Pg 1, Tamilnadu Pg 2 Pg 3 Pg 4, Nadi Leaves Pg 5, Temples Kids_School Pg 6, Auro & Ramana Pg 7, Hosts/Final Day Pg 8, Photo Album
Final Return To Chennai.
Ganesh dropped me off at The New Woodlands early in the evening of our return. I was to end the next day at Shrini and Meena's house, and wanted to look my best to meet them. With a small shoulder bag and 2 changes of clothes, my choices were few, and half of them were at this point called, "dirty laundry". Since it was late in the day I was required to pay double to get my laundry done by early a.m. Let's see, that then came to $6 for 4 pieces of laundry, picked up, washed, folded, returned to my room. I of course took special care to ensure my pockets were empty, and 10 minutes after taking my laundry away, the man returned. Opening up my door, he stood there with his hands extended, my packet of red powder from a temple positioned intentionally I am sure, and probably with respect, on top of the 250 rupees that had stayed secreted away in some pocket. Did he return the money because the sacred powder was with it? Don't think so much. The money came back. What wonder. I could not resist my response, found out how many were working the laundry at night and delivered Pepsi and ice cream for all of them. I did not stay to learn their response. It was enuf that the respect was exchanged.
While the laundry was underway, I ventured out on the busy streets, busy dark streets, and found my way to Chicken A/C a few blocks from the Hotel. The staff recognized me from a week ago, and I found that as pleasing as the familiar food. Balancing on the curb, ducking the tree branches trimmed for India size people, and keeping a regular rhythm up of "No. Thank you." to the motorized rickshaw drivers, more abundant than mosquitoes, I made my way back to my last, and again peaceful, evening at The New Woodlands.
Ramakrishna Center & Vivekananda House
The next morning, with delightfully impeccable timing, Ganesh was there for our final day together. Today we would visit The Ramakrishna Center. I would be reminded of his notable place in India's history, of the many centers of caring and learning he spawned, and that silence was the offering he would be most pleased with. The grounds here were beautiful, and the library the largest I had yet seen. I resolved to send them some important books upon my return, noting they had only one Ken Wilber book and no Spiral Dynamics on the shelves. Then off to his student's shrine, Vivekananda House. Again, photos, a thorough history of India's iconic figures, painted as small murals throughout many rooms, and a room with one photo, reserved for the proper respect given to anyone honored in the highest degree....wanna guess? Shhhh. Yup.
Ramakrishna Center.
It is said that a Swan can drink the milk out of a milk-water solution. This is symbolic of the highest level of discernment for humans, being able to select out the real from the unreal.
The Lotus Blossom, floating above the elements, while rooted in the earth, symbolizes being of the world and beyond it.
Garden Area (and Ambassador) at Ramakrishna Center. Compound was well gardened, had many offices, meeting rooms, library, bookstore, and was a refreshing and quiet respite, right in the middle of Chennai.
Vivekananda and Friend at Vivekananda House
This was the one day for shopping. Two requests had arrived to me before I left: A dancing shawl with bangles on it, for a special 13 year old dancer; a sitar, requested by my son, I am sure never expecting that such would be possible. The stop at the Indian dance shop informed me that I would never find such a shawl in Chennai. The sitar shop affirmed that I would have a rather large piece of baggage to check in upon leaving. With the cost of a sitar in Chennai being approximately 25% of what Google priced it at in a NYC shop, and knowing the surprise this fulfilled request would engender, I really could make no other choice. Still, I put off the final commitment until the next day following counsel with my new hosts. While in the music shop I had my only opportunity to see, and play a piano during my whole trip. How fun!
Goodbye to Ganesh
Ganesh delivered me at Shrini and Meena's home at the end of the day with a promise to stop by the following evening with a bill and our final goodbye. Our parting this eve was poignant. I had been in his care for 6 days now. I had eaten well, traveled with only the best experience, been directed so I was always proper by local standards, advised when I would have otherwise paid too much, informed about historic and sacred places, and in the one case I had become agitated, quieted, calmed and reminded, all thru his devotion to caring for me. What an awesome experience. I now knew much about his life, his family, his dreams, and we had, I am sure, shared as peers in ways his culture would not have seen as even possible.
Ramakrishna Center. Ganesh, the Remover of Obstacles.
I will jump ahead one day to report that when Ganesh arrived the following night with the bill, he engaged with the master of the house, and did so in a way that showed me how far beyond the cultural norms we had strayed in our friendship. That night, Ganesh was the retiring, modest, driver, deferring in every way to my host. I had known him more as Lord Ganesh, one of Siva's forms, honored as the God of elephant-like power, who removes all obstacles. We had a few short minutes to say good bye. I reaffirmed my promise to send pictures of him, took his personal cell phone number, bowing to his invitation to contact him if I needed anything while I was still in India, added a tip that was nominal to me and significant to him, and we shared one last moment of eyes carrying our souls to each other....Namaste Ganesh. And he was gone.
The Reddy Family Blessings
The next few days staying at the beautiful home of my hosts was a wondrous braiding of relaxation and intensity. I relearned the pleasure of sitting for hours, sometimes quietly, sometimes chattering about nothing of import, and other times discussing sacred texts from ages back, all with no urgency, no agenda, and more time ahead than was needed for anything. Father lived in the house also. He was a supremely accomplished and respected finance attorney before he retired. He still serves on the Board of Directors of several companies, and for years was the go-to-guy when multinationals wanted to establish a presence in India. He was visited twice a day, 8a, and 8p, by a nurse who administered his insulin, checked blood pressure, and managed his medicines. He was provided this service because he and a friend had donated the money to create the non-profit hospital the nurse arrived from. Father was very versed in the classic Indian scriptures and I enjoyed many moments of retrieving Sanskrit terms from my memory, correcting my understandings, and simply enjoying the miracle of sharing these sacred notions with a man who knew them well and lived with the highest respect for them.
Meenakshi, Havisha, Father, Shrini
The patriarch's son, Shrini, was the one who made sure I got a Ganesh as a driver, and he would be the one who made sure at my departure, an accomplished English speaking travel agent made a special trip to be at the airport, at midnight, to meet my driver. The travel agent directed me thru the maze of people and signs to retrieve my boarding ticket, got me upgraded to Business Class to Frankfurt, assured my bag and sitar were properly checked, and led me to the customs gate, past which he could not go. My tip was graciously received by him, and I was set for a very nice rest on my way to Frankfurt.
But back to Shrini. My host had obtained degrees in English Literature, and Law. Much like me he found conventional work did not fit his character. Captured by the English God of Entrepreneurs...who would that be, Lord Adam Smith? :-)...some 5 years ago, he and wife Meena, had formed a textile company. By now the company was very successful, money had accrued to them, and it was time to manage issues around company growth and expansion. We enjoyed many business conversations and upon leaving I found I was carrying hopes of partnering on new business in the US. Recently they had built a new textile factory. Do not think sweat shops. This is a beautiful working space, bright white walls and ceilings, clean and light vinyl floors, open walls for soft breezes, and a garden area for tea time. One whole wall was filled with Certificates confirming their business meets the highest work standards of not only Tamilnadu and India, but also of their accounts like Sears. I saw at least 6 steps in quality control, just in cutting, stitching, pressing, and packaging place mats! This was a business of impeccable integrity. I also picked up from bits of conversation that Shrini would rather deliver a product of highest quality by every measure than make a nickel. And with this ethic the nickels accrued of their own accord. How fine. Shrini loves the business, it shows, and I look forward with the most positive expectations to what he creates here in the future.
Sewing Room. Company Sign. Quality Control Room.
 |
 |
 |
| Packaging. | Official Approvals, Certificates, Licenses, Etc. | Quality Check. Pillows must weigh within tolerances. |
Meena, on the other hand, does not any longer love this business, at least doesn't love working in the business. They had built it together, and now, frankly, were getting in each others hair. Not an unfamiliar problem in many businesses I have known. The resolution was at hand and I left feeling confident they would take advantage of it. Meena really should be a life coach, has the natural inclination for it, and the desire to be of service in this kind of advising role. She was already learning what she needs, has direction, and the contacts to create this new outlet for her gifts. I sensed a flowering ahead for both of them....in their own gardens.
Meena was also the source for that feminine warmth and intimacy I find so helpful. We talked together, maybe even as girlfriends do at times and I luxuriated in her comments, gestures, glances of recognition, eyes almost always inviting one's light forward, and of course expressions of concern for my well being. I could go to war next to Shrini. I could sit in a swing watching flowers grow with Meena. In both I would be made whole. Meena arranged for the Astrologer, Kopikrishna, to stop by with a big book of numbers and diagrams about me, and 2 hours of consultation. She also brought Raji to the house the last evening, and thru this meeting brought an experience of the greatest love I had ever felt.
Krishnamurti Trust
Thru her extensive family connections Meena drew the aged director of Krishnamurti Trust, an expansive compound in Chennai, with retreat houses, library, book store, beautiful gardens, and a hall where Krishnamurti held audience on the many days he was in India, out of her quarters to share time with us. The elderly woman, with a recent hip replacement, hobbled over to a chair in the great hall and sat beside us. She is the pivot point for all Krishnamurti activity in the world, and she was as humble and modest as befits such a position. In our chat she, of course, reminded us of the message the Trust exists to further. But it was not her information that struck me. It was her presence. She was fully, unrestrainedly, present for us. She seemed to hold us in her heart as she spoke, and I felt my sprit fed with each moment we shared. At some point I returned from my indulgence in the sweet feelings wafting thru me to find her speaking to Meena about someone's' daughter, and a spouse, and uncles, and marriages, and here they were....this saintly old woman and my shining hostess sharing girl talk about families. How affirming.
 |
 |
 |
| Classic British Period Veranda at Main Hall. | Director and Meena inside the Main Hall. | Gardens, and walkways. |
Grandma returned to her quarters, with a Namaste that still sings in my heart. Meena and I wandered about the grounds basking in the peaceful ambiance of trees, tended gardens, quiet workers, and the memory of our last minutes blessed by this elderly being. And we smiled, and laughed together when I, very seriously, suggested Meena should take over when Grandma steps down. We'll see.
Family Home
On one of these days I was treated to a visit to the family home, where Shrini's parents lived until his mother died 7 months earlier. Now father lived with them in their house. Perhaps dad would return to this home when all details could be arranged. Behind the home, it was a large lot, was built the factory. I was shown the cutting room, stitching room, folding room, met some employees, and learned the mechanics of their business. On another day I was taken to the other location where items had their final pressing, quality check, and were packaged and boxed to be sent to the container that would take them to the US. In both locations the work was done quietly, neatly, and with apparently no stress. The factory makes placemats, table clothes, drapes and curtains, pillows, and other such flat items. No clothes are made. Each season requires new designs and Shrini generates these with a degree of pleasure perhaps not exceeded by his engagement with any other aspect of the business. So he is a sharp businessman and an artist. No wonder we enjoyed each other so much.
Family Home. At rear of lot are offices, factory, and design studio
Shrini and Meena have one child, a daughter, Havisha, who was busy at school most of the time I was there. Although she is headed for some technical expertise in her schooling, I was delightfully entertained by one text message to her mom, "I have a great idea about a cookie biz. Can't wait to talk to you about it!" At about 16 years of age she is in need of some active guidance by mom about how you do this growing into woman thing. Both parents note this, and again it is clear Meena is needed elsewhere now than in the factory. All this change seems to fit the family well.
I spent some hours hearing the story of my hosts' lives, where they came from, what their life looks like now, where they might go. Such trust was precious. I had little to offer but a sincere interest. That was probably the gift that was needed. This personal intimacy was a wonderful balance to the much more solo act I had been living in the days before. Temples gave way to a living room, dining room, and veranda. Statues of deities gave way to beating hearts of real people. Stimulating travel gave way to lessons in sitting, practicing my skills at watching dusk fall. And feelings of anticipation began to be tempered by flashes of both home sickness, and mourning the fact that soon I would leave.
Sri Ram Chandra Mission and Ashram
http://www.srcm.org/index.jsp
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shri_Ram_Chandra_Mission
In the afternoon of the Krishnamurti Trust day Meena attended to my need to find some Ayurvedic medicines, prescribed by the Nadi Leaf. She had met with, and was very pleased with the services of Dr. Henoc Marceau. Yes, French, and his polylingual skills included excellent English. We drove for a very long time in Chennai and stopped in the parking area in front of a very attractive 4-5 story, well gardened, apartment building. Henoc did not answer the door to his apartment, nor the door on the adjoining apartment where his office was located. He did answer his cell phone however, and instructed us to go across the street to the arch at the entrance to the Shri Ram Chandra Mission, an Ashram, one over 1500 serving this organization across India, France, and elsewhere, but differing in that this was also the home of their living Guru, Babaji. (Alert: I could have the Ashram, and the guru name wrong here...only the photos and Henoc's name are for certain.)
Henoc and Meena in Ashram. Entrance Sign. Entrance walkway.
This is a world wide organization which I had never heard of. There is a large amount of housing here for guests/students, cafeteria, yoga and study spaces, and a pavilion that can seat many, probably over 1000. We sat under the palm trees, shared tea from the little concession stand, and exchanged a short list of personal stories, all while being entertained by the sounds of strollers speaking in French, and other languages I could not name. The population was more Anglo than the rest of Chennai, and all moved about with a clear priority given to quiet. There are two schools under the Ayurvedic umbrella, and my medicines came from the other one, the one Henoc was not an expert in. Alas, no help on this score. After a short tour, and a wonderful exchange of ideas and respect, Henoc, offering his apologies that Guruji was not here at present or he would have arranged a personal visit for us, escorted us to the compound exit. Discovering we all had found an unexpected fondness growing among us, we exchanged promises to meet again, and Meena and I departed, on the next leg of our medicine hunt. We drove to the gate of a Medical school, where, take notice American Universities, three different schools of medicine are taught. The gateman pointed out the pharmacy down at the next corner, and there we successfully ended our hunt for Muthu Paspam and Sangu Paspam, to be taken mornings for 1 mandala, or 48 days, and Vallarai Legiyam and Tuduvalai Legiyam, to be taken next for 1 more mandala, mornings and evenings.
One quick stop at the music store, finding price negotiation was not an option, the sitar was purchased. I left it there to be packed securely for the flight home. My final day the family driver picked up the boxed sitar and had it in the car when it was time to head to the airport. I was learning more each day about service, care, and that I could trust that all would work out. But before I left I must meet Gopikrishna and Raji.
Astrology Reading With Gopikrishna
The afternoon before I left, Gopikrishna, the astrologer arrived. The tape machine would not record. I have some notes. "Do not increase your mortgage debt. Do not spend on luxurious cars. Green is a good color for me. Biz in NY and Chicago will be good. Certain numbers are good for me. Beware of people in the media. I have a temper. Nobody can negotiate agreement between parties better than I can." And a few more encouraging and cautionary comments. I was not impressed with the first part of his reading. It seemed too clearly anchored to the technical interpretation of my horoscope. In the later half of the session, where I asked more questions, Gopikrishna, a quite normal appearing Indian of about 35-40 years old, would often times close his eyes and remain quiet a moment. I found I trusted his intuition much more than I did his intellect. Perhaps I was learning. He let me know his fee was what I felt it should be, and that his life was devoted to refining his skill and caring for people thru his art. Money at best was a tangential issue. Of course. The lesson plan wouldn't have it any other way.
Pranic Healing With Raji
Many days earlier, knowing I had some kind of tension lodged at my shoulder level and that it was a concern for me, Meena had put me in phone contact with Raji. Over the phone I had no idea of her age, only that she was clear and miserly with her verbiage, and totally confidant she could remove my affliction....from a distance. I was directed to lay quietly, 7-7:45a, each morning, and affirm that I was open to her work on me. I was a totally compliant patient and noticed a slight, and steady reduction of the tension. It remained however a nuisance, at least. Late in the aft of the day I would be delivered to the airport, Raji and her husband arrived. A small, very fit, and totally beautiful woman sat on the couch across from me. Over the next 3 hours I would harvest the final fruits of the most concentrated spiritual orchard I have ever visited. Raji opened a book with pictures of the chakras and their physical location in my body. She noted that I was blocked at the Solar Plexus, Heart, and Forehead. I was advised, serially, to concentrate on the chakra, feel it as physical, then as something more subtle, and report how my image changed. While I did this, Raji, reiterating regularly that she was doing nothing, and that anything occurring was coming from her Master, sat with me and offered her guidance. The solar plexus center changed from a turbulent whirlpool to a white swan sitting quietly and alert inside a large Lotus blossom. My heart image resolved into a huge Lion that ravenously devoured the two conflicting sides or my body, and sat like fur encased iron muscles, guarding my heart. My forehead image expanded into a huge set of white wings that reached out and touched tips at the other side of the globe, then grew silver feathers that extended out through the whole Universe. Somewhere in all of this, Raji comments, "You haven't cried in some time have you. Its ok. Go ahead and cry." Soon I was shaking, sobbing, as if I would never stop. She got up, with a loving smile, wiped away my tears, and retrieved some tissues for me.
Raji
What had brought me to tears was her invitation to sense the presence of her Master. I accepted her suggestion and suddenly I was in the presence of a light hearted caring that registered in every corner of my being. The power and completeness of what was flowing towards me was indubitable, immeasurable, much, much more than I could accept could ever come to me. I thought this not possible for one as insignificant as me; this blessing was for saints, devotees of many life times, and yet this man arriving from a rural Wisconsin background, making his living selling property, was bathed completely in what I had only until then imagined Love was. This was the most sacred moment of my life. And, after some minutes I was purged. My resistance, doubt, clumsiness, whatever it was, was gone. I was a light, a being just simply, and naturally full of Love. I laughed. And again, I laughed. I chuckled. I laughed again. What wonder this life I am in!
Raji too laughed, but a much more feminine laughter, a joy in seeing me freed. Then she asked if I had any questions, and offered guidance on the few matters of concern I had left. She had channeled her Master to do what she called Pranic Healing; had, I noticed later, removed the tension from my body, and now was just a sprightly, charming embodied spirit, sharing with me, another, a bit disheveled, but none-the-less, embodied spirit. Soon after that Raji left, and there was time to sit quietly with father and Shrini on the veranda.
Departure
And then the driver was there. It was about 11p. I was packed. I was cooked. I was gone. And I was ready to leave. Shrini, Meena, and daughter stood before me, sharing our goodbyes. There was really no way I could leave these people, my people. I had eaten with them, walked and talked together, cried together, opened our hearts together, and found ourselves changed forever because we were in each others' lives. Saying goodbye was just not possible. We stumbled thru some gestures, and words, nothing quite what the moment seemed to call for. I think somewhere we were all already grieving for the loss of this magic space that for none of us was common place. I road away, gallantly inviting my driver to get on with the journey, and feeling like I had not honored these people, this man, this woman, their daughter, Father, the servants, none of them as was appropriate. It was strange after all this fullness to feel I had failed in the last moment. I think I expected too much of myself. There simply was no way to show sufficient gratitude for what I had been given. And sometimes, the best of times, that is just how it is.
At the airport I was getting quite disturbed. I was becoming convinced the driver did not know where I should be dropped off, and wasn't I short on time? and I couldn't lug a bag AND a sitar all over the place, and..... The language barrier protected me from disclosing my foolish lack of trust...had I not learned anything!? The car stopped. I got out. And there was the last of my Indian Guardian Angels, calmly, very much in his element, greeting me with the antidote of assurance I needed. This bright eyed man, loaded my sitar on a cart, and speaking excellent English guided me thru three levels of security, negotiated with the airline person for my boarding pass AND an upgrade to business class to Frankfurt, humored me with conversation as we waited in lines, and deposited me at Customs, the barrier he could not cross. My last teacher was done with me. Class was over. All that was left was 24 years of homework.
The Midnight Travel Angel
I slept well in the larger seat in Business class. I enjoyed the German ambiance in Frankfurt. I dealt with my sore bottom on the long flight to Chicago. The flight to Madison was exiting. Soon I would be home. And soon I was. Or was I? Who came home? I recognized home. But I was not the man who left 14 days earlier. I really did not know this man who arrived to a dog that took a full hour to calm down. It is a week later now. I'm even more clear I don't know what has happened to me. And I am not going to think about it much.
Love - Tom C.
Previous Page Pg 1, Tamilnadu Pg 2 Pg 3 Pg 4, Nadi Leaves Pg 5, Temples Kids_School Pg 6, Auro & Ramana Pg 7, Hosts/Final Day Pg 8, Photo Album Photo Album
