to my hearts content. :)

On a serious note, Swamiji has done some incredible healings. Day before yesterday I heard of a first person narration of an old man, an ex serviceman, who had been suffering from insomnia for the last forty years. He was not allowed to go out of the house alone, because he was extremely short tempered and picked fights with unsuspecting people. Swamiji gave him three healings over a month and this fellow now sleeps without medicine, goes out alone, walks around the city to test his physical fitness levels.....

Healing, by the way, is just the hook, he is much much more than a doc.

The countdown has begun... just 2 days to go for Kalpataru ..... please call the numbers at the end of the page for tickets.

Kalpataru with Paramahamsa Nithyananda!

A wonderful opportunity to be in the Master's divine energy field for a whole day ... culminating with darshan to each participant from Paramahamsa himself...! Kalpataru is being conducted by Swamiji himself at the Ashram on Saturday 13 June 2009.

Come! Be blessed with the kalpataru darshan from living enlightened master, Paramahamsa Nithyananda.

Kalpataru is a unique one-day meditation program that guides you to blissful living. Through special guided meditations, Kalpataru prepares you to directly receive blessings and boons from a living enlightened being. It empowers you with the energy to align your intentions with your actions so you can live an beautifully integrated life with both 'outer' success and 'inner' bliss all at the same time!

Kalpataru sows in you the seeds of:

· Shakti – Energy... to change the things you need to change

· Buddhi – Intelligence... to know what need not be changed

· Yukti – Understanding. .. that whatever you may change, Existence itself is a continuously changing dream

· Bhakti – Devotion... to the eternally unchanging Truth

Mukti – Liberation... that happens when you experience the above in your life!

Kalpataru bestows upon you the energy to imbibe the right intentions in life & align every action with those intentions, so you live a conflict free life, what is called ‘Living Enlightenment’or Jeevan Mukti.

Important Information: To save waiting in lines and to get direct entry into the enclosure, Kalpataru contribution passes (tickets) of Rs. 1000/- each are now available with all Yogam host families - see attachment. More locations will be posted to this newsgroup very soon...

Yogam and several other programs in and around Bangalore have created significant awareness of the Master and His mission... many new seekers are keen to be in the presence of the Master... so please get in touch with all you know - tell them about Kalpataru with the Master...and ensure your ticket books are are all sold out...

For Kalpataru tickets please get in touch with the Yogam host family nearest you... or call at the numbers below...


For more information and tickets please call:

• Ma Nithya Akhila: 98802 03654
  
• Ravi 99808 44309
  

(there is a kalpataru in Mumbai, Baroda and Hyderabad in September, for his schedule, click.

Shivkumar, sir, please dis-appear!

It's been more than an year since we moved to this house in Bangalore. But your ghost still lives here. Every single day that I have sat on my comp in this room, I have had a visitor clanking the gate asking for you.

'Excuse me, Madam, is Mr. Shivkumar at home?'

The first few months I showed them my finger pointing up, then I realized that my landlord has some other name.

'Mr. Shivkumar used to live here. I don't know where he has gone now.' said the owner, again and again, every single day, till he told me not to send them up please, he naps in the afternoons.

Since then I have learn t a thing or two about you, Mr. Shivkumar. You are, were a cunning fellow. You swindled quite a few fellas in your time here and somehow they wake up long after you made yourself scarce. They keep waking up, oh so late.

What amazes me is that these fellows come every single day, mostly in the afternoons, and ask for you, in a slightly fearful tone, like they are not sure they wanna meet you, but what to do, you owe them too much money.

Today morning, Hubby finally blew his fuse.

'Just get lost, ok?' he shouted at the poor fellow at the door.

'There is nobody here called Shiv kumar. There never was. There never will be. My name is not Mr. Shivkumar. And why should I prove it to you? Are you a police wala? Why cant you go to the police if you have any proof? Just go. And dont come back.'

I had an eerie feeling that moment that you are around, very near. And I found myself hunting for the envelopes addressed to you (on my address) and throwing them in the trash.

Agar tune maa ka doodh piya hai, to show your face. Or just disappear. In the trash.

Who wants to walk barefoot?

Nope, this ain't a picture of my slippers. But please, someone, I would give you a kiss if you tell me how to grow grass on my slippers.

By the way, I stole this pic from here.