Incandescent Moments

The Incandescent Moment is soft. It happens when there’s no planning and no expectation. For me, it’s like capturing one moment in the billions of ways the universe blossoms and unfolds.

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In Love With Reality

So.

I’m falling in love with India.

A friend of my parent’s who has known me since birth once said, “Oh Bhakti, knowing you, you won’t experience culture shock when you go to India. Actually, it will feel like going home. The real culture shock – at least for me – was when I returned to America. That was the real shock.”

I’m beginning to understand his words… and I haven’t even returned to America.

In my various forays into Mumbai, I have witnessed birth, death, disease, and old age whirl before my very eyes. Trash, slums, starving women, hollow-eyed beggars, distorted limbs and faces… It’s there. It’s real. To me, this isn’t culture shock. It’s just reality. Folks, welcome to the material world.

And when I return to the temple of Radha Gopinath the end of the day, a sense of relief and peace washes over me… it’s like I have entered the spiritual world, that I’ve returned home. More than just enough food or a place to sleep, I feel the deep concern for the welfare of my soul – not just my body – by the devotees here.

I feel such a deep, deep appreciation to whatever karma or sukriti gave me such wonderful parents, who are devotees of Krishna. Where would I be without the mercy of my parents? Krishna consciousness is the key for the solace of my soul, and I truly feel it here in India, surrounded by the rawness of the world.

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My Favorite Picture

Sara and Vijay

As soon as I took this picture, it became my favorite out of all of KuliMela (although I didn’t take many).

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Moonwashed Journey – Guru Purnima

Travel in Hawaii is dramatic. There are fourteen different climate zones on the Big Island; the towns are very unique, the people different in each one. So when I proposed to my mom to cross the island to attend Guru Purnima in Hilo, believe me, it was a big deal. Considering gas is 4.69, we decided to do the eco-friendly thing and hop on a bus. And so our day began with the sunrise.
We walked everywhere (4 miles, according to my pedometer). And when we were relaxing in the cafe I used to work at when I attended University of Hawaii, I saw branches of this fruit (lychee) lying on the sidewalk. Hawaii’s a bit like that. The exotic is normal.

This path to the river is so deep I found the sign comical.

Approaching the temple at Godruma Gardens…

Above, Bodhayan Maharaj speaks on the occasion of Guru Purnima. Below, the melodious Chandra Kantha leads us in kirtan.
My first kirtan in two months, I could not resist dancing… in my limping way, I still encouraged all the other women to join in. Meanwhile, everyone offered overflowing flowers to the acaryas in our line. I meditated on my own spiritual master, Radhanath Swami, and offered him my respects.

I remember dressing the deities on the left, Sri Radhika Raman, many years ago with Mulaprakriti. Her enthusiasm and sincerity was contagious. I came away in stitches with laughter and also a sweeter appreciation for deities of Radha and Krishna.

Srila Prabhupad’s vision was so powerful, so immense, that it has even touched this little town of Hilo. With profound gratitude, I offer my deep, humble respects to this beautiful personality.
Sri Mahotsava Guru Purnima ki, Jai!

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changing bodies

This is my father. This photos series speaks for itself, I believe.

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Return to Freedom

The day before my foot surgery, I grabbed my chance at my last adventure before looong days of sitting around [sigh] recovering. So I hopped on my bike and criss-crossed and wove down the mountain with the wind in my hair to the beach.

These rocks lay on the margins of the ocean and create tidepools. Over time, the ocean has carved little holes (about the size of your fingertip) into the porous rock.

He’s long gone, but his shell still ponders in the tidepools.

Wild mangoes.
Average roadside banyan.

This very white guy (haole as we say learned to make these traditional palm baskets from Hawaiian elders because he… well, really wanted to know how to do it. He told me they last for 70 years once dried out. I found it amazing that someone can take to a culture so readily and so beautifully that is not one’s own. I guess, maybe, that was the scenario of devotees in the 70′s – they went against all norms to pursue the essence. Very huge kudos to them. I don’t know if I would have had it in me.

A tourist couple stopped while we were chatting, and the wife asked for a flower on her basket. So he made one right in front of us.

I find there is beauty in the patterns of nature and people and life. Like breathing.

My cast comes off tomorrow.

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My Moment of Christmas

Note: I know we’re nearing the heat of summer – a far cry from Christmas – but I believe you can relate with curiosity and, above all, seeking the essence. So have some fun while you’re at it.

The Market of Chichicastenango, December 21st, 2007

I’m searching for an authentic Christmas, none of this American Christmas trees-Rudolph the Reindeer-Santa Claus bunk. Something with soul.

So I capture photos of children, courtyards, fruit vendors… but I think my highlight happens, though, when I approach a bright white building, towering over the whole town, colorful flags in fluttering stripes hanging from the peak.

Curious, I scale the steps, where men in sombreros and elder Guatemalan women lounge ponderously.

I reach the surreally bright white walls. I read a sign that looks as though a 5-year-old created and it survived Vietnam. The English warns (basically): Don’t take pictures. Please give alms.

I pocket my camera. I breathe in deep, then step into the cool air of the church. I slowly make my way to the altar, passing pews that look as handmade as the sign.

Another sign awaits me at the altar, as if berating me for the thoughts of photography that flood my mind. Homemade candles flicker as an offering to… what? Someone in a coffin? A woman worships behind the glass box which contains a manequin. She knits the air with her hands as she prays and murmurs and prays. I believe she’s been there all day, if not for days.

I feel as though I’m holding my breath. But this strange monophonic machine that plays American Christmas carol tunes (Jingle bells… jingle bells…) from somewhere behind the altar/coffin breaks the mood and adds to the eeriness. A small, bloody effigy of Christ stands to my right, a glass coca-cola bottle placed in front of Him, as if an offering.

I can’t resist. I dart furtive glances around me, then pull out my camera. My heart pumping and probably looking totally guilty, I shoot several photos of the candles, the coffin, the effigy… I curse my camera when the flash goes off… twice.

A very old man approaches the altar. I nearly jump, then discreetly tuck my camera under my hand. “Ahhhh… senor… who is the man in the coffin?” I ask in Spanish.

“Jesus,” he replies simply.

“Really? Interesting…” I say. Then with a pause, I begin to back away. I admire the church as I leave and nod to a family that’s staring at me from the pews, then step out into the bright sunshine and the noise and ruckus of the market below me.

I dig into my pocket. Wait! I dash back into the church. The old man is tidying the altar. I place 10 quetzales (about one dollar) in his hands. “I know, it’s not very much… I want to give more, but it is all I have…” I say rushedly in Spanish, but he just nods appreciatively and smiles just a bit…

“Feliz Navidad,” I finish sincerely, and he replies,

“Feliz Navidad,” his eyes twinkle, then he turns and places the money in the beat-up wooden box and returns to sweeping. That’s it, I think breathlessly. That’s my moment.

I bound out of the iglesia, beaming, laughing, the locals examining my peculiar behavior. I wave to them. Okay, so maybe I reasoned that 10 quetzales kinda canceled out my sneaky photography, but I don’t think Jesus minded. He seemed quite well-acquainted with modern culture.

I don’t care, because I got my moment.

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Tour of Alachua (2 of 5): Visions of Kartik

This is one of those tests: match the word Kartik with the first word that comes to mind.

Pause for a moment and really think about it.

Got it? Now, let me guess your word: magical.

And even if it wasn’t your word, it’s MY word.

The following are some of my favorite pictures I’ve taken in the past couple days. Kartik is like a photography-fest, it’s such a beautiful time of year. Sri Sri Radha Damodar ki…. JAI!The kids in Alachua positively fall over each other to give achaman (purifying of the hands) and to give out these little ghee wick toothpicks to offer to Radha Shyamasundara.

an incandescent moment of a woman praying to Radhe-Shyam

The Deity Set-Up for Visvambhar’s birthday party. We sang bhajans for – literall – hours and topped it off with a gorgeous Damodarastakam led by Vish.

And goodnight unto you.

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Views From Paradise

Srila Prabhupad once said that Hawaii is a remnant left over from the previous Yuga.

I believe he has a point.

The view from our house.

Sri Sri Radha Raman, my parent’s Deities.

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