25.8.11

it was a differrent kind of a feeling, a renewal and light-ness, with which i saw the day of rakhee
unfold this year. it was after a pause of fifteen years that i was going to connect with my younger
brother, and tying a rakhdee, was strangely, very symbolic of this re-connection.

when he came for the rakhdee to parshada, the intentional community space that i am hosting,
he joked about teh rakhdee being organic and bio degradable. since teh rakhdee i made was out of
a seedpod from a local tree, 'papdi' , and the thread i used was also bio-degradable, i simply nodded in agreement. the symbols we create for connection, or words we use as symbolic a sense of re-assurance, of the connection we share with our loved ones, are sometimes, unnecessary. for in tying him that rakhdee, i didn't feel more connected to him, than each and every time i had cooked dosa or other healthy meals for him at the open kitchen at parshada. when on his way back from his evening walk, he would stop by, searching for healthy snacks, our 'coconut ladoos' , or the peanut chutney he absolutely loves, my connection with him would be re-affirmed, and so with this thought, i had decied to make dosa's and sambhar for rakhdee. however, in my own world, most of the time, i never communicated this to him, so when he came by on 13th morning, with stomach full, he coudl only have half a ladoo, he said.

the ladoos weren't quite stable, as they would crumblr upon any attempt made to break them in half. so when he heard me caution, him about the possibility of the ladoo 'disintegrating' if he tried
to break it in half, he let out a roar of laighter. in all seriousness he says, i have never heard that term be used to describe a ladoo's life process. 'yes,' i say, 'i am different aman.' and in my heart it resounds, that i too, can disintegrate at the sound of laughter, which i interpret to be a mockery
of my attempt to make rakhdee, dosa and sambhar and now ladoo's.

24.8.11

the economy of the gift


in thekambattu, near salem, in tamil nadu, there is a beautiful experiment in way, where a family of four, sunder, sonati, varun and badri, have been living the last twelve years of a seven acres of land atop a hilltop. on a rock face on this hillock rests a market, a market that comes alive every time friends of the family come visiting or when badri makes enough copies of “sirrius” the name his monthly, self animated, and hand filled in with colours (only if you have enough SSS currency to subscribe for coloured copies) zine goes by, or if varun has made enough paper planes for ‘draco-shop’. the design of their own currency SSS, which can be obtained only when participants submit jokes or experiences or poems to the zine, or in the event that you are invited by the brotehrs to set shop. badri and varun are also able to provide hand made board games and copies of their short film, ‘Spongecats’. the whole family has been supported by their friends since the last twelve years to live this sustainable life, without having to worry about where there next bread or daal would come from. this gift they have beautifully received as they practice and innovate newer ways of leading a fulfilling life, sonati has been painting since a few years, the whole family is  a part of a self-designed shadow puppet show, and to spend more time with them meant more inspiring ideas and creative ways in which to lead a fulfilling and gift economy life.

the search for community, people who believe in a similar philosophy of life, and 
who support one another, through choices which might at the outset look rather radical, yet on the inside our merely reflective of a need for self-expression and authenticity, took me to other intentional communities where people were practicing living close to land, with an intention to be light footed! in auroville, an intentional community seeking to practice integral yoga in daily living, was where a seed was born, inside me. for want of a more nurturing environment and unable to see what the future held, i couldn’t give birth to it then.
years later, those experiences of joy beckoned at me, when the touch of soil on bare skin evoked such sensual pleasures, feelings at teh same time new and raw and at the same time, very innate, and distantly close.
the need for community has been coming up for me and my sister, Harry, throughout our young adult and adult lives. this need was sometimes fulfilled by families of our close friends, whose houses became our second homes, or in many ways our first homes, the need for belonging was sometimes met through lovers, or bonding with fellow participants over few weeks during workshops, at other times meeting a co-travller who echoed similar needs, for a short duration gave a sense of community and shared reality. 
wise ones have said, ‘whatever that you go in search for, is also coming in search for you, and if you sit still, lie still, 
it will pass through into you.’ 
in august last year, as the paint was drying up, and the winter planting beginning, i found myself postponing the plan to go travelling, for want of more planting to be completed in september, as well as in a weird way keeping a sense of commitment alive, by choosing to stay with the space i had been working on creating. this was the face of it as i spoke to shammi, who was to be my travelling companion for teh next six months, but in the background, i was burnt out, i had been running out of energy to sustain the farming space single handedly. his words inspired me to stay with the plan to travel, leaving behind the farming, for then, and to go in search of inspiration, in the hope to then come back with a vigour and renewal in energies. in our travelling together, and connecting to community experiments like navdarshanam in bangalore and re-visiting auroville, where we stayed in our friend johnny’s ‘old mac donald’ farm, or in salem, witnessing a ‘leap of faith’; an entire family of four, living in gift economy since the last twelve years, living and learning with them, brought home a sense of clarity. we knew what we were going to take away to re-plant in other soils, and what we wanted to leave behind as unsuitable for our growth.
a year later, with the dream of parshada having been birthed to life, a knowingness envelopes me, which knows that there is a time to travel, and a time to rest, a time to build, and a time to create.
yesterday we started fencing the roadside kitchen garden, which literally falls on the road, outside the boundary wall of the parshada house. it has been a very difficult decision, as the fence along with being symbolic of the need to protect and nurture what we have created, also stands for separation and sending unspoken messages ‘keep out’ messages to passerby’s and others in our neighbourhood.
since a year and a half now, the roadside garden was open, and when passer’s by took some baingan, karela, kaddu, even though we would have liked that they asked us and took the vegetables, developing a sense of community, we were mostly assured that anyone plucking fresh vegetables, with their own hands, would be drawn into the magic of farming, which remains our main passion here. day before yesterday though, there was an unsightly scene, as in a rush to take as many karelas and baingans from the roadside garden, some people had killed the karela vines in an attempt to thin them and gain easy visibility to the karela hanging im th evine thicket. they chose to do this by pulling them down from the bamboo trellis. unawares to the outside rampage, i was inside when this happened, and bablu and biru our street kids, shared how they had tried to stop the people, especially since they saw they tearing apart the vines, without a sense of respect to teh plants.
the pain i felt in , my chest, is not unlike how i would feel if i witness a human being with their limbs 
having been severed off, i cried and pledged the fencing would come up, so the plants feel protected and cared for. someone once remarked that having a pet dog had kindled their motherly nurturing instinct, and another friend who has a roof top garden seems to feel a similar maternal bond with her plants. i can connect with these women and have been feeling since a while how akin farming is to 
milk feeding a new born, as the infant like a sapling is totally helpless, left on their own. they need nurture, care, tenderness, and commitment, and then how they grow and fill you with joy at their beauty and this magic keeps you in the game, of birthing and re birthing, planting and trans planting.
im reminded of the time we began parshada, with the open kitchen, in the front varandah of the parshada house, without any cupboards or locks, our pans and pots would rest unabound under the starlit sky on a clear night or feel the rain on their surfaces during a cloudy night. one too many mornings of getting up and looking for pots to cook lunch, and finding them missing, brought home
the idea of lock and key. 
soon it transpired, with the locking of the kitchen pots, we were unknowingly locking something else 
alongside, a sense of freedom and surrender. our friend johnny with whom i shared these struggles, responded
even now teh struggle continues, as it sometimes feels as a loss, loss of an ideal, of trust in our fellow city dwellers, loss of hope. the fencing of the roadside garden feels akin to the kitchen being locked up. because of the greed of one or two people, the possibilities of community and collective suffers, but greed is a part of human nature, it is here amongst us, sooner to accept it than spend time resisting or denying it’s presence.
we never kept an accounting if how many pots or plates we had, as they were always enough, contributions from community of neighbors and friends or my mother’s gifts to us. we took a conscious decision not to buy anything from the market, unless there was an immediacy of the need, like a gas regulator. 
and so it would happen that anju who holds teh fort on most days with cooking and cleaning, said she has an extra peeler, she can spare for us, or kuldip from next door after observing the umpteenth time we borrowed a tava to make dosas, offerred to bring her spare one over, or parul, who is a mother and keen on a roof top garden of her own, whilst observing me light the stove with the last match stick one day, vouched to bring one of her two lighters when she came next. ayesha walked in with a dinner set of plates, bowls, serving bowls and cups, only with a forewarning, ‘in case my dad comes to you in a bad mood and needs the dinner set back, please give it to him.’
we agreed, and i recite this story to all, in the spirirt of non attachment and impermannence. 
this spirit is also what permeates all that we do here, as the house itself doesn’t belong to us, 
it is a joint family property. the fact that the joint family happens to be mine, is an insignificant part,
in the greater scheme of things. although we didn’t begin the farming or community building here, with an explicit permission from the family, we just began sowing seeds, and then things happened, and plants grew, we shared teh harvest with them every season, and so it continues. the support of the family, extends to the time that they feel they need the space, and in the spirit of non-attachment, we hope to continue till then.
meanwhile the struggles continue. daily, we come face to face, with issues of whether to have parshada as a wholly volunteer run, partly paid staffed, or fully paid staffed run place. when we began, the original vision consisted of having the parshada space wholly volunteer run.
i think the word, 'volunteer' is not very equaniminous, and i feel uncomfortable using it for myself or for anyone else.
recently, anna, a wwoof’er from sweden, pointed out that she and raj (who is from bangaldesh), saw themselves as community members and not volunteers.
i feel more comfortable with the word community members, and i think before beginning to manifest on land, or soil, parshada is an idea that begins inside us, in response to a need to find our own community, a family, for support and someone holding the space for us to grow and nurture each other.
after going back and forth with our ideas and putting these in practice, we know have accepted the help of anju for some hours every morning, although, it remains an idea that needs further exploration. 
wherever there are a group of people, coming together in search of an idea, a way, creating their own answers, there is a sense of hope, and beauty, in their realization of this idea. however, there is also a loss which can be felt as well, the distillation loss, of what gets left behind, when a certain way of doing, an ideal, an uncanny commitment to the vision, almost a concretized rigidity to the original philosophy, starts limiting the potential of what was to be-come. so in striving to embrace change, we are always working and re working on what it is that makes parshada, and us come alive, and trying to let go of the processes that our not life-serving anymore. this is how the ‘open kitchen cafe’, where once we would dish up healthy meals to anyone who would call in few hours ahead and join us for lunch or dinner, is now transforming into more of a ‘community kitchen’, where we meet to cook different variations of coconut ladoos, trying kuttu atta chilla’s in response to teh difficult method of making a kuttu roti, and always, always having a pot of herbal tea brewing with mint, and tulsi from kuldip’s or livleen’s house, and lemon grass plucked from our own garden.

to live on land, and grow our own food and create the things that we need with our own hands, this dream is being born. for as long as i can recall, things were bought from the market, we would go to the shops for meeting our material needs, meeting emotional ones was another matter.
free store is a space, we hope can grow to meet the physical needs of clothes, books, shoes, bags
and perhaps help to connect people through this inter-change and gift of things, people that otherwise wouldn’t talk to each other, would now be inspired to tap the other on their shoulder and say, ‘hey, i know that dress, and it hasn’t looked more beautiful than now!’

on a typical day, activities range from farming, bringing mulch from neighbourhood, composting, healthy cooking, cleaning, hosting community events, building upcycled lamps and furniture, to hosting free store and painting the walls when moisture seeps in. one of the constant struggles we face here, is the drive to do everything that needs to be done, this busy-ness, is high lighted when the physical symptoms of disease and ill health appear, with drowsiness and fatigue marking some days following seven day work weeks. it is often difficult to distinguish rest time from work time, when the work one does is giving so much joy and fulfillment. also when the work space, and home are one, where does the line get drawn, as visitors keep trickling in, wanting a tour of teh space, or simply recieivng their enthusiasm, as one retired lady, chandrakantha queried, ‘is there a membership form to fill?’
when julia and willy, a cantonese - quechuan formerly residing in canada couple, who have moved to chandigarh recently for two years, asked me earnestly for a source of 150 kgs of organic compost, for their ‘one square foot’ kitchen garden, i felt really frustrated with myself , at not having started the community compost pit six months earlier ,like i had intended to.  perhaps wishfully thinking , had i started earlier on, they would have been able to help themselves to beautiful almost organic farmyard compost, by now. upon hearing my chastisations, an organic farming friend, gaurav sahai, who has an organic store twice a week here, and is truly living gift economy, as both the farm he is farming in and the shop where he sells, are gifts in goodwill to him from friends, reminds me, 'relax..and let go..you can't do everything..'  the question is, can i let go..

28.4.11

communication vacuum


seawitchery:
This is the saddest thing I have read in a long, long time.
erickimberlinbowley:
The Loneliest Whale in the World.
In 2004, The New York Times wrote an article about the loneliest whale in the world. Scientists have been tracking her since 1992 and they discovered the problem:
She isn’t like any other baleen whale. Unlike all other whales, she doesn’t have friends. She doesn’t have a family. She doesn’t belong to any tribe, pack or gang. She doesn’t have a lover. She never had one. Her songs come in groups of two to six calls, lasting for five to six seconds each. But her voice is unlike any other baleen whale. It is unique—while the rest of her kind communicate between 12 and 25hz, she sings at 52hz. You see, that’s precisely the problem. No other whales can hear her. Every one of her desperate calls to communicate remains unanswered. Each cry ignored. And, with every lonely song, she becomes sadder and more frustrated, her notes going deeper in despair as the years go by.
Just imagine that massive mammal, floating alone and singing—too big to connect with any of the beings it passes, feeling paradoxically small in the vast stretches of empty, open ocean.

celebrating the hood (women-hood and men-hood and the inter-hood)

turning the he into she into they
i found this article by Milla ahola and i am celebrating the gender diversity and inclusiveness that she has shared by electing to use the pronoun 'she' instead of 'he' throughout her blog, and the resultant dialogue to initiated on her blog helps me understand other realities besides mine and be compassionate and sensitive to them.
a few months ago while speaking with a friend who shared her intersexual friend's request to refrain from addressing to them as he or her, instead a request was made to be addressed as 'they', i had started thinking of referring to my friends as 'they' in their absence and so not to reveal their identity when i talk about a story where they were present or a part of. this i found greatly changed teh way people responded to teh story or my sharing... now i am feeling inspired to bring that diversity and inclusion in my own writing, with the use of the pronoun 'they' instead of 'he' or 'her'.


‘She’ & ‘Love’

by MillaMost of the time she is used as a gender neutral word for third person singular in this blog.
It was a young woman in Finland who came up with this. In Finnish there is no s/hedivide. There’s only one word: hän. So she got really frustrated with having to make that difference in other languages, and came up with she.
I think it’s brilliant for so many different reasons.
1) It turns the current power system on its head: in most languages the gender “neutral” word is masculine. for instance in Spanish, where a group of women would be called “ellas” – feminine form of they – while a group of men would be “ellos” – masculine form of they.
a mixed group of men and women will always be in masculine form – “ellos” – even if there would be an overwhelming majority of women and only one man.
2) For the same reason as the above, it’s nice to question what feels “natural” (habitual!), by using she as the gender neutral. For most people it feels very strange and uncomfortable.
3) Woman is always pushed into second place, and made invisible. For this reason it’s nice to create a shift with more visibility towards the word she.
4) It’s about time we stop perpetuating the segregation between the (artificial) construct of male/female [human behavior separated in two categories - or: gender - expectations on a person's behavioral patterns from birth, mostly based on the arbitrary occurrence of cunt or penis]. We don’t use different words for brown or blond haired persons. So why should we think it’s important to know the sex (cunt or penis) of the one that’s being talked about? Unless we think it’s important to maintain this system called patriarchy.
5) The current bipolar (“One or The Other” – Two Options Only) system ignores the fact that many humans are born intersexedIf the word ‘he’ or ‘she’ is supposed to be areference to the biological sex of a person, then intersexed persons are excluded from existence within the current use of language.

25.4.11

farmer's Almanac : quail's egg and other chronicles

so yes, whilst walking in the farm, sharp eyed and ever so observant my friend gaurav saw an egg in the path ahead, jassu reckoned it was a quail's egg, who likes to go for a walkabout around the field, dhruv was careful not to go too close and didn't even talk about touching it, vandana wasn't keen to get closer and mamoo looked on pensively at dhruv's response.
is it a stone or a potato, tis the question..
the overcast look
carrots being kept in the ground till they flower as the cucumber plants beside them need the shade to germinate
chickpeas from the farm, before they mature into an off- white colour

26.3.11

rock the moonstar

i am grateful to priscilla, benjamin, monica, tom, alyse, andressa, sai sam, brenda, rebah, jan, simon, luzette and marcia, the class of 09-10, MSc's in holistic sciences at Schumacher college who wrote and sang this song in the edge of chaos on the last night i was with them in october 2009.

in the land of spices, born and raise
charming them with her comic ways
heeeeyy, heyyyyyy it's moonstar

she came over here on a quest for free sex
to schumacher college and findhorn next
heeeeyy, heyyyyyy it's moonstar

rock me moonstar with your cheeky gaze
rock me moonstar with your naughty ways
heeyyyyy moonstar rock me

rock me moonstar like the wind and the rain
rock me moonstar like a south bound train
heyyyyy moonstar rock me

talking her mind like an open book
fixing curry, she's a real HOT cook
heeeyyy, heyyyyyy it's moonstar

you came here moonstar and you captured our
hearts
now we're really sad cuz it's time to part
heeeeeyyyyyy, travel well

you rocked us moonstar with your cheeky gaze
you rocked us moonstar with your naughty ways
heeyyyyy moonstar rocked me

you rocked us moonstar like the wind and the rain
you rocked us moonstar like a south bound train
heeyyyyy moonstar rocked me
heeyyyyy moonstar rocked me
heeyyyyy moonstar rocked me
heeyyyyy moonstar rocked me
heeeeeyyyyyy travel well
heeeeeyyyyyy travel well
heeeeeyyyyyy travel well
heeeeeyyyyyy travel well



it cost's life

the cost of a thing is the amount
of what i call life, which is required
to be exchanged for it,
immediately or in the long run
-walden, thoreau

the silent walk

we walk in silence..
in awareness
stillness in the air
from silence within
to silence without
from his readily offered
"i will come!"
to the bald, dusky, lustered one
to my silent understanding
of his attraction
path divulging
going further than i can sight

is this sadness
is this water,
in my eyes
pen writes words
lips can't say

from the point of no-return
words..mine..yours
ours
they once were
then you call us friends

maybe
you said
we make better friends
i heard you
as i heard myself
before

who is this
who cries
when what is done is done
singular is back
were we ever plural
i ask
you and me

we are lost
somewhere
will we find each other
love mixed with
jealousy, ownership, possessiveness,
is it still love

then she
of the luscious eyelashes
twinkles her dusky face
towards me and asks
"will you come too?"

i nod
a very difficult and indifferent
unknowing
of my path ahead
she of the sultry eyes
winks, "come!"

all i want to say 
to her is, 
i don't want to be there,
when he kisses you.

farmer's Almanac : memories


growing up in chandigarh, i used to jump at the chance to travel to faridkot in punjab during our school holidays or weekends. the house that my grandparents had been living at, was a special place for me, as it had the mysterious basement below, built as a concealed door behind a kitchen cupboard, as a place for refuge to hide the women and children in during the time of dakoos and robbers, and which we as children used a place of slumber parties of sleeping together as ten cousins got together under one roof, very rarely, and these times were opportunities for me to practice my story telling skills of horror filled humour spice imaginary fables dreamt up impromptu long into the nights. there was a big farm on one side which stretched more than the breadth and length of the house. these fields continued at the back of the house, for a few hundred metres, all the way up to the next house, which was my dad's elder cousin's house, and then after tayaji's(dad's elder brother) house, began their own fields and my favourite place in the whole village, their tube well and cow shed. the fields in my grandfather's house gave a lot of vegetables to the kitchen and a lot of hiding places during hide and seek to all the cousins. i was so awe struck by the green fields, i would ask questions from the workers at the farm, about what they used to grow, when i saw them supplanting cow dung with some white powder.

for the six seven year old me, these were times of great grounding. i knew the joy of living a life with the house surrounded by fields, soil exposed to the percolation of rain and only a small roofless backyard was bricked in where during monsoons me and my elder sister performed daily evening shows of Bollywood dances with the rain adding it's chorus as it splattered down on us. i long to live in a space like this, and when this paternal house and the fields were sold by granddad, to facilitate the family's lifestyle in the modern town of chandigarh, the trips to faridkot lost there charm, and i started making excuses on every family wedding or funeral, and electing to sometimes stay behind alone in the house, as the family travelled to make the customary appearances and face shows and laugh or cry collectively, according to the expected protocol.

25.3.11

yesterday i was collecting words

one was up there, sitting in the bo tree
another was in the banyan,
one was wandering in my street,
another was lying in the earthern jar,
a green word lay in the fields,
a black one was eating flesh,
a blue word was flying,
with a grain of sun in its beak,

every single thing in this world
looks like a word to me.

the words of eyes
the words of hands
but i do not understand
words i hear from a mouth
i can only read words
i can only read words.
- shiv kumar batalvi

seasonal attachment

Attached to nothing
as nothing exists
except momentarily.

obeying the sun
regarding the moon
imitating the plants
moving with the winds

of flickers and flames

kaiee irradey har roz
bantey hain
ban kar, toot jatey hain
dar par vahee aatey hain
jinko madhav laal bulatey hain

na ameeron key
na gareebon key
chiraag jaltey hain
bas fakeeron key

mardaar qadir ali khan
terey naam sey har ittalaah hai
terey naam sey har inntahah hai

these words were sung at the end of an ecstatic whirling by the Malangs of Shah Hussain's mazar in Lahore, Pakistan.

sound of silence

In summer last year, i went to share some learning with a local school which belonged to a non-elitist category. The scene of morning assembly, without sound, only signs, it was such a different world, whose threshold i stood on. Although i stood at a considerable distance, watching and being a silent witness, all the while praying for strength, strength to overcome fear, fear of unfamiliarity, fear of unpredictability, fear of difficulty to connect, a most bizarre thing happened. A full assembly of deaf and dumb children marching in step to the beat of drum-roll.
As I entered the class room and took my seat among the back benchers, everyone was so curious to see me there. I was asked by the facilitator present to introduce myself, and as i made signs of the moon and star, for once having a name like moonstar, served me in good comprehension stead. Everyone there wanted to know what my real class was,"are you really old enough to be in fourth class?" "but you look so big.."
The lost no time in communicating signs of muscle and food to mean how much i must eat to look the muscular self that i did. There was a camaraderie there that relaxed me and welcomed me into their world, where a touch on the nose meant they were talking about their mother and a touch on the mouth was symbolic of father.

storm house

jao koi fir sey kehdo
toofaan sey
hamney fir sey bana liya hai
aashiana hamara

tree-clad

what happens in the evening?
why are all birds chirping, furiously,
all dogs barking,
in this case though, for want of a territorial boundary, i think

the door

i was a door
the harder they beat me
the wider i opened

they came in and saw
a great cosmic whirling,
when the grinding stops,
the spinning begins,
when the spinning stops,
the sewing begins,

something or the other
all day non stop
and in the end my broom
sweeps it all up,
sweeps up the stars in the sky,
mountains, trees, stones

all the shards and splinters
of creation
collects them in a basket
stores them somewhere
deep inside
in some corner of the mind
-ritu menon

the angels know you well

you have fathered a
child with me
you had your night
of fun
if you no longer want
the love my
beautiful body can yield
At least take care of
that
Holy infant my heart
has become
God, you sired an heir
with me
When you gave birth
to my soul.
I thought of complaining
to all the angels
Last night
about your treatment
of this "Homeless Child"
But then I remembered
they too
Have a long list of
love-complaints
Because
They also know you so
well
- Hafiz (trans. Daniel Ladinsky)

at dinner with a friend tonight, upon her insistence that i had loaned her this book of poems by Hafiz,
i picked up the book and it opened on this page, i felt drawn to it as it spoke to me of struggles in my own life and i resonated with the birthing of the soul. It is said by the wise ones, that when you seek something, all that you are seeking, also seeks you. over the dinner of peanut stewed bottle gourd and strawberry kheer (vegan, made with coconut milk instead of dairy and ghee and sans oil) the conversation steered towards relationships, and how marriage and contract-hood in a relationship only makes it rigid and susceptible to breakage akin to the brittleness of glass. if a structure and conformity is imposed from outside, does the relationship get a chance to gain the strength from within, and with this loss of the responsibility to reaffirm the relationship on a daily basis, comes the loss of freedom. and without freedom the denial of self and compromise come in, and then there are just too many parties in the relationship or marriage and it is a crowded affair. 

20.3.11

Johnny showing everyone his beautiful model of composting our daily dumps. I feel inspired by his choice on a daily basis to continue to use only a compost toilet at his home and invite his guests to join in reducing the impact of their daily dump for the time they visit him. The effort is amazing as he has been using this for the past thirty years. I feel this is a form of activism and of clean politics. Now more than ever is the time to shift,to rethink old practices. The question is whether they are ethical,efficient and sustainable.
The compost toilet offers a way of returning back to the soil what is born of the soil,this way we complete the cycle of life.
You can find more information on this subject and how big cities are transforming on the website below.
http://www.jenkinspublishing.com/humanure.html




swinging

the joy of swinging, from here to there, from present to past, from disconnect to connectivity, from uncertainty to certainty, from barren to fertile
From johney place

stark

the landscape of my self feels this torn and rough, scraped at by others, washed away of the sacred soil within, the monsoons will be here again, the water will flow again and the grass will grow.
From gaia

a clay oven

the sterling engine woodfired oven

cellular memories

I would love to share my experience... of Hladina method ..Actually I have been talking about this- to all my friends -But the power of the written word !
The awareness is growing...here is a short (ahem ahem ) account of my experience with the Hladina Method.
My life was very much a blank slate... or so i thought.. as my mind had no recollection of my past..
but strangely my present was somehow a set of repeatitive experiences that I was circumnavigating through,again and again...when i read about Sonjadevi's offerring of Releasing Childhood Trauma....Something clicked... I was intrugued but skeptic...nonetheless..
When Sonjadevi explained what the process would involve... i caught myself thinking "Yeah.Right! As if I can be hypnotised into letting go, as if i have anything to let go. "

To understand my skepticism- we have to go back..My dad always instilled in me the scientific frame of mind,cautioning me of the absurdity of the innumerable superstitions that encompass the indian culture and religions.It is a way of life in India to believe everything and anything;he had warned , so I was skeptic of this therapy as you might suspect.
When I talked to Sonjadevi, she encouraged me to experience the session- as I lay down,
and Sonjadevi talked me though the layers of the heart ... my mind had such a powerful release of memories-memories i never knew existed..

My dad leaving the house after any and every heated argument - disowning the family -mother, wife and children.. as I lay there on the bed and connected within myself -
I saw the child I was then, sitting outside on the first floor balcony ,and looking out to the road,watching Dad drive off on his Vespa, willing him to look back , but he didn't !

This was the first time in all my adult life - as far as i could remember ,that - my mind had this sad but enlightening flashback. I couln't beleive the connectivity of the Hladina Method -
I had uncovered the bone of contention ,within my present relationship,then.
As a kid, I had absorbed these childhood experiences and in my adult life- all friendships and relationships were troubleshooted through this tool that I had picked up as a kid.
I would threaten to leave or actually leave ,everytime the boat rocked!
My life then , had become a series of such patterns, I never had the slightest idea that the present was all but a reflection of the past experiences..
After this session, I never repeated this pattern,as much as I was tempted to out of pure habit- i had an insight into the past connections and reflections of my spirit- I understood that my body and mind was kicking into default reactions- the reactions i had picked up as a kid - as son as it gets slightly difficult to handle- just leave teh situation - leave the relationship or friendship behind- just walk away- Needless to say , this changed my life, my life was so much clearer and easier to comprehend and live through day to day difficult moments...


The second session I had with Sonjadevi, was an even more profound one, in its impact.
For years, I had consulted every Medical expert in the field of Urology, I had gone from Allopathy - to homeopathy - to acupuncture to aromatherapy - basically every Xray and ultrasound revealed nothing amiss.
Noone seemed to have a cure to my chronic bladder pain and my inability to pass urine comfortably.I was eventually advised by the Urologist expert in this field that i should look into meditation and that it was my only hope.
During the session led by Sonjadevi, I had another life changing flashback.I saw the little kid that i was ,hiding behind the sofa all day for fear of a beating from Dad. Somehow, the slightest reasons were enough to incite him to beat us black and blue.Such was his terror ,that when I did something that I though t would perturb him, I would hide from him behind the sofa or undr teh bed,and never come out till evening or until he stopped looking for me-
In the process, I would not even go to teh bathroom,for fear of being spotted,and hold in my urine all day whilst safe in the hiding place- when he would give up looking for me at the end of the day , I would finally relent and visit the bathroom.

In school and at other social occasions my friends often teased me,at the enormity of my bladder.
I prided myself in the same as an adult.Such was my unease that it was bordering on a phobia- that I could not bring myself to use the public bathrooms.My life was very difficult as the pain and inability to pass urine was so random that I could not ever be sure as to when it would strike next.
But after the insight gained from Sonjadevi's Hladina method sessions, I understood my body's default reaction in a stressful time was that my mind triggerred a memory from past repeating my body's shutdown process - as if i was once again hiding from him and needed to hold in my nature calls. After this lifechanging experience , I never faced another painfull trip to the toilet or any other chronic pain related to my bladder - such was the power of the session - that all chronic pain evaporated overnight after the Hladina session.

My life has been transformed for the better , i cannot thank Sonjadevi enough for her work in this field. Please continue this therapy and enlighten other lives that need your work to make a difference in their lives.I will always be gratefull for your guidance and warm help.

Why I didn’t do Grad.Parties ?

At work today my collegue showed me an advert announcing an “all women Graduation Party”.
It went on to say “Is there something you would have liked to celebrate as a personal achievement,
But were never able to for some reason or another?This does not have to be an educational achievement.
If so come along and have some fun.”

It got me thinking on the need to commemorate the milestones in our lives if only to comprehend the
Place in the map where we have now arrived.And if you don’t know where you have been or which milestone you are at,how is one meant to traverse ahead? Then why didn’t I aim for the sense of closure by attending my undergraduate or postgrad. Ceremonies.

I think the answer lies in the lack of a sense of achievement and self doubt.
During my school years,I felt I had been a good student and whilst average,I never considered
myself lacklustre. Things changed when I started high school though and my family wanted me to
choose Medicine as my career inorder to redeem myself as any self respecting Indian girl would !
Firstly,girls are not encouraged to go further in their studies as ultimately they are expected to pick up
the baton of household chores from their mothers.Secondly,any career part from medicine and engineering
is looked upon with contempt,as artists are deemed broke and basically any self respecting Punjabi family would
never accept a girl’s hand in marriage who writes “artist” in front of Job ,on Marriage CV’s.

So inspite of a total lack of interest in Medicine,it was chosen as my career for me in high school.
After an entire semester of being caught dozing during lectures & ultimately receiving a fail in physics and chemistry,my grandad was summoned by my School Careers’ advisor.”I am not going anywhere,if anyone needs to meet me ,they can come and see me at home.I begged and cajoled him into the meeting.For my grandfather’s
Generation it was the man’s pererogative when and where he negotiates with the woman,and the role reversal in this situation understandably upset his conditioned self.

The ultimatum I received was either you choose economics else don’t bother with the studies at all.
I felt another redemption twang and succumed without a fair fight.In retrospect I often visualise “what if I had stood up for what I believed in and fought for my freedom to choose ARTS as a career then?”
That one decision would have steered my life in a whole different course.Perhaps my discontent with
my grades during graduation and later postgrad. Oscillates from that one pivotal fight I never fought!

During undergard,the tensions between my brother (who sufferred from manic depression) escalated
to the point that during my second year finals,he switched off the electricity from the mains.In response
inspite of having prepared my subject for a few weeks,I left the examination hall within the first 20 minutes
without having written a single word.My reasoning then was,”this will show him not to mess with me!”
The result of this self sulk was a year of penance in the form of reappearing for the second year exams the following year.So when the graduation happened,all my batchmates had already passed out the year before.

So in direct action replay of that exam walk out,I bunked the grad.party too.
Few years later when it came to the postgrad party,I felt I had majorly underachieved my potential,
so out of shame and guilt ,I bunked the postgrad party.Shame at the lack of commitment I displayed
towards my chosen dissertation topic which I eventually quit and copied of a friends dissertation
and passed it off as my own.Guilt at coming on a less than perfect score on the assessment.

A Fine Balance

I wanted to archive my family's attempts at soliciting my hand in marriage,unsuccessful so far,
it deems an archivable document as it chronicles the juxtaposition of old traditions trying to marry 'newfoundland' (pun intended).
_________________________________
Dear Parent,

I am sending my daughter’s bio-data for your consideration.

Name – Moonstar Kaur Doad
D.O.B. – Aug’1981

Education: Schooling from Sacred Heart and Vivek High School and Bachelor’s of Commerce,P.U.,Chandigarh.Masters in International Finance from London Metropolitan University,London. Part-Qualified ACCA(Chartered Accountant),London.
Eco-Village Sustainable Design consultancy from Auroville,T.N.,India and Findhorn,Scotland,U.K. and Holistic Sciences from Schumacher College,Devon,U.K.
Appearance: 5’6” tall,smart and good-looking

Personality : Her passions include sustainability education and anthropology studies which have lead her to visit more than 10 countries.She is very keen on sports and loves environment.

Family:
Father, Lt. Sardar Gurpreet Singh Doad, pursued a career in Law (Hon.Secretary Punjab & Haryana High Court,CHD).Mother, a graduate in Education and a post graduate in Political Science, working as a Secondary School Teacher,Chd. A younger brother, studied at YPS,Mohali and Melbourne University,Australia is well settled in Australia.

Paternal Grandfather,S.Karnail Singh Doad ex-MLA(member Legislative Assembley) ,ex-chairman PMBD(Punjab Marketing Board) ,is now serving chairman,Punjab Educational Society alongside managing four Secondary Schools,General Hospital and D.I.R.D.S.(Dashmesh Institute of Dental Sciences) Faridkot. Paternal Uncle JDFS ( Joint Director Food & Supply Dept.Punjab) and 2 Paternal Aunts well settled in Faridkot & Calcutta.

Maternal Uncle;S.Anmol Rattan Sidhu ASG (Assistant Solicitor General of India )
ex-AAG (Additional Advocate General,Haryana) ex-President Punjab & Haryana High Court.The family owns substantial commercial & residential property in Faridkot and Chandigarh and is well placed by the grace of God.
Nirmaljit Kaur

Harry that Potter where are you?





Mr Surjit Singh Grewal, SP (Detective), said he had verified that the part of the fan from which the body was found suspended could actually take the load of the body. In fact, he said, he asked the DSP, Mr Sarabjit Singh, to hang on to the fan and later he himself did the same. "And I weigh 85 kg," he said. Besides, to rule out any foul play the police requested the Civil Hospital to set up a three-member board for the post-mortem. He said no written complaint had been received from the girl's side against the in-laws.


SAS Nagar, November 18'2003
The needle of suspicion in the death of Harjot Kaur, a 25-year-old married woman, turned in different directions here today. The police continued investigations even as a post-mortem was performed by a board of doctors at the Civil Hospital here.
The body was cremated today.
The body of Harjot Kaur, who was married to Mr Ajwinder Pal Singh, who is doing MDS from Bangalore, was found hanging from a fan in a bathroom in her in-law's house in Phase IIIB2 here last morning. The couple had come to attend the wedding of Mr Ajwinder Pal Singh's brother.
Mr Ajwinder Pal Singh, who was sitting in a car with a crepe bandage on his right foot in the Civil Hospital, where the post-mortem was being performed, kept silent when mediapersons tried to question him. Harjot's father-in-laws, Mr D.P.S. Sandhu, who was also at the hospital, said it was a happily married couple and had planned to go to the USA. He gave no details about the circumstances relating to the death.
A board of three doctors — Dr G.S. Bedi, who headed the board, Dr Jai Singh and Dr S. Suri — was constituted at the request of the police to conduct the post-mortem. Such a board is usually not set up in cases of suicide.
The post-mortem examination was exhaustive and went on for more than two hours. The viscera had been sent to Patiala for chemical examination.
It is learnt that the death probably took place 24 hours before the post-mortem. A mark due to hanging was reportedly observed on the neck of the deceased.
A maternal uncle of Harjot, Mr Anmol Rattan Sidhu, president of the Punjab and Haryana Bar Association, said today that he was told by Mr Ajwinder Pal Singh that he and Harjot had come late to Mohali after the function. Ajwinder went to sleep. When he got up in the morning, he found that the door of the bathroom was locked and Harjot was not in the room. He thought that his wife was having a bath and came downstairs.
Mr Sidhu said Ajwinder also told him that when Harjot did not come downstairs for a long time, he went to the bathroom and broke open the door. He found the body of Harjot hanging from the fan by a dupatta.
Mr Sidhu said it was a "love but also arranged" marriage. About Rs 35 lakh was spent on the wedding. Harjot's father was a prominent lawyer and her grandfather was a former MLA.
It is learnt that members of the family of Harjot, including her mother, living in Sector 18, Chandigarh, were told about the death around 11 am. The police was reported to have been informed about the death around 3 pm.
Certain questions arose during the investigation. First, could the part of the fan from which the dupatta was hanging take the load of the body (more than 50 kg)? Second, why was the police informed about the death late?

Working Hazards

Here is an excerpt of an inter-racial,inter-gender,cross-generation,and perhaps cross-perspectives incident at work ,which I flagged up with the Human recources team,6 months fast forward,still no response.

___________

On Thursday,30th April 2009, IT department contacted me about the "Change of Name " email they had received from the HR team,and I was told that Tom William would come over before he changes my email to explain how to protect my documents and how the old emails could be saved.
Around 2:45 p.m. , Mr.Smith came to my desk with the email from HR whilst I was on a phone call.I went to IT to talk to him at 3:00 p.m. , which was when he made rude remarks about the change of my name "just because you have decided to have another name ,means a lot of work for me" .I told him I appreciated his time and efforts and if there was anyway that i could be helpful , I would be glad to help.Upon which he said "It's not just your email that needs to be changed but every user name and password that you use alongwith your network login.It will take me at least 15 minutes work beforehand on my PC ,then 30 minutes on your PC when you have to log off.So when are you free?" I replied that I could adjust that easily as I have some paperwork to do that afternoon , but do need to be told when he would start work on my PC as I had some journals to post and didn't want him to start when I was in the middle of the journal posting. He said "I am really busy and get booked to do work 3 to 6 months in advance and I just don't have the time to do this now"

I replied that I was going on annual leave for 2 weeks and didn't want any emails sent to me lost and would prefer to have at least the new email address set up by Friday lunch time.He was very rude in his interaction and gave the distinct impression to me that he didn't have time to change the email address on Thursday.

I returned to my desk and as I was preparing to post my journal, Mr.Smith came to my desk around 3:30 p.m.and asked whether I was logged into the EXETER Programme.I said I wasn't and why was he asking.He said he was changing my User ID in Exeter remotely.He still didn't advise me about the time he would start working on my PC to change my network log in,hence I worked under the previous impression that it would be done on Friday,1st May.


However,at around 3:45 p.m., he came to my desk and said ,"Manjot,you will loose all the saved files on your PROFILE and the C Drive."
I offerred, "Mr.Smith, my name is Moonstar."
Further,I asked him to break it down to me in layman's terms as I was a non technical person,and as such didn't comprehend the difference between a Profile and the C drive.He raised his voice at this point and leaned in towards my chair in a very aggressive stance and repeated "Manjot,you will loose everything on your previous profile as -Manjot - and your C Drive as well"
At this point I realised that he was going to work on my PC and I had to start saving what documents I had been working on in mid-way.However, when I told him that I would let him know when I finish saving,he spoke very rudely ,"When will you finish Manjot - today ?"

Again,I offerred, "Mr.Smith, my name is Moonstar.Why don't you use my proper name?"
Further, I requested him to give me 5 minutes at least and that I would come and tell him when I am finished saving all my documents safely.He made loud gestures with his hands about this and talked aggresively about how busy he was and walked away.As I was now very paranoid about loosing my documents and folders which I had saved on the desktop( C Drive) ,I started copying them over to my folder on the Q Drive.He came back to my desk at 3:50 p.m. and stood in a very aggresive stance beside my chair.I requested him that I was copying my files inorder to make a back up .He started talking very loudly and in a rude manner saying"you can't make a back up , you can't put load on the server,tell me what are you doing,tell me now! I am a security manager! "
I answered I was following his advice ,and since I was going to loose everything on my profile, I was simply trying to save my folders from the Desktop to the Finance drive.He was very rude by this point and repeatedly said " you can't make a back up!"
As he spoke his voice kept raising and I felt very threatened at this point and stood up from my chait in order to protect myself and put some physical distance between us.
This was the point where I asked him to talk to me calmly and my manager Catherine told him " you don't have to be so rude about it Mr.Smith"
He said he will just stop all that I had been doing and went into my PC and selected the option" undo COPY".

At this point, since my line manager had left for the day, I felt very vulnerable and unneccesarily harassed and asked Mr.Smith to continue the work the next day.Mr.Smith refused and said he needed me to log out of the computer so he could change the Network user ID from -Manjot- to - Moonstar-

I moved my paperwork to my collegue Samantha's desk and started working there.Mr.Smith went back to the IT department.Then around 4:30 p.m., he came back to my desk and said he has changed my network log in to "Moonstar" but the password remains the same and asked me to log back in.

At this point , I felt even more vulnerable as very few people were still working and most of the office was empty.I started typing my password and then said that I rather he worked on my PC on Friday morning.

He insisted that he would work on the PC and left for the IT department saying "I will change your password as you have forgotten your password!"
I answered, "Mr.Smith,why would you change my password when I remeber my password correctly."

At this point, I went to Head of Finance;Amrit, and told him that Mr.Smith threatened to change my password and that I felt very vulnerable talking to him alone ,whilst he worked from his desk in the IT department.
Amrit  agreed to come with me to bring the matter to the attention of Mr.Smith's Line Manager,Mr.Josh Hart.
However,Mr.Josh Hart had left for the day and we spoke to Alex Stiles,Deputy Director of Finance.Alex advised that I should ask him to not change my password and if he had any issues he could speak to the Deputy Director Finance,Mr.Hill.

When I went over to IT,Mr.Smith announced ,"I have changed your password !" I asked him " Why?" To which he responded"Because you were acting awkward!" I explained to him that I was not acting awkward ,instead since I was going home I preferred he would work on my PC the following day.

I came back to Finance and was talking to Amrit when Mr.Smith came back to work on my desk.I was paranoid that if I loose any files ,it would be impossible to recover them if the recycle bin had been emptied.Around 4:45 p.m. , I watched as he systematically deleted everything on my old C drive and then emptied the contents of the Recycle Bin.He then explained the new password to me and that I needed to change it when I next logged in and asked me if there was anything else that I needed.I answered "Mr.Smith, you haven't explained anything to me upto now ,and now that you have finished ,you are asking me ."

He said he had been trying to copy my favourites over from my old profile to the new one,and that I was ungrateful for all the work he had done and he pushed the chair and left the Finance side.

I felt bullied by Mr.Smith throughout the ordeal and felt vulnerable when he changed my password so that he could log into my computer remotely.This incident has not only left me terribly shaken but also compromised my work,as I have lost a lot of my work which I had saved on my desktop.
(Names changed to protect the others )