The World of Noivedya

The Best Metaphor

Noivedya Juddery — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 05:19:25

Now that Sri Chinmoy has gone, life will be different for those of us who had the good fortune to be his students. How will it differ – and how different will be? It’s too early to say. I was pondering this the other day, and it struck me how spoiled we all were for so long.

Consider the famous image of a bearded spiritual man meditating on a mountain top, visited by intrepid pilgrims who would travel for months or years to ask him questions about the meaning of life. Sri Chinmoy’s students could ask their guru such questions in the relative comfort of suburban New York (or whichever exotic part of the world we were all visiting). Even an economy-class Sydney-to-NYC flight on United Airlines wasn’t nearly as challenging as those legendary seekers’ journeys to snow-capped peaks in the Himalayas.

There were other differences, of course. For starters, Sri Chinmoy was clean-shaven. Secondly, the question “What is the meaning of life?” cannot be answered satisfactorily with a few words; it requires inner reflection. However, thanks to his years of meditation, Sri Chinmoy was able to answer our countless questions, both general and (perhaps more frequently) personal. Often, he would reply in silence, leaving it to us to find the answers within ourselves, rather than in his verbal replies. Hopefully, we have now honed that skill to expert levels.

For now it’s up to us.

A friend of mine put it best by saying that, with his passing, Sri Chinmoy has “pressed the reset button.” In his poetry and his prose, Sri Chinmoy had a gift for metaphors, so it’s logical that metaphors are flowing thick and fast from his students. The one I just mentioned, however, is probably the best one I’ve heard.

I mentioned it to some other friends a couple of nights ago, as we dined together in a local park. They all agreed that it was a suitable metaphor. “Let’s just hope that the new program isn’t infected by the mind-virus,” quipped a German guy.

“Mine has been infected for a long time,” I confessed. “I just hope the infection doesn’t completely damage the system.”

“Our Guru was the best anti-virus program,” said my German friend.

“Let’s hope that our meditation contain effective anti-virus software,” said another guy. We all laughed.

We were enjoying ourselves so much with this, even though a casual observer might have been forgiven for thinking (with some accuracy) that we were gradually working this metaphor to death. Nonetheless, I still think the whole “reset” button was a fair description of what has happened. The way we live our lives, from now on, will be just a little bit different.

I’ve been thinking of Sri Chinmoy’s most recent students, who joined his spiritual path in recent months, without ever having a chance to see him... or ask him any questions. (OK, I've met very few of them - one from Melbourne, one from Sydney, a few from Canberra. They were all accepted by Guru in September.) True, they were sad that he is gone, but they are still looking forward to the future - and noting their inspiration, I'm filled with optimism. Our Guru left us with a grand legacy - 1500 books, 20,000 songs, countless recordings and artworks...

With our Guru to guide us, the future looks great.

Last-Minute Plans

Noivedya Juddery — Fri, 19 Oct 2007 09:39:49

When our loved ones die, we journey to their wake, to offer our respects. It is the same in the spiritual life as in the “regular” life. So I can barely understand why, for the first few days after Sri Chinmoy’s passing, I stayed at home, content simply to write online tributes to him, while many of my spiritual brothers and sisters were in New York, paying their respects to him at his meditation garden. We had nightly meditations at our Centre, in which his Canberra-based students (or at least, those who remained at home) would meet. But it wasn’t the same. As I heard of the memorial service, a beautiful event attended by many of his friends, I knew I had missed something special.

Four days after Guru’s death, I finally decided to stop waiting. Early in the morning, I phoned an airline and booked a flight to New York for that afternoon (the most expensive flight to NY I’ve ever booked – but I couldn’t exactly pick and choose). I quickly threw together a few clothes in a sports bag, which was easily done. As most of my clothes were in a washing basket, waiting to be thrown in the machine, I just took whatever was still in the cupboard. (My dirty washing will have to wait an extra week.)

After a few phone calls – of the “Hi, I won’t be able to make it to dinner on Friday” variety – I jumped in my car, made the three-hour drive to Sydney and flew to New York. By that evening, after a long-extended day, I was in the meditation garden. I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Indeed, I wondered why I had hesitated.

It was obvious, of course. While I have always been happy to fly overseas, for any number of spiritual reasons, I have rarely possessed the sense of spontaneity needed for the thankfully rare moments like this, which require me to drop everything immediately, even if it means seeing off someone who meant so much to me. He always talked about the importance of spontaneity – and judging by their swift arrivals in New York, most of his students seemed to have taken it to heart. Sadly, not this one.

At least, not to the same extent. Friends of mine with full-time jobs were able to quickly arrange leave with their sympathetic employers, not wasting time. I have a flexible work situation, but I was still hesitant. “Too expensive”, “too awkward”, all the usual excuses.

Happily, I eventually came to my senses - and to NY. I saw my Guru at rest, and attended his burial ceremony. It was worth every cent, every minute, every moment of the last-minute rush. Had I come any later, I would have missed everything.

Thanks to my lack of spontaneity, I was forced to be more spontaneous than ever before.

Thank you, Guru. Even your passing reminds me that there is still so much I need to learn from you. May I continue to learn.

For more (many more) heartfelt tributes to Sri Chinmoy, see: http://www.srichinmoybio.co.uk/news/sri-chinmoy/sri-chinmoy-1931-2007/

Gratitude to Sri Chinmoy

Noivedya Juddery — Fri, 12 Oct 2007 23:49:37

When my father died a few years ago, I was thinking of what Sri Chinmoy might say. His words, ever inspired and powerful, would also be very comforting. I read some of his aphorisms to get me through the day.

“Death is natural. Nothing natural can be detrimental. Death is rest. Rest is strength in disguise for a further adventure.

“Death says that it is immortal. Man’s achievements say, 'Death, you are right. But the truth of the matter is that we shine perpetually upon your very breast. Not only that, we shine forever in you, through you and beyond you.'”

At the time, Sri Chinmoy was in Australia, and I was with him in Queensland. When he received the sad news, he called me to stand in front of him, then meditated - silently and powerfully - for a few minutes. At the end, he smiled, as if to say “Your father is fine.” Though he has written millions of words, his meditations could say so much with no words at all.

Now Sri Chinmoy has also passed away.

I recall his words that I read, the ones I used to cope with my father’s death. It’s only fair that Dad returns the favour. When I was a small child, I innocently asked my father why people become so sad when their friends and relatives die, why so many tears are shed over something so inevitable. Is it really sad when people die?

“Of course,” he said. “Everyone should live forever.”

Like many, many others, I always felt very close to Sri Chinmoy, so I have some sadness that I will never again see his smiling and peaceful face. Yet I don’t have any of the sense of loss I felt when my father died. When that happened, I was very upset because, with all his wonderful qualities, he had never achieved all he could have, or should have achieved. You could blame his fate, or his all-too-human weaknesses, but it seemed that his death had come too soon.

Sri Chinmoy, however, was a man who accomplished all that anyone could accomplish in a mere 76 years. Even in his final weeks – I last saw him early in September – he was active, still demonstrating humanity's unlimited power. Had he not been taken from us, of course, he would still have done more – writing poetry, lifting incredible weights, drawing Soul-Birds, playing meditative music, or simply showing his love for the world through his supreme meditation.

Here in Australia, it is four in the morning as I write this. I was informed of his passing just a couple of hours ago. Unable to sleep, I sat in front of my meditation shrine and sang forty of his compositions.

In 2004, on the fortieth anniversary of his arrival in the West, I surveyed members of the Sri Chinmoy Centre on their favourite songs that he had composed. In a project heavily inspired by my pop-culture interests, I compiled a “Top 40” from the result. Two hours ago, after meditating briefly, I took out the songbook and sang all forty of these wonderful songs, only stopping to pause after “Usha Bala Elo”. This was the song that made me decide all those years ago, in just three lines, that I wanted to be his student.

I was thinking of the other things I might do today. I’m in the middle of a project for the Sri Chinmoy Centre in Canberra, in which I am (very) gradually converting our collection of VHS videos to DVD format. It has taken over a year, partly as there is so much material, and partly because I keep delaying the project, packing away the videotapes so that they stop cluttering the carpet while something else comes to take over my time.

Yesterday I copied a rare gem – a documentary from 1974 called The Life of Sri Chinmoy. Originally a 16mm film, it is not of the best quality, but it was still a wonderful look back, seeing an old friend long before I knew him, but already saying so much more with a silent meditation than I could ever say with millions of words. But I was thinking “This needs to be updated – and of course, with all he does, it needs to be updated every week!”

Now, I guess, we can have the ultimate version. He has left a wonderful legacy. So many thousands of songs I haven’t yet learned, and probably won’t have time to learn in this life (though I’ll do my best). So many books I have yet to read. So much wisdom I should use in my life. His time on this world is over, but like any great man, his work will exist for many centuries to come.

Out for a run - one of 64,713

Noivedya Juddery — Sun, 12 Aug 2007 20:58:36

Yesterday morning, en route to New York, I did the City 2 Surf fun run. This event, which has been held for the past 36 years, is one of those activities in Sydney that everyone (or at least, every Australian runner) should experience at least once in their lives. The announcer mentioned over the loudspeaker that it is “the biggest fun run in the world”, and while you would think this unlikely (surely Sydney, despite its size, is a little isolated), it did have a field of 64,713 people! Who can beat that?

It’s very strange to enter an event of this scale. I’ve been in races of one or two thousand people, but this is something else. It is so huge that there are four separate starts. I was in the third group – and as I waited for the previous group to move through, it struck me that they were taking quite some time. This was partly because there were so many of them, but also because so many of them were simply walking the 14-kilometre distance.

Now I should point out that I think walking is an excellent form of exercise (and thereby, self-transcendence). Though I think it’s unfair of those French “intellectuals” to berate their President for doing something as “ignoble” as jogging to keep fit, when he could simply be doing something dignified like walking, I agree with them that walking is a great thing to do. Thomas Jefferson – the greatest man ever to be President of any nation – did it regularly, saying that it was the greatest form of exercise

But for people like me who want to run, and get a good finishing time, it was awkward being on the same field as thousands of walkers.

It wasn’t waiting to begin that was the problem. (Even I have enough patience to cope with such things.) It was trying to squeeze past them, on a very crowded road, without colliding. As we ran through Kings Cross, Sydney’s most infamous suburb, I had to use all my (non-existent) gymnastic skills to dodge one participant, dressed as (I believe) a fairy queen. He had stopped so that another fairy queen could take his photo, though why they chose to do it there (in front of a non-descript grocery store, in mid-race), I have no idea.

Incidentally, the reason I was seeing fairies was not due to exhaustion, but because people were encouraged to enter the race in costume. In fact, more people were hoping to win prizes for their costumes than for their running. (Hey, finishing this race in a good time is a great personal achievement, but only the fastest elite runners will actually win anything.) So it was a celebrity field: Spider-Man, Wonder Woman, Superman, a group of Samurai warriors, several women with Kevin 07 T-shirts wrapped around their waists (a sight that would be appreciated by Australians right now), some guys dressed as pencils (?), even Borat. Another time, I almost crashed into a group of young girls when they stopped to fasten their wings back on.

I imagine I probably added another two kilometres to my time simply dodging, weaving and zig-zagging past other people. If it was a nuisance for the runners, it must have been terrifying for the walkers, who would have done most of the distance in stark fear of being bulldozed by an intense pack of runners.

Despite this obstacle, the costumes added to the fun of the event – and yes, it was fun. Though I exerted myself a lot on this run, I was enjoying myself so much that it seemed much easier. Perhaps I was so focused on avoiding a collision that I didn’t even realise how much my feet were pounding the asphalt. Not until I finished did I realise how exhausted I was.

About two kilometres into the run, barely after we had left the Cross, a live version of Live and Let Die was booming from the top floor of one of the pubs, courtesy of a band that looked like Led Zeppelin and played like Deep Purple, so I’m not sure why they were playing a Paul McCartney song. (Oh well… right era.) While I always prefer listening to Sri Chinmoy while I’m running, the music definitely inspired me. I wasn’t the only one, as other runners were applauding them as they ran past. In fact, everyone seemed to be going faster as we passed this band – either because (like me) they were inspired by the energy and dynamism of the music, or because they wanted to escape it. Perhaps both.

There was a lot more music as we continued. As I ran up a hill, I could hear the Moody Blues’ Nights in White Satin blaring from the speakers in someone’s house. I like this song a lot, but it’s a pity that I arrive just in time to hear the lyrics “never reaching the end”. Perhaps not the most positive words to hear.

More live music came later. A jazz band in a bus shelter. A ragtime band on one of the traffic islands. Perhaps, like the Flash (one of the super-heroes of my childhood), I was running so fast that I was going back in time, hearing the music of yesteryear as I continued…

Or maybe not. I was at my fastest by then, having passed most of the walkers, but I've never been that fast.

As I continued, I (like many people) was sprayed by someone’s hose from his front yard. He’s probably been waiting all year for a chance to do that to passersby and see them smile back at him (rather than yell at him). Having just come from a Canberra winter, I was quite unprepared for the warmth of the Sydney morning.

Soon after, the first kilometre marker appeared: 10 km. It was great to know that I was so close to the end. Well, I was actually a little disappointed at first, because I thought I’d run a bit further – but I quickly corrected that feeling. It was actually great that I had a whole 4 km to go, so that (after all that dodging) I could finish with a few kilometres of “proper” running.

It was also the nicest part of the course, as we ran through some of Sydney’s beachside suburbs – Clovelly, Bronte, Tamarama… It is not usually considered a great omen to run past a graveyard, but this was an exception. As I saw a familiar graveyard (between Clovelly and Bronte), which I have run past on several Sunday morning jaunts between Bondi and Coogee, I knew that I was almost at the end.

Bondi Beach is one of Sydney’s most popular attractions. Though the City 2 Surf bypasses the Sydney Opera House (which wasn’t yet built when this run started) and the Harbour Bridge, and Kings Cross no longer has the quaint beauty that it possessed 36 years ago, the run at least finishes with a dose of the city’s famous bush culture.

Understandably, the surf was especially crowded on this morning, as were the cafes, which would usually be an ideal place to wind down and enjoy breakfast after a run to the beach. (I’ve done it on many occasions.) But it wasn’t necessary. The City 2 Surf works brilliantly as a Sydney experience on its own. Bonuses (the sunbathing, the surf, the shopping) are unnecessary. I’m still not sure how any race could get so many people (64,713, for Heaven’s sake), but having experienced it for myself, I think I now have a few clues.

My Second (online) Home

Noivedya Juddery — Wed, 11 Jul 2007 08:25:32

I’m constantly amazed and impressed by correspondents like Tejvan and John G, who can regularly maintain more than one blog, yet still find the time to read (and comment on) the blogs of others. How do they do that? I spend much of my day in front of a laptop, trying to do my writing work and (on a good day) keep my online presence up-to-date.

Recently, I’m afraid, I haven’t had much success with the latter duty.

To be honest, I've been reconsidering my blog spaces. While I've always tried to stay positive - give joy or inspiration to readers, or sometimes both (if I can) - I've wondered if some of my posts have been at odds with the spiritual nature of the Sri Chinmoy Centre site. They haven’t been negative, of course, but my comments on popular culture and the (hopefully) amusing anecdotes of my life haven’t really equalled the loftier subject matter more often covered on the Sri Chinmoy Centre site.

Today I started a new blog on Blogger.com, Wishful Thinking (http://markjuddery.blogspot.com), which will include many of the sorts of writings that I used to include here – my musings on world affairs and my working life.

Meanwhile, if I have any profound spiritual observations or meditations, I’ll take a leaf from great writers… like James Joyce. Yes, I’ll put everything into a 1,000-page book that nobody can understand… and which will subsequently become known as one of the greatest novels ever written!

No, on second thought, I’ll take a leaf from John G. The blog you are presently reading will still include my profound meditations and observations (which have always been somewhat rarer). Hopefully, those who have been kind enough to find my writing entertaining will still be entertained, but this will have a more spiritual focus.

Here I will be Noivedya; on Wishful Thinking, I will often go by my original name (and usual writing name). I’m still Noivedya, wherever I am, but most of my editors still know me by the name my parents gave me.

Hopefully, like John G, I’ll be able to maintain two blogs (however irregularly). See you soon – hopefully in two places.

The Writing Life

noivedya — Thu, 07 Jun 2007 22:17:54

I’m currently working on a new book, which is always exciting. So far, I’ve had between one and three books published... which doesn’t make a great deal of sense, I'll admit. “Surely you can remember how many books you’ve written?” you are probably asking (unless you’ve decided that I’m talking nonsense, in which case you’ve already stopped reading). One book was published for the bookstores; one was an e-book, sold online; and the other was a self-published educational book, co-written with a friend who has an education degree. (Having a “DipEd” after one of the authors’ names gave it that extra air of credibility.)

The current book is also for the bookstores, but I’m not at liberty to say any more. Suffice it to say that it has already taken up some of the time that I would usually spend writing articles, or blogging.

That’s not to say that I have stopped writing for newspapers and magazines. In fact, my weekly column for The Canberra Times (mentioned in an earlier blog) seems to be going well – by which I mean, it hasn’t been banned yet, even after nine long weeks.

I feel very lucky, being able to write so much. While many gifted writers do their writing in their spare time, for the sheer joy of it, I am blessed to do it for a living. (True, I also write many things voluntarily – like this blog – but that’s a bonus.) Of course, I haven’t always felt so lucky. At times when my trade has not gone well, when I’ve been forced to borrow money from friends simply to pay for food, the writing life has seemed more of a headache. But however hard times are, when people (well, my mother) have suggested “Why don’t you go back to a real job?”, I can’t do it. It’s almost like I don’t have a choice. Writing, it seems, is my dharma. To return to a regular job in the public service (where I get holiday pay and regular comradeship, and didn't have to buy my own stationery) would seem like a step backwards. I’m here in the often lonely, usually reflective, and ultimately rewarding world of my writing.

So if I write all day, what do I do to relax? Many things. Exercise, meditation, reading, music… And when I’m tired of all that… oh, that’s where YouTube comes in (but don't tell anyone about that).

Speed Networking

noivedya — Wed, 09 May 2007 19:43:58

As you might recall (assuming I’ve mentioned it in this blog – I know I’ve mentioned it somewhere), I have long harboured the wish to make a short film. I have written several scripts (or screenplays, as we film artistes call them), including a short one, and I considered that – with a little (or a lot of) help from my friends – I could probably afford to make that one myself. My friend Joe from Brisbane, a gifted filmmaker with a few buddies in the local filmmaking scene, was keen to help. It was all systems go!

Then he moved to San Francisco.

I shelved the project for a while, but of course, I still have a nagging feeling that I’d like to make this movie. So last week, while on a visit to Sydney, I attended a novel event for Australian filmmakers called a “speed networking” session.

As the name suggests, this is a bit like speed dating. I’ve never tried speed dating, of course, but I’ve seen it on a TV show. Not that I waste any time watching television! It was on the Internet. No, of course I don’t spend all my time surfing the Internet! I just…

Sorry, where were we? Ah yes, speed networking. To make my little film, I needed to find some people to help – technicians, actors, production crew, perhaps a director to replace Joe. Around 100 filmmakers of various types showed up. There were two rows of chairs, facing each other. (They were not straight rows, either. Due to the large number of filmmakers, they snaked around the room.)

To meet as many people as possible, we had three minutes to chat with each person. By the end of the night, I had introduced myself to about 30 people, they had introduced themselves to me, and we had quickly traded business cards and discussed ideas. Then (in a moment of heavy hinting) the lights were switched off for a few seconds, indicating that we had to move on to the next person.

It was the evening following a long day (I had been driving to Sydney before sunrise) and I was only kept awake by the adrenalin in the room, even as I gradually lost my voice, struggling to be heard over everyone else. I met with directors, cinematographers, composers, an on-set researcher… even a focus puller. (She explained to me what her job entails, which was very interesting – but this isn’t really the place to explain the work of a focus puller.) I found myself immediate “clicking” with some people, and could relate to their obvious surplus of dreams and ideas.

In the end, I had a few contacts, a few business cards. I have so far kept in email contact with a few of the 30 people I met (I emailed some of them; some of them emailed me), but it’s early days yet. Whatever happens, it was worth it for the rather unusual experience. Surely, everyone in the entire Australian film industry was in the room that night! (Unfortunately, I couldn’t see Hugh Jackman anywhere. Maybe his favourite TV show was on that night. A pity; I’m sure he’d love to do something with my scripts.) Whatever the merits of the films we want to make, there was a collective enthusiasm that was hard to fault.

Agonising bliss

noivedya — Sat, 14 Apr 2007 09:41:41

I’m not sure how many times I have done the 12-hour walk since my first race in 1996. Not each and every year, but several times. And every time I do it, I’m sure I spend some of the time – some of the most painful moments, when the soles of my feet ache every time they touch the ground – wondering why I'm not doing something else. At the end of the race, however, my reasons are always abundantly clear. It’s an inwardly rewarding experience, reminding us that the most spiritual experiences cannot come to us effortlessly.

Allow me to recount my experiences from this year as best I can…

1st Hour: A leisurely (but fairly fast) stroll, walking with some of the other athletes, joking and chatting with them. My goal is to reach 40 miles, or 36 laps of the mainly concrete, suburban-New-York course. I have it in my head that, with my current (lower-than-normal) level of fitness, it would be an excellent distance to walk in a 12-hour period. In the first hour, I’m well on track to get that distance, presuming I can keep the pace for the next 11 hours… which is, of course, unlikely.

3th Hour: Already feeling sore. No fair! I have my first food of the race, deliberately avoiding anything that might give me a stomach upset. I still look forward to the last hour of the race – not simply because it will be almost over, but also because I expect to have my usual final burst – the second (or third, or fourth, or eighth) wind, which allows me to transcend my pain and somehow walk much faster. It usually happens…

4th Hour: Suddenly I feel much better. Walking alone silently (without chatting to anyone else) can be meditative, so I’ve been doing so for the past couple of hours. Somehow, I’m not feeling overly sore. I’m not sure how long this feeling of peace and relative painlessness will last, but while it’s here, I’m taking full advantage of it.

5th Hour: The feeling is gone now. I’m sore again, which slows me down with each step.

6th Hour: In desperate need of some magnesium to strengthen by aching feet, I head to the medical tent. It’s busy. It might be “only” a walk, but people are still prone to injury.

7th Hour: I walk with a friend of mine for a while. This guy is an excellent athlete and sportsman (far better than myself). So far, he’s done the same mileage as me, but it has taken its toll. “Let’s talk about our pains and injuries,” he says. Unfortunately, he’s not joking. “My back is totally killing me,” he begins. This is the last thing I want to discuss - strangely, I don't want something reminding me of my ailments - so I joke around instead. Laughter gives him back pain.

(Within the next hour, he will check himself in for an extended stint in the medical tent... but he will go back on the field - and finish walking at the end, rather than succumb to temptation and go home early. That's part of the challenge.)

9th Hour: I believe this was the slowest hour for me. Thinking that perhaps I hadn’t had an ample supply of magnesium, I returned to the medical tent. There are enough people there for a party. A few of the faster athletes, who had been doing so well, confide that they have decided to stop walking. Like any endurance event, the field becomes smaller as the hours draw on. I continue on – but I can’t imagine that final spurt could be possible this time. My body is too worn out. I’m in pain, I’m slow, and I'm simply unable to walk any faster.

10th Hour: At around the 10:30 mark, I suddenly feel it coming. The final spurt. Now I’m going fast once again. I don’t know where it comes from, but it’s always there to give me a glorious final hour.

11th Hour: The final sprint is not exactly my best ever – in my best races, I am walking faster than at any other time, overtaking even the best walkers – but it’s there. I change my estimated final distance from 33 laps to… a little over 33 laps. With 40 minutes to go, I do a fast thirty-fifth lap. Thirty-five! Certainly more than I was expecting a couple of hours ago. It takes a lot out of me. That’s it! I’m finished – and while it was just short of my goal, I’m happy with it.

But then my lap-counter, Abhinabha, says “If you go just a little faster, you can do another lap.” Faster??!! I’m dying here! All I want now is to sit down with the coffee and sweet pastries at the food station that I’ve been avoiding for the past 11 hours and 40 minutes! But for some strange reason, I decide that I’ll try anyway. I put everything into that one final lap.

At this point, it isn't easy. I make it across the line in 11:58:40, with less than two minutes to spare – one of the very last people to finish – and I’m aching all over, especially from the waist down. But despite all my second-half expectations, I reached my goal: 36 laps. Abhinabha informs me that I had the best mileage of all the athletes on his lap-counting sheets.

Which makes me (among other things)… the national Australian male champion for 2007 (an achievement every bit as underwhelming as it sounds).

My back is totally killing me…

Twelve-hour high

noivedya — Sun, 08 Apr 2007 18:59:17

In a few days I’ll be in New York for the annual 12-hour walk, an unusual ultra-marathon event that I haven’t done for about three years. I intend to do it again this time.

Still, I haven’t given it much thought as yet, mainly as I have so many other things to do (including preparation for my flight to New York). But I decided a few weeks ago that this time, for the first time ever, I would actually TRAIN for the event. Yes, when I went out for my run, I would race-walk some of the distance (Olympic-style), so I could become familiar with using certain muscles that are not usually used.

You’d think that it would be easy, after a 45-minute run, to break into a walk. Not exactly. I would walk for a few minutes, then I would feel the cold. Soon my impatience would get the better of me. I would break into a run once again.

So it seems that, once more, I will be starting the 12-hour walk untrained… like almost everyone else. I will do it slow, and I will feel the pain. But whatever my distance – at least, as happens every year, I should equal the winning time!

I'm not writing... because I'm too busy writing (great excuses of our time #372)

noivedya — Fri, 06 Apr 2007 05:08:10

I haven’t written much for this blog lately, mainly as I’ve been so busy writing other things.

Among my new projects: The Canberra Times newspaper is trying me out as a weekly columnist. They even took a new head shot of me, so that everyone knows what I look like when they reading my (hopefully) sparkling prose.

(For the uninitiated, columns are what they had in newspapers in the days before blogs. OK, it sounds like I’m being funny – but I’ve actually had to correct someone who thought I was just writing a blog, and couldn't understand why a newspaper would ask me to do that.)

So rather than inflict my strange view of the world on the blog, I’ve been writing a few things for the next few weeks of newspaper columns.

Next few weeks? Yes, because soon I’ll be heading to New York until the end of April. I’m at least getting a few drafts ready for when I’m away. It’s very strange to go right now – it seems like only a few weeks since I was last overseas visiting Sri Chinmoy… mainly because it IS only a few weeks!

When I return, the main project in the Sri Chinmoy Centre over here will be one of my favourites: meditation classes. Yesterday, I spent the afternoon driving to the shops in the outer suburbs of Canberra, to see if I could leave flyers on their counters for the next series of classes. Not as glamorous or exciting as, say, fighting off enemy spies on a clock tower (a job I haven’t been given as yet), but as far as volunteer jobs go, this is one of the most rewarding and worthwhile.

It’s not all fun and games, however. Occasionally, people aren’t very helpful. So it was with some trepidation that I went flyering (for the first time in months) in the quiet suburb of Lyons. The first shop, a mini-mart, was happy to display my “Learn Meditation” flyers on their counter. I was so happy that I thought, “I have a 100% success rate so far today. Why spoil it?”

Nonetheless, I kept going, doing a few more places – a take-away food store, a newsagent, a hairdresser, a pharmacy. Still 100%! I was on fire!!! (Not literally, of course. This is a nice story, not a terribly exciting one.)

In fact, it took me five shopping centres before someone finally said “No thank you” – and yes, they were that polite. (Most of Canberra’s suburban shops are fairly small, similar to what Americans would call “strip malls”.) When you go out with a smile and something good to offer, people are more than happy to help.

Gandhi was the first President of Eden (or something like that)

noivedya — Mon, 26 Mar 2007 04:36:44

An article I wrote, The 20 Greatest Historical Myths (http://www.writespirit.net/ad/greatest_historical_myths), was recently published on the website Write Spirit (http://www.writespirit.net) and other places.

The comments have been unexpectedly passionate – which is a good thing. It's great that people can be passionate about history. I was hoping to stir debate, because (as the title of the article suggests) history is something that has been reshaped and rewritten far too often, for one purpose or another.

But much as many of the correspondents had some interesting points, none of them have convinced me to retract any of the “myths” from my list. They all belong there... but suggest something like “George Washington was not the first President of the United States” (because, strictly speaking, he wasn’t) and you will stir up passions from patriotic Americans.

Or suggest that the forbidden fruit, enjoyed by Eve in Genesis, was not an apple (because The Bible says nothing about apples) and Atheists will argue the point. “So, the Garden of Eden is a historical fact, we just don't know what fruit Eve ate,” says one of the less personal comments (and one of the only ones I can quote in a family blog like this), with nice irony.

A fair comment – I am not saying that the story of Adam and Eve is literally true, but whether it is or not, this famous assumption is almost certainly false.

Another (presumed) Atheist joined in the fun, putting the article to task for saying that Jesus was born on December 25. “Yeah, and Jesus wasn't born...” said the poster. “Figures it's a religious site.”

Religious? Write Spirit is not exactly religious – and certainly not a specifically Christian site. But whether or not you believe in God, or you’re a Christian, we’re talking HISTORY here. There is more than enough historical evidence that Jesus DID exist. I’m all for arguing about history’s salient points (and of course, that’s why I wrote the article), but we shouldn’t let our passions get in the way of the known historical facts.

Take the comment suggesting that Gandhi was wonderful, so he deserves credit for India’s independence. Gandhi might have been a great man (his followers named him Mahatma – “great soul”), but sorry, evidence suggests that, for all his efforts, it wasn’t he who freed India. The problem with exposing historical myths is that, quite often, the truth is something we don’t really want to know.

Otherwise, most of the critics were a) nitpicking (which is fair enough) or b) accusing ME of nitpicking (which is also fair enough – for me as well as for the critics). History was always one of my favourite topics at school (despite the famous image of “boring history books”) and it’s still something I love. Roll on the contention!

How to be a (sort of) Genius

noivedya — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 16:35:29

I remember, in my teens, reading a newspaper story about a woman who was officially the smartest person in the world, with the highest IQ. One thing that the article noted was that, for all her brains, she couldn’t hold a knife and fork properly… so someone dining with her, ignorant of her claim to fame, would probably witness her in action and think “What an idiot!” It was perhaps nature's way of making up for her astounding brain power.

A few years later, I was told by a friend – a psychology student – that there is no universal definition of “intelligence” – which makes sense to me. I know people whose conversation is not exactly intellectual, but their brilliance at fixing car engines, televisions or other machines is far beyond my understanding.

I’m the opposite, more or less. Many people have kindly suggested that I’m intelligent, presumably because I write articles and blogs that used words like “mercurial” and “condescension” (and even spell them correctly). But faced with a machine (even one that’s working), I’ve been known to deal with it by yelling at it or throwing something at it. This is not only stupid (and, in case you were considering that technique, useless), but rather rude.

Even Einstein, the man whose name has become synonymous with intelligence, was such an appalling space-cadet that he once used a $1,500 cheque as a bookmark, then lost the book! (That was back when $1,500 was a rather tidy sum.)

All this possibly make IQ testing pointless. However, when I was confronted by an unofficial IQ test on the Web, I was intrigued. I quickly did the online test, planning to keep the results to myself. That plan didn’t work out…

I can’t remember the exact score, but some quick research revealed that I was in the top 5 percent of IQ – almost (though not quite) high enough to become a member of MENSA, the organisation for brainiacs. (I even passed the ultimate test: I completely ignored the accompanying offer to purchase an e-book telling me more about my score. Smart thinking, huh?) Bearing in mind that it was an unofficial test, I showed off these results to my friend Rathin, who took the challenge. (Well, it wasn’t meant to be a challenge. He was supposed to just accept it and worship at my feet. But he got the wrong idea.)

Now I should point out that I did the test fairly quickly, working out all the answers (correct or otherwise) in my head. Rathin, however, spent a good hour doing it, and his desk was littered with scrap paper, filled with scribbles, diagrams and mathematical equations. Result: He had an even higher (unofficial) IQ than I did! He had passed the real intelligence test: if you must work out a problem, it makes good sense to work everything out on paper, with use of a ruler and a calculator (something that, strangely enough, hadn’t even occurred to me).

We showed off our scores to our friend Prachar – and this awakened his competitive side. (Well, I say “awakened”, but it hadn’t exactly lain dormant. This is a guy who organises running races and then plays a game where everyone has to guess the number of online entries. A real buzz, that one!)

Prachar returned from the office one night, to show that he had achieved a higher score than either of us. He later confided to Rathin that he had spent all night doing that test, and used up many pieces of scrap paper.

His score wasn’t perfect – but then, anyone smart enough to get a perfect score would presumably be doing something better with their time. But it showed an amazing coincidence: all three of us were geniuses or near-geniuses!

Well, unofficially at least. Chances are that everyone's score is boosted on these tests, just so they will get excited and buy the book. It's all rather meaningless really.

Oh well... at least we can all use cutlery.

Back home... and why superhero comics are spiritual

noivedya — Thu, 08 Mar 2007 17:54:54

It’s about two weeks since I returned from my two-month overseas trip, taking in the sights of Thailand and Bulgaria. Here in Canberra, we launched straight into the Sri Chinmoy Triathlon Festival. Every year, on that weekend, many of us are kept very busy – and for three days, we get by with very little sleep.

Now, a week later, I’m … recovering. Our bodies don't really need as much rest as we like to think. However, while you can borrow seemingly endless reserves of energy, you still need to pay back. The past week has been slightly less dynamic – though I’m still keeping busy.

(OK, perhaps that’s just a lame excuse for not keeping up with my blog. Sorry about that.)

I’ve just been looking at a comic book called “Ramayan 3392 AD”, which retells the great Indian spiritual text The Ramayana … and sets it not in the hoary past, but (as the title suggests) 1385 years into the future, in a high-tech, sci-fi world. I suppose it’s not such a strange concept. Rama, the great spiritual figure, was like an ancient version of a super-hero – and now, he even looks like one! (The comic is co-published by, among others, new-age maven Deepak Chopra. Though I’m not sure if these sacred texts should be re-imagined in such a way, it is written with some respect for the ancient scriptures.)

I’ve always been a fan of super-hero comics. There are various reasons. The simple qualities that the heroes represent – Batman’s sense of justice, Captain America’s sense of compassion, Superman’s nobility, Wolverine’s dynamism, the Invisible Woman's nurturing kindness, Spider-Man’s self-transcendence, Daredevil's courage...

Also, I suppose I enjoy the pure escapism of people in silly costumes fighting bad guys in even sillier costumes … but that doesn’t sound as impressive a reason.

Their powers didn’t interest me so much as their characters – except in the sense that, despite the temptations that such powers could bring, Superman and his colleagues never used them for anything but altruistic goals. It was what super-heroes symbolise as a whole – goodness, heroism and inner strength (or as someone else put it, “truth, justice and the American way”). In my childhood, these were the great legendary heroes – fictitious versions of such Indian heroes as Rama and the Pandavas. Actually, the Pandavas (from the greatest epic, The Mahabharata) were almost the Justice League of spiritual folklore, all with distinct powers and abilities beyond those of mere mortals. However superhumanly powerful (and numerous) their foes, they were still able to defeat them. When I first read of their victory at the Battle of Kurukshetra (many years after I read my first comic books), it seemed strangely familiar to me...

See? Super-hero comics are spiritual!

Time for a New Nobel?

noivedya — Tue, 20 Feb 2007 04:06:02

Though it’s too early to make bets, many are tipping former US Presidential candidate Al Gore to win the 2007 Nobel Prize for Peace. Gore indeed deserves plaudits for increasing environmental awareness, most famously in the film "An Inconvenient Truth". He has already won major awards for this (including an Oscar) and is likely to win many more. But the Nobel Prize for Peace?

Like any major award, the Nobel Peace Prize has had its share of controversy. It began when the first Nobel Prizes were handed out in 1901, and one of the Peace prize winners was Swiss philanthropist Jean Henri Dunant. Dunant, though admired and respected by all, was a contentious choice, simply because of the nature of his achievements. He had founded the International Red Cross, formed to ease the plight of war casualties. It was a noble aim, but was he a suitable winner of a peace prize? Though he was no scientist, many suggested that he deserved the Nobel Prize for Medicine instead.

It has been a constant dilemma. Many Nobel Peace Prize laureates won for their charity work, rather than the cause of world peace. American scientist Norman Borlaug won in 1970, for developing a high-yield strain of wheat (thereby speeding up the “green revolution”). Kenyan environmentalist Wangari Maathai won in 2004 for her contribution to, among other things, sustainable development. Nobody can begrudge such winners (especially those such as Dunant, who donated his prize money to charity), or suggest their work was anything less than worthwhile, but was the Peace prize an appropriate honour?

Perhaps it is time for two new Nobel Prizes, to honour environmental and charity work, much as a new award – for economic science – was devised in 1969. In the meantime, however, the Peace prize is still being used to cover all such categories. Unlike Dunant’s victory, which was greeted by protests, it is now accepted with hardly a word said. Surely there is room for annual awards to go to a peace-maker, a humanitarian, AND an environmentalist.

Everyone comes to Monique's

noivedya — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 00:31:19

Ever been to Café Monique? It’s easily the coolest place in town for coffee and a nice meal. Of course, you’ve probably never been there, because “town” is a tiny coastal village in Cha-Am, Thailand – a pleasant enough area, with hotels and nice beaches.

A few of us have been here for the past two weeks with Sri Chinmoy’s Christmas trip. As I write this, I am having my last meal at Café Monique: a green tofu curry and rice (with extra chilli, to help combat a cold I’m somehow suffering), with a fresh mango juice and a cappuccino. The curry is a recent addition to the menu, added when the manager (whom I believe really is named Monique, though she’s never set foot outside Thailand) decided to cater for the onslaught of vegetarians who suddenly descended on her village two weeks ago. Indeed, she prepared a special “Sri Chinmoy Menu”. Tomorrow, when we all leave for the next venue and the next adventure, I imagine she’ll discard that menu… and she’ll miss us (though she’ll be happy with the relative peace and quiet that our departure brings).

A few of us have been talking about Café Monique as Cha-Am’s answer to Lucille’s – a place to which, strictly speaking, it bears no resemblance. Lucille’s Diner is a classic, all-American, 24-hour diner in Queens, New York, situated not far from the main action of the Sri Chinmoy Centre. Frequented by so many of Sri Chinmoy’s international students, it eventually devised an extensive (four-page) vegetarian menu. That was 20 years ago – and I was still able to look through that menu a few months ago to choose between eggplant parmesan and spaghetti with vegetarian “meatballs”.

In most of the places where we have stopped for Christmas trips for a week, two weeks, a month, we seem to have found a “place to be” (or a few such places). Though few places go to the extent of a special vegetarian menu, they get to know us. But unlike the good folk at Lucille’s, we leave them after a few weeks.

Think of your favourite restaurants, the ones that you have visited for years… and the places you have visited only a few times on a visit to a foreign land, but remembered forever. Good food is said to be the greatest joy in the world (even better than watching 'Heroes'), and even more joy comes from seeking out the best eating places.

The Funniest Man in the World

noivedya — Thu, 30 Nov 2006 20:36:51

I notice a few of my fellow bloggers on the Sri Chinmoy Centre site are talking about what makes them laugh – or more specifically, who makes them laugh. If I may, I’d like to join in the fun – and name my own favourite comedian.

But first, a runner-up…

I commented on Richard Pettinger's blog a few days ago that I once went to see British comedian Eddie Izzard, whom I knew mainly for his acting work. (He played Charlie Chaplin, arguably the most brilliant comedian of the past century, in a movie called The Cat’s Meow – surely not because he looks like Chaplin, because he doesn’t, but presumably because he’s an English comic.) I had previously had a lengthy and not-at-all-funny interview with him for a newspaper, in which he spoke earnestly about his work without cracking a single joke. As I was given two media passes for his show, I invited a friend and we went to see him.

Before the end of the first act, I was desperate for him to stop!

Fortunately, there was a good reason for this: I was laughing so hard that I was in pain. Really! For one of the few times in my life, I knew the meaning of those lines from the Felix the Cat theme song: “You’ll laugh so much, your sides will ache.” It was never a good description of that particular cartoon, even when I was seven, but it’s exactly how I felt watching Eddie Izzard. Genius!

But my favourite comedian is one of my fellow Aussies. Hence, he’s not so well-known outside Australia – a vile injustice! Shaun Micallef can be called a “cult comedian” because he’s not as popular as he deserves to be. His television series have been somewhat patchy – one of the drawbacks of being original and innovative (as Monty Python well knew). When it works, he seems to be channelling another realm, where everything is funnier. How can you explain the inspiration behind this (very short) sketch?

In sketches like that one (which is now a few years old), almost as incredible as Micallef’s seemingly effortless humour is the way that Roz Hammond, one of his regular supporting cast, could always keep a straight face. I don’t know how she did it!

Micallef is the comedian’s comedian. His TV shows don’t break ratings records, but other comedians (and critics) worship him. He also looks like a film star (when he’s not contorting his face, as above), and he’s played some serious roles (though I haven’t seen any of them). While he’s a masterful writer and impersonator (he’s done a great Tony Blair, Gerry Adams, Bill Clinton… and his Billy Connolly is uncanny), his unique characters are the highlight of his work.

By far my favourite Micallef character is Dave McGhan, a pseudo-academic twit who does truly bizarre mini-documentaries. Here’s Dave’s take on the music of Bach (direct from YouTube… at least until someone complains about copyright infringement).

If you enjoyed that, you have excellent taste. If not… well, that’s OK too. Like every comedian, he’s not for everyone (though he's usually safe for family viewing). But in case you’re wondering: no, you don’t need to be Australian to enjoy his antics. Priyadarshan, an Italian blogger, is one of the most dedicated Micallef fans I know.

As Dave McGhan says (about Bach): “His name will live forever in the minds of those who are immortal and have astonishingly good recall.” (How can you not love that line?) Micallef now appears often in the wonderful improvisational comedy show Thank God You’re Here, which happens to be Australia’s top-rating comedy show – so finally he’s getting an audience approaching what he deserves. Mega-genius!

Gained in Translation

noivedya — Sat, 20 Jan 2007 01:01:20

Last week in Bulgaria, I witnessed a group of Sri Chinmoy’s female students recite 100 of his spiritual aphorisms in a row, which they had memorised with superhuman fluency. The content of these aphorisms was inspiring, of course, but so was the recital itself. They recited in perfect unison. Nobody used a word or a syllable out of place. It was almost like a single voice, sweetly chanting the beautiful words of their teacher.

To make it more amazing, English was the second language for all of these women! Those of us fortunate enough to be raised on English can be rather lazy about learning other languages, let alone perfecting them. But these women had learned English well enough to recall 100 aphorisms by heart.

When I visit Indonesia or Malaysia, I like to practise my Indonesian language skills. (Indonesian and Malay are such similar dialects that they are practically interchangeable.) I was a pretty good student of Bahasa Indonesian (that’s Indonesian language, natch) at school, but kept out of practice for years after that. Since then, my skills seem to improve with each visit. Great, except that we only visit every few years. When we visited Malaysia a year ago, my skills were almost up to scratch with my skills as a 15-year-old. Of course, I was terribly proud of myself.

When going anywhere with a group of Sri Chinmoy’s students, however, I have to eat humble pie (or, in Bulgaria, humble pie with fetta cheese and a side order of yoghurt). The majority of students, while they may politely claim to be impressed with my Indonesian skills, are themselves bilingual. Indeed, they are considerably more bilingual than I ever was.

If I was insincere enough, I’d have made “learn to speak Indonesian properly” one of my New Year’s resolutions – only to break it. A pity, because learning a language is very rewarding... even if you can already speak English.

The Joy of Podcasting

noivedya — Sat, 20 Jan 2007 00:42:56

A new season of Inspiration News (http://www.srichinmoy.tv/inspiration-news) podcasts has now premiered on Sri Chinmoy TV (http://www.srichinmoy.tv). I made some small contributions to both series. What could be more fun? It reminds me of various kids’ magazine shows that I used to watch after coming home from school, with titles like Wombat, What’s Happening, C’mon Kids and Simon Townsend’s Wonder World (in which the host, the aforementioned Mr Townsend, would end each episode by saying “And remember, the world really is wonderful”). These were part of growing up for scores of Australian kids. Presenters who were obviously enjoying themselves, presenting various topics in such a way that we didn’t even realise that we were being (gasp!) educated – in our own living rooms! As I write about television nowadays, I keep au fait with the children’s TV scene. Sadly, there are fewer such programs nowadays. Inspiration News is not strictly for kids, but it tries to exude a similar exuberance (and dare I say it, innocence) to such shows.

It’s been unusual doing person-on-the-street interviews. Last year, my friend Kel McMeiken and I went on a trip to the ice-cream shops of Greenwich Village, with cinematographer extraordinaire John-Paul Gillespie, to answer that profound question: where is Manhattan’s best ice-cream? (I don’t think we answered that question, but we enjoyed trying.) The first place we visited, fittingly, was a place that proudly advertised Australian ice cream, with all-Aussie recipes.

Unfortunately, the young lady behind the counter (who wasn’t Australian) didn’t want to be filmed. In fact, she became rather panicky and nervous, demanding that we don’t film the shop (even from the outside). Legally, we were well within our rights to do this… but this went against the grain of Inspiration News, so we decided to go elsewhere: another shop, where the lady at the counter was cheerful, friendly, and didn’t mind chatting to us on-camera. As a result, her ice cream shop was on the podcast (so there – nyaah!). We went to a few other friendly shops. Happily, only the first shop had given us the cold shoulder.

A couple of months later, the World Harmony Run (http://www.worldharmonyrun.com) was heading through Temora, which is known as the friendliest town in New South Wales. (Its reputation became so strong that a group of people from Sydney, responding to an invitation by the Sydney Morning Herald, piled on to a bus and took a day trip to Temora. The verdict: yes, despite all the friendly faces in all the country towns, nobody beat Temora.) I thought that this might be exactly the kind of inspiring, happy story that would be perfect for Inspiration News.

The good news: Temora people really are friendly. The bad news: They’re also video-camera-shy. Most people, when approached, would smile and say “I’m sure you’ll find someone.” We were only there for a short time (en route to Bathurst), so I couldn’t speak to everyone, but I got the impression that the media wisdom – that everyone wants to be a star (which explains the success of YouTube and reality TV) – does not apply to the good folk of Temora.

Eventually, I interviewed the Mayor and his wife (who had come to welcome the World Harmony Run) and a local newspaper reporter (who had come to cover our visit). Everyone else was too shy. It would be nice to go back, but perhaps not with a camera.

Smoking Kills! (in Turkey, at least)

noivedya — Fri, 05 Jan 2007 05:19:17

I haven’t been blogging so much lately, as I’ve been keeping busy - here in a foreign land, with no shortage of things to do. (Simply arranging to pick up the laundry is time-consuming when my Bulgarian skills are… um, non-existent). Somewhere in my spare time, I’ve been writing more articles, some of which will soon be accessible from my home page on the Sri Chinmoy Centre.

Travelling here was an interesting experience: 10 hours on a bus from Istanbul. Neither the driver nor the stewardess (yes, the bus had a stewardess – if that’s the right word) could speak any English. Of course, they don’t need to. If I’m in Istanbul, it makes more sense for me to speak Turkish. But as I was only there for a morning, I didn’t think it necessary to start memorising the finer points of Turkish vocabulary. As it was, nobody on the bus spoke English except for me, a friend from Czechoslovakia named Blazej, and a young lady from elsewhere who seemed as clueless as we were. As we approached the border, the stewardess examined the passports, called out each name and handed them back. She left Blazej and me until last, and simply handed them back to us in silence, presumably because she found our names unpronounceable. The guy sitting next to me was a friendly fellow who spoke no English, but often tried to speak to me in the small amount of French he knew (which was considerably more fluent than my own French... but still not great). A few of the people tried to engage Blazej and me in French, and nothing we said could convince them that we couldn’t speak it. Even when we looked at them vaguely, shaking our heads, they still assumed that we were French-speakers and tried to carry out a conversation.

Occasionally, the bus would stop for a break on some snow-capped mountain, and most of the passengers would go outside and smoke to their heart’s content. The message: smoking kills… because you have to go outside and freeze to death. The non-smokers among us, nestled inside the bus, would happily sit there watching an episode of a very weird Turkish (or was it Bulgarian?) comedy show. The locals were laughing themselves silly at this piece of merriment, but I reckon I thought it was funnier than they did – despite (or due to) not having a clue what was going on.

Canberra to Bulgaria - the journey begins...

noivedya — Fri, 29 Dec 2006 07:02:14

Hello again. I hope you had a good Christmas. I’ve had a busy few days, so I haven’t been blogging as much as I promised myself I would. (I usually send two blogs a week. In the past week, I believe I've spent... er, none. Well, just a couple less than usual!)

I’m currently in beautiful Bulgaria – which, of course, is a long way from home. Indeed, it took the best part of three days to get here. After driving to Sydney, I had to spend 24 hours in Singapore – which isn’t so bad. In my brief stops in Singapore, I’ve always liked the city cum island cum nation. It seems to be a hybrid of some of the best that the East and the West have to offer. It’s dynamic, clean and well-ordered, like some of the great Western cities, but it has the sweetness and the friendliness (and the wonderful weather) of the East. Now, during the post-Christmas sales, it was remarkably busy. Though I wanted to try some of the food that gives Singapore its reputation of “the food capital of Asia” (no small claim!), I found that all of the food courts were too crowded, even when I returned at 3:30pm.

Then again, I was in Orchard Road, the mecca for window-shoppers (and any other shopper), a road on which mega-malls are lined up next to each other. (Paradise for a shopaholic!) Post-Christmas, it is a hive of activity. Even the place in the food hall that specialises in toast (albeit with various exotic toppings, like peanut butter) had a long queue that showed no signs of getting smaller. (A pity, as the toast looked wonderful! Seriously! I would have been tempted to try it out, if not for the queue.)

I flew to Istanbul that night, arriving on Thursday morning. Turkey is a country that I have long wanted to visit… so it’s a pity that I didn’t really do it this time. Only a few hours after my arrival, I had to take a bus to Bulgaria. As I waited for the bus, I decided to at least enjoy an authentic Turkish breakfast in one of the nearby cafés. There were a few eateries to choose from. All of them are close together, in the same building, and all of them seem to serve exactly the same thing: bread rolls. As they can’t speak English, they honestly couldn’t understand it when I said “No thanks, I’m just looking,” whatever sign language I used.

Eventually, I chose one of the cafes... and tried desperately to order. Sadly, the guys still couldn’t speak English – though they might have known slightly more English than I knew Turkish (and honestly, I didn’t have a single Turkish word in my vocabulary). “What do you have for vegetarians?” was threatening to sound like just as formidable a question as the one about a tree falling in the forest. As they started to panic (I’m not sure what they said, but it looked like they were panicking), I was thinking back to previous occasions when I had found myself in a town where nobody spoke a word of English. I remembered getting a haircut in Warsaw (which went OK thanks to a few photos, and the barber’s intuition), and – less successfully – trying to order lunch in Qingdao. I was thinking, “Surely an English speaker has to show up eventually.”

I must have thought this with ardent prayerfulness, because almost on cue, a middle-aged guy in a suit walked through the door and offered to help. He looked a little like actor James Woods – and like James Woods, he spoke fluent English. At my request, he ordered me a toasted cheese roll and a tea (which is called “chai” in Turkish, just as it is in Bengali), then walked out the door again – leaving me to ponder the obvious question “Why did he walk in here in the first place?”

God works in mysterious ways, as everyone says at least a few times in their life.

Artistry

noivedya — Tue, 19 Dec 2006 20:43:30

A friend of mine likes to cook. He’s of Italian heritage, so he’s very particular with his food, spending hours at the market selecting the right ingredients, examining each tomato or floret or broccoli to ensure that it’s the right firmness or texture. When you have breakfast with him at a café, he always offers his critique of the dish, moaning if it the eggs aren’t poached properly or the spinach is too soft. I like to eat good food, but I’m far more tolerant. If the food is edible and doesn’t leave me writhing with stomach pain, I’ll happily eat it.

This came to mind on the weekend, when I was giving my own critique of some DVDs he had shown me the previous night. “I just like to sit back and enjoy them,” he said. “You have to analyse everything! Why can’t you just sit back and laugh your head off?” As we had previously had breakfast, and I had just been (as expected) subjected to his lengthy appraisal of some cheese-and-asparagus crepes we’d bought from a local craft market, I thought he was being a little unfair.

But as we agreed, it all comes with being an artist. Sorry, that must sound slightly ostentatious, but it’s true. My friend is a true culinary artist, appreciating the artistry food. I am a writer - not Shakespeare, or even Ben Elton, but someone who does it for a living. I was also a film reviewer for a while, and I have even written some TV scripts (and a prize-winning movie screenplay… so there). When I watch a TV drama, even a comedy, I can’t help but watch it as a writer: analysing what works in the script, what doesn’t, what the story means, why it’s funny (or not). It’s educational for me, if nobody else.

Occasionally, I watch something so incredible, so utterly brilliant, that my analytical mind is momentarily switched off, because I have no idea how the filmmakers could possibly have done something so good. I’m simply carried away by the magic.

But not often enough.

Happily, with other artforms, I am able to just sit back and enjoy them. A few years ago, I loved visiting the Louvre in Paris – and I know nothing about painting, apart from the fact that I’m a complete klutz when it comes to holding a brush. I never learned anything past high school. But that allows me to enjoy the works of the great artists in a completely different way. I look at their work and think “How can they do something so beautiful?”

Magic!

Ditto with music. When I listen to a well-played piece of music, composed by one of the masters, I am transported. Trying to explain this would be like a scientist trying to explain the meaning of life. I can’t do it! I’m, like, transported. Simple as that.

Actually, I used to want to be a rock star. I imagine that you could say that about most boys born after 1950. But I went so far as to start a band with some classmates and even learn how to play bass guitar… sort of. I never really got the hang of it (and if you handed me a bass guitar now, I probably wouldn’t be able to play anything beyond Smoke in the Water). Later, I started to learn piano, but gave up after a few weeks. Even as my hands became coordinated enough to play simultaneously (not as easy as it seems), I realised that it was all becoming too technical for me. Music was losing its magic!

Now a more natural musician wouldn’t have that problem. Due to their artistry, they appreciate not just Mozart and McCartney, but also Wagner and Jimi Hendrix. (Mark Twain liked using the quote “Wagner's music is better than it sounds,” which was actually invented by his fellow humorist Edgar Wilson “Bill” Nye.) But I prefer to sit back and have no idea of how musicians can be so talented as to make such brilliant sounds… just as I have no idea how God can make the beauty of nature.

It’s all magic… so there!

My Personal Space... the Final Frontier

noivedya — Wed, 13 Dec 2006 20:53:00

As someone who spent far too much of my youth watching science fiction television, I recently suggested a story for a TV magazine about the world of science fiction fans. The editor liked the idea, and asked if I could also provide an old photo of myself dressed in a Star Trek costume.

Uh oh. That’s one of the reasons (apart from my obvious personal interest) that I like writing about this topic: to set the matter straight. People have very strange ideas about science fiction fans, assuming that we all live in our parents’ basements, polishing our Star Wars action figures and spending untold hours watching every episode of our favourite shows on DVD until we have memorised every line. It isn’t really helped by films like Trekkies, a documentary from 1997 that focused on the more eccentric Star Trek fans, like the one who wore her Starfleet uniform to jury duty and the dentist to remodelled his surgery to look like the Enterprise deck, even getting his nurses to wear 1960s-style Starfleet costumes.

Sorry, but I was always one of those – large majority of – science fiction fans who didn’t dress up. For that reason, I was ignored whenever the media came to cover science fiction conventions. They wanted to see the most ridiculous-looking people there, so they could include a photo of them with their article (which was usually entitled “Spaceheads Meet at Convention” or “Love of Sci-Fi is Another World”), or interview them on TV doing their most embarrassing Spock impersonation.

Indeed, while I’m happy for people to do anything that gives them joy, I (like most other fans) thought that the people mentioned above were a little over-the-top. I would never participate in such silliness. (Apart from going to the dentist, of course. That would be cool. Having your teeth extracted has never been such fun!) Besides, for heaven’s sake, when will Star Trek fans learn that the show was never a patch on Doctor Who?!

Nonetheless, I certainly spent a lot of time showing my affection for such television shows. Indeed, no genre of television inspires such an obsessive following! Why is this? Is it merely an escape into completely different worlds?

Not exactly. If I wanted pure escapism, I’d be a fantasy fan (which several people are – and good for them). Science fiction, however, takes us into worlds that are at least remotely possible. The science might be suspect, but shows like this give us glimpses (however fanciful) into the potential of the human race. There is something optimistic about this, of course, but also basically spiritual. While it’s not as profound as reading books written by spiritual masters, I can see why it affected me in such a way.

I’ve also noticed that many other students of Sri Chinmoy were (and in many cases, still are) Star Trek or Doctor Who fans, able to reel of a list of the Doctor’s assistants or recall obscure moments from a Star Trek episode they saw back in 1973. Does this suggest that they were lonely people, desperately in need of a life? No way! (Well… not all of them.) It shows that they saw more to these shows than monsters and cheap special effects.

When she read my article, the editor seemed a little disappointed that I didn't portray science fiction fans in a crazier light. But frankly, most of them aren't crazy. While I still wouldn't wear a Starfleet uniform, I'm happy to have met some people who did.

Looking for Thai Cuisine

noivedya — Mon, 11 Dec 2006 17:19:14

Next month, I’ll be visiting beautiful Thailand – a nation of which I already have some limited experience. I went there with two friends in the closing days of the 20th century – December 1999. (OK, perhaps the century actually finished a year later. Like, whatever!)

Anyway, we were there to arrange a World Harmony Run, and add Thailand to the list of nations that participate in this tremendous event. Unlike other nations, such as our homeland of Australia, we didn’t arrange for an event that traversed each city and town. (The roads in Thailand are perhaps not safe for such activity!) However, we stayed in Bangkok, where we staged some small but wonderful ceremonies.

This time will be a different experience. There will be another World Harmony Run, but the organising team will be somewhat larger – and naturally, the event will be on a much larger scale.

Also… the dining experiences should be different. This time, I’ll be lucky enough to stay in a nice hotel. Last time, we stayed in one of those notorious, rundown dives where the backpackers spend their time… until we found a slightly nicer place. This was no five-star resort, but it had a phone, which was essential for our task. (You might remember that, in those days, we didn’t all walk around with globally-adaptable mobile/cell phones. It was only seven years ago, but it already seems like another aeon!) This is a completely non-profit event, with no financial sponsorship. We don’t even ask for donations – which usually means that we can’t stay at the Hyatt.

As with many Asian countries, Thai food is legendary. From my dim memories of the culinary delights, it deserves that reputation – although, between trying to arrange ceremonies, talking to media, and even running around town trying to find a helium tank (for balloons, of course – and no, we couldn’t find any helium, and had to blow them up ourselves and stick them on poles, for those who were desperate to know), I was mainly grabbing take-away food or fruit.

One night, a couple of us decided to go to town and have a proper meal. It was not a typical experience. The thing we liked most about food over there is the way that a vendor could simply show up and set up an outdoor restaurant along the main street, then pack up again and leave at the end of the night, as if (cue spooky music) he'd never been there. Our favourite restaurant, therefore, had an address of “no fixed abode”. We were a little disappointed to discover that, on that particular night, we couldn’t find it.

So instead, we walked around, trying to find an good alternative. My friend is very selective about food, so we wandered the streets for some time. Every eating place looked fine to me. But then, I was getting increasingly hungry. After a while, a place that specialised in frozen cabbage would have looked OK! (Sadly, there was no such place.) But my friend was more particular. “Not the right place,” he said, after every place we saw.

Eventually, I saw a place that looked brilliant! Suddenly, I was happy that we’d walked past every other place. It was worth it, just to find the right place: a Mexican restaurant! It was clean, friendly, and the food looked heavenly. “Yes!” I cried. “Let’s eat here!”

My friend, of course, was less impressed. “We’re in Bangkok! We should be eating Thai cuisine, experiencing the culture – but you want to eat Western-style food? It’s not the right place.”

We were fast running out of potential “right places”. “Look, I know we’re in Thailand, but there are some really good things about the West," I fumed. "For starters, nobody starves!”

He was taken aback by this, perhaps surprised that walking around aimlessly for an hour wasn’t something I especially enjoyed doing. However, he wasn’t keen to eat Mexican that night. But he got the point. The next Thai place we saw, he decided, was “the right place.”

The noodles were bland, as was the sauce. The vegetables and beancurd were boiled, and what they lacked in flavour, they presumably had in healthfulness. To make the meal more exciting, I splashed on plenty of chili sauce and poured salt over it (something I rarely do with any food). It wasn't my ideal cuisine. But perhaps, on that particular night, it was the right place.

Tricky Questions about Santa

noivedya — Wed, 06 Dec 2006 00:12:14

Christmas is coming – and it’s time to prepare for the most daunting part of the holiday season, familiar to anyone who knows young children. Yes, we have to convince them once again that Santa Claus exists.

Sadly, children – caught up in the intellectual mind – are becoming Santa-atheists earlier than than they used to. The joy, the spirit of Christmas is leaving them as more and more people tell them that Santa’s not real. How could they possibly think that?

In the past, it would be enough for their parents to say to them: “Of course he’s real!” Their faith in their parents would put things right. But nowadays, they process this information with somewhat more scepticism. They have several points to make. This is how to reply to their trickier questions…

How can Santa be at every kid's house in the world exactly at midnight every Christmas?

Why not? Television allows our favourite stars to appear in millions of homes at once, at exactly the same time. The internet does the same. Let’s just say that Santa can bulk-email himself to everyone’s house simultaneously. It’s as easy as clicking on the Send option. Santa, of course, can use far more sophisticated technology than television or the internet. He doesn’t just send an email, but his whole self, along with a sack of presents. Currently, this hi-tech software is only used by Santa, Bill Gates and the US Military. In 10 years’ time, we’ll all have it – which will save us a bundle in air fares.

Of course, if they still don't believe that Santa can be everywhere at the same time without crashing the system, this is an ideal time to teach them about global time zones. (Good idea! Thanks to Skype and other online phone-calling systems, kids everywhere are now able to phone the other end of the world at their leisure, free of charge. Please explain to them about time differences!)

I don’t have a chimney or a fireplace. How does Santa enter my house?

Santa keeps up with the times – and the latest technology. If he needs to find a way to enter through the electrical heating system, what’s to stop him?

Reindeer can’t fly!

This was always a difficult one. At first, Santa tried using eagles, but even though they could fly, they were pretty useless when it came to pushing his sleigh. Then he tried sled dogs, who (after several weeks of travel) were able to bring presents to all the kids in northern Finland. Unfortunately, as they couldn’t cross the sea, that was as far as they could go. Aeroplanes were also a no-no, for environmental reasons. So Santa Labs (fresh from producing the first chemistry sets and computer games) genetically engineered a few reindeer, so they could fly at hundreds of times the speed of light.

Unethical? Well, just try saying that to the millions of children who look forward to their gifts each year! This is one area where even animal liberationists are happy to turn a blind eye. Besides, Donner, Blitzen, Prancer and the others have been helping Santa for hundreds of years, which is considerably longer than most reindeer life spans. So there are some fringe benefits to being a genetically-engineered super-reindeer.

If Santa has all those millions of cookies and glasses of milk that are left out for him on Christmas Eve, won’t he get fat?

News flash: Santa is fat! This is very useful, as he needs all the body fat he can get to withstand the extreme cold of the North Pole. Unfortunately, after Christmas, he’s so tired that he usually goes straight to bed for another 11 months. When he wakes up, he’s too busy organising schedules and making toys, so he hardly has a chance to have a decent lunch break. Quite simply, the milk and cookies are not just a friendly gesture; they are ESSENTIAL for Santa’s body fuel!

How can Santa afford all those toys?

This one used to stump me. But then, last year, I noticed that all of my nephew's Christmas toys were labelled with the names of toy companies: Fisher Price, Lego, Mattel…

I knew the truth, of course. These toys are made by Santa’s elves! Obviously, however, he accepts sponsorship from all these major multinational companies. He must be making a mint! He should easily be able to afford materials, transport, reindeer feed and salaries (especially as elves, being magical, can work for a lower minimum wage). No problem.

Why does Santa dress so warm, even when it’s summer?

This is a question we've always asked in Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and anywhere else in the southern hemisphere where a white Christmas is unheard-of (except in old songs). Of course, with all the milk and cookies, Santa wants to lose a bit of weight, for health reasons. As any athlete knows, nothing burns off fat more easily than sweat. Santa really looks forward to visiting Australian kids (especially those kids in the piercing Sun of the Outback), so that he can sweat away the calories.

If Santa’s been carting around sacks of toys for over a thousand years, why doesn’t he have a bad back?

For Christmas last year, Santa was given a very good chiropractor! (I'm not sure who gave it to him.)

Generalisation-Y

noivedya — Sun, 03 Dec 2006 23:46:53

I was just reading something in The Bulletin magazine about Generation-Y, which includes anyone born from 1980 to 1994 or thereabouts. I have some friends who are Gen-Y, so I thought I should read about them. They are apparently “indulgent, infantile and in debt” – a group of apolitical, self-absorbed, overconfident mischief-makers.

Who is to blame for Gen-Y? The baby boomers, it would seem. (For those three or four people who don’t know, these are the people born between 1946 and 1964.) The boomers have been raising Gen-Y, spoiling them rotten, and ensuring that they have no common sense.

But let's spare a thought for the generation in the middle: Gen-X, the nice and wholesome people born between 1965 and 1970, who are trapped between those two naughty generations.

I’m a Generation X-er, but not a “typical” one. I didn’t listen to Nirvana, didn’t especially like Pulp Fiction or Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and didn’t have a Commodore 64. When I left school, I decided that I’d easily be able to slip into whatever job I wanted, nothing would ever go wrong with my (very lofty) career goals, and (quite rightly… for a while) if I ever blew all my money, my parents would help me out. After leaving school, all I wanted to do was save the environment – a noble cause, but one that mainly involved living in a van in Western Australia in the hope that I’d stop people logging Malaysian rainforests. Not sure if that worked.

I later took a job, stayed there for seven years (a long time for me), then quit to be a writer – a decision that led me to live off credit cards and be several thousand dollars in debt for many years. (I’m OK now, thanks.) I had no grasp of reality!

So it filled me with dread to find out that there was now a whole generation of people who are exactly like me! What is happening to this once-great nation???

But then it occurred to me that the oldest Gen-Y person is only 26. When I was 26, I considered myself rather young… and so, I assume, do the current 26-year-olds. So let’s wait a few years before we agree that Gen-Y signifies the downfall of civilisation. Back when the boomers were 26, they were all into peace and love. I'm sure they still like all that stuff, but now they have other priorities.

My main worries are for the next generation. Will they go through life being classed as Generation Z? What a demeaning term for anyone!

The Joy of Garage Sales

noivedya — Mon, 27 Nov 2006 01:58:14

Tip of the Day:
When you suffer for any reason,
Just take a few very, very deep breaths.
It can be of some help to you.
- Sri Chinmoy

Two of my favourite activities, conflictingly, are shopping… and getting rid of things.

There are few things more fun than going to a market or a shop, and seeing what’s on offer. Perhaps, if I’m in an extreme mood, I’ll even buy something! But few things are more satisfying than cleaning out your room or garage of all the unnecessary, pointless items that are cluttering the space – especially if this “junk” can go to a good home. If you are very attached to something, but have no use for it, getting rid of it can be therapeutic, lightening your load of one attachment.

A few weeks ago, we had a garage sale at our house. The main reason was to raise rent money for the Sri Chinmoy Centre, but I must admit I was more enticed by the secondary reason: getting rid of stuff. Our garage was so crowded, in fact, that there was no space in it to actually hold a garage sale! Instead, we moved all of our sale items to the front of the garage.

We were still in the midst of doing this, around six in the morning, when we had our first prospective customer. We had made it clear in our newspaper advertisement that the sale would not start until seven, but Amalendu was putting up signs around the area, so one lady decided to come visit.

She wanted books. No particular titles, authors or genres; just books. We were still unpacking our ware, but I confessed that we didn’t have many books to sell.

She poked her head in the garage side door, to see several of my own books – my private library, used for reference and research – stacked in the corner. “There are some books there!” she said.

“Sorry,” I replied, “those aren’t for sale.”

“Yes they are,” said Rathin, wittily. The lady decided that she liked his answer best, and I was afraid that I’d have to tackle her to prevent her from waltzing into the garage and unloading all my books into a sack. Fortunately, I somehow convinced her that Rathin was joking, and she surrendered, albeit reluctantly.

As everyone else conveniently needed to go to work, I manned the garage sale until the afternoon. We didn’t sell everything, of course, but we also said rid ourselves of many needless things that were able to go to a better home. When I buy furniture or other goods, I always like to buy something new (if I can afford it), rather than second-hand. Still, I salute anyone who furnishes their house with objects from garage sales, flea markets and eBay. As there is too much rubbish already filling the world’s landfills, recycled goods are an environmentally sound way to show your harmony with the planet. And they’re, like, cheap.

Even better, if something was really “pre-loved”, it was probably well looked-after – and is hence in immaculate condition. We had a pair of speakers, hand-made with loving care by a genius friend of ours. They had done us proudly in the old Centre, but now it was time to say goodbye. They were too large for our new, cosier Centre.

After all these years, they still sounded great… as Alf demonstrated by playing Mozart CDs through them, so that the music blasted out clearly for all the street to hear. (As it was 7:30 am, I made him stop this… until later.) It sounded so good that we didn’t want to sell them – until we remembered that, of course, we no longer had any need (or space) for them.

One guy, attracted by the sound, asked me how much they were. I gave him a price - $80 – and he started pulling faces. I knew that they were worth every cent, but I was willing to negotiate a little.

“I’ll give you ten,” he offered scornfully. He then talked (in the most expert-sounding way) about what rubbish they were, and that I could get new – and better – ones for that same price from the local shopping mall. I was not convinced, and politely turned down his “generous” “offer”.

He walked away, shaking his head. “You might as well just use them as floaties,” he said – which basically proved a flaw in his self-proclaimed expertise. Whatever the sound quality (which was demonstrably excellent, thank you), they were large timber-framed monsters. They would not make good floaties. Perhaps he meant to say “doorstoppers”, except with these things in the doorway, nobody would be able to get into the house.

I imagine that this kind of guy likes to visit garage sales, feeding on the seller’s ignorance and insecurities so he can get a ridiculously good deal. Several years ago, his ploy might have worked with me. Indeed, I once minded a garage sale where a man asked me about a doohickey that belonged to a friend. It was a great doohickey, one of the best of its kind... and I had no idea what it was, as I admitted. The man then did something unusual: even though he had no idea what this doohickey was, he offered to take it off my hand for considerably less than the marked price. Of course, only a complete twit would let him get away with that!

And I did.

This time, fortunately, I was confident of these speakers. They were worth far more than $10. The guy walked away, doing his best to look unimpressed. Only minutes later, a lady bought the speakers – and happily, her own estimation of their value was considerably higher. She seemed very excited with her new purchase, and I am sure that she is still enjoying them.

So… a customer was happy, and Alf and I were happy because a much-loved pair of speakers had found a good home. I’m sure that the speakers were happy as well, even though they didn't say anything. A perfect resolution: everyone was happy!

An hour later, as the sale was winding down, the guy who had poured scorn over the speakers returned to the garage sale, to see the empty space where the speakers had been. He looked somewhat disappointed, and slunk away quietly.

OK, maybe not everyone was happy…

Memory Implants

noivedya — Mon, 20 Nov 2006 03:31:03

I was talking yesterday about my rediscovery of the songs that were popular during my childhood in the 1980s. But as I sat there playing these songs, reminiscing about Joe Jackson, Blondie, the Go-Betweens, Bucks Fizz and others, a thought occurred to me. I’d like to share it, if I may…

(You’ll notice that I didn’t include links to the aforementioned artists – and with good reason. You know when you’re chatting with someone, and you mention something or someone that makes them light up and causes the conversation to veer off-topic? That’s what links are like! An online opportunity to be distracted. Then again, you could say the same about off-topic paragraphs in the middle of a blog posting. As I was saying…)

Pop music is known as mercurial and disposable – a can of Fanta, where Mozart is a bottle of Dom Perrignon and Stravinsky is bottle of high-quality vodka. But I notice now that, in many cases, pop music is the opposite of disposable. You see, I never really enjoyed Blondie, Joe Jackson etc nearly as much during their heyday as I did years later!

(I always enjoyed Bucks Fizz, though. Please don’t tell anyone.)

The catchy strains of Jackson’s Steppin’ Out take me back to 1983, the good old days of my youth – except for one thing: I didn’t especially enjoy that year.

So does that tune bring back one of my few good memories from that time? Not exactly. I didn’t much like that song until I heard it again, 20 years later. Now I think it’s wonderful! Like a fine wine (and certainly not like a can of Fanta), it has improved with age…

… or has it? Maybe I’m trying to relive a section of my past that I didn’t really live in the first place. The more you look back at the “good old days”, the more you realise that the best thing about them is the memories – and they have only a passing resemblance to the actual events.

OK, now I’ve made my point, here is a link: the music and lyrics to my favourite spiritual song.

Of course, I expect to have a completely different favourite song next week.

Filler Blog Entry

noivedya — Sun, 19 Nov 2006 00:42:56

Just a quick entry today. I've been busy working on a few things... including my small (but nonetheless time-consuming) part in helping with the annual Sri Chinmoy Triple-Triathlon (which begins - and hopefully finishes - this Sunday) and another segment for the new Inspiration News regular podcast. That won't be online for another few weeks, as part of Season 2 - and an exciting new direction.

Oh, and my writing work (including a LOP [large ongoing project - I just made up the acronym] or two) is taking up some time. Due to all of that, I'll admit that my second blog for the week is a little late.

OK, true as all of that is, it's really just an excuse. With Christmas on the way, I'll confess that I've been treating myself... to some extra time-wasting activities!

Foremost among them... some irresponsible person recently introduced me to YouTube, and I've been using it for only the most scholarly activity: studying video clips of 1980s pop songs. (I've always considered that Bucks Fizz were sadly underrated. Discuss.) Mind you, these were the songs of my childhood - and they helped to shape me into the adult I am today. To truly understand myself, I must study the works of Joe Jackson, the Go-Betweens and other philosophers.

Incidentally, wasn't that the most appalling excuse you've ever heard for indulging in old pop music? (But surely I don't really need an excuse to listen to Joe Jackson... constantly.) If I really want to know myself, I need to focus more on my meditation and listen to more soulful music.

(And no, by "soulful music" I don't mean Aretha Franklin! That's soul music - and that's fine too, but not really what I mean.)

Incidentally, for those of you were wondering (like I was, a couple of weeks ago) where my friend Alf got the unusual name for his blog, he reveals all in his latest entry. (At least, I think he reveals all. His writings need to be experienced to be... experienced.)

He's also kind enough to talk about this blog... even though I still don't have any new photos.

Why the past might yet save the future...

noivedya — Tue, 14 Nov 2006 17:20:23

There’s been a lot of misery lately about climate change and the environment, which many of us believe to be the greatest problem that the world currently faces. Even if you don’t believe that, you’d have to ignore a heck of a lot of evidence to still believe that it is a trivial (or even non-existent) threat.

People are worried… which might be a good thing, because that’s the only way to ensure that anything is going to be done. Yet people are very pessimistic. After all, this isn’t the first time that millions of people have sworn to do all they can to save the environment. I recall when everyone went Green around 1989, building compost heaps in the garden and buying recycled paper. I decided that I would never again drive a car or eat meat, and I would do whatever I could to help the world. So did everyone else.

Then, a few years later, we all forgot our promises. I started driving a car (though I’m still vegetarian), and the car used petrol and blew out carbon monoxide because manufacturers had lost interest in alternative fuels.

Oh, and we also protested for the environment. I joined a blockade against rainforest destruction in Malaysia, and tried desperately to get arrested (and thereby make some kind of statement) against clearfelling in the forests of NSW.

Before that, the world went Green in 1975, just after a global energy crisis. And before that, the Green movement had begun in earnest with the publication of Rachel Carson's Silent Spring in 1962. Both times, of course, it was temporary.

So now, once again, we’re saying “Oh yeah… I forgot about that problem.”

Some people, understandably, are predicting that we’ll all sink back into torpor, and ignore the world as we destroy it. Just like before.

But I say: Maybe we won’t. Why? Because I’m a history buff!

OK - I’ll explain. Before the environment, the greatest problem facing the world was the Cold War – and the very real threat of nuclear devastation. In the late 1960s, the protest movement came to a head, with millions of (mostly younger) people calling for peace and harmony. Most of these were baby boomers – people born just after World War II, not impressed with the world they were inheriting.

(Yes, you probably know all that. But I'm just getting to the good bit...)

Of course, all their cries for peace did not immediately end the Cold War. That happened twenty years later. This was largely due to one great leader: Mikhail Gorbachev (who was not a baby boomer, but a very wise soul). Of course, other leaders played a role – but all the leaders of the world couldn’t do it by themselves. The dramatic events in Russia and Eastern Europe, which eventually ended the Cold War, were due to regular people – including many baby boomers, who had now grown up and were in positions of greater influence. They still had their ideals (although they had seemingly lain dormant for so long). The bloodless revolution in Czechoslovakia, for example, was called the “velvet revolution” after a 1960s American rock band, the Velvet Underground, who had inspired many freedom fighters (including future president Vaclav Havel) with their anarchic music. The optimism of the sixties had not ended; it just needed more power behind it.

Now, Generation X-ers (like me) have grown up since 1989, and many are in positions where they can change the world. Hopefully, we have not forgotten the passion that we had to save the environment, our oneness with the natural world, our resourcefulness to find and use new forms of energy. If we can remember all that, the world can still be saved.

And about time too! I don't get the impression that we can wait another 15 years…

Momma is still here!

noivedya — Thu, 09 Nov 2006 19:54:57

Some of you might have read my article in the latest Inspiration-Letters, the literary e-zine edited by Mahiruha, and featuring the work of Sri Chinmoy's students.

The article, The Best Food in Town, talks about one of my favourite truisms: that food cooked with love is as good as anything cooked by a Cordon Bleu-trained chef in a five-star restaurant. In particular, it talks about a sweet old lady called "Momma", who set up a mobile soup kitchen in Canberra which I would visit in my youth - at first, because I was broke (and because my equally penniless friends were going). I kept going, however, because the food was so nice.

As I mention in the article, I was walking past not long ago and saw that the soup kitchen was still set up, it was still attracting many grateful youths, but Momma wasn't there. I was afraid to ask about her, just in case I didn't like the answer.

Well... today I discovered that she is still alive and well - and what's more, she still goes out there and does the soup kitchen. (Presumably, she was taking a well-deserved holiday when I last visited.) In fact, last year she was named the inaugural ACT (Australian Capital Territory) Senior Citizen of the Year - something I would have known, if I had been reading the local papers more diligently. What's more, she has just been announced as a finalist this year! She has been doing this since 1979 - some years before I knew about it - and still keeps on giving.

To show the thoroughness of its coverage, the newspaper I was reading even mentioned her name: Stasia Dabrowski. To me (and to hundreds of others over the past three decades), she will always be "Momma".

Well done, Momma! May you (and like-minded people) continue to spread your kindness...