One more workshop


Yes. This was a workshop that was truly different from all others I have taken.  Not only did my mind get fed to a sumptuous feast of information, my body was fed nourishing, delectable food by a special lady in the kitchen.

I am speaking of a StoryStudio  workshop held at Ragdale in Lake Forest, Illinois.

The written and spoken material made me think, the students and staff encouraging, and the grounds at Ragdale inviting, all adding to a very productive workshop experience.

I can’t claim I accomplished pages and pages of writing, but discussing works by Anne Lemott and Joan Beard have set me on a path which I hope will soon lead to measurable progress in my current memoir, “The Song of the Mountains.”


July fourth, 2012

   Fourth of July, 2012                                   


What is this day without fireworks?

I would be insulting the land I have grown to love.

So, I joined my grandson to

sit by a field and watch the fireworks.

Got to the park early and claimed seats in the grass,

and as we impatiently waited for it to get dark,

we played a game ,throwing a nurf ball


A huge golden moon stood sentinel at the east

horizon.   It added mystique.

When, finally the show began,

blasts of red white blue and green

filled the skies in front of us,

giant sparklers rose one after the other

in rapid-fire sequence.


Now the show was all white, turning to gold dust.

It was a tossup; hard to decide

which one was more beautiful?

All colors or just white and gold?

Tough decision, but lucky for our eyes,

All colors were repeated, and white explosions

that melted into a golden lamé draping the skies





Closed my eyes and remembered.

Indian Independence came in August 1947.

Within two years the Indian Republic formed

first Republic day Parade in January 1950,

at the Pangode military base in my town,

Lord Mountbatten came to say goodbye

before he left for England for good.


Prancing white horses leading,

the tricolor orange, white and green flag flying high,

and the new national anthem sung loud with pride.

My dad had already taught us the words

from poet Tagore’s rendering.

Then came the fireworks, dazzling and deafening

I held tight on to my dad’s hand.

Free.  We were free at last

to define our own destiny.

And mine was to come far far away,

across the seven seas to this land of the free.

Initial heartaches disappeared when I

learned to love, respect and care for my adopted country.

And, here I stand proudly,

hand over heart

in honor of the great red, white, and blue






I have two different kinds of dreams, most of us do.

One I dream when I am asleep, and the other when I am awake. It is in the way I live my life in the times between my dreams that I define myself.
I have found it important that I take heed in both types of dreams. They have taught me lessons in understanding myself, face the ups and downs in my life, and helped to find a fine balance in my life.

What is Shaku Dreaming?

The Himalayan Mountain range, as I saw it in 2011

The Himalayan Mountain range, as I saw it in 2011

I had been dreaming about bathing in the holy waters of Maa Ganga since I was 11 years old.
In 2011 I was able to travel with a group of pilgrims, including family members to Gangotri, where the River Ganges originates from the Himalayas. I was blessed and energized by the power of her rushing waters.

My Pilgrimage to Maa Ganga, or Mother Ganges (as we call the River Ganges,) took me to the slopes of the mighty Himalayan mountains wherefrom four tributaries of the River Ganges flow down to nourish the plains of North India.
My memoir, Song of the Mountains, documents my spiritual voyage in the Himalayan Mountains.

My blog of this memoir can be read at