
I’m a lover of stories (maybe a collector of stories?). The house I’m living in is located on Flight Lt Sudhir Pawar Road. I found out early that Sudhir Pawar was actually related to my landlady. He was her uncle. Once on a sortie, the plane malfunctioned and he crash landed. The government named the road on which he lived after him. Once upon a time there were several bungalows on this road, however now there are only two left, one of which is the one I’m staying in. The compound has 3 bungalows within it, and the grave of a fakir. That piqued my interest.
Yesterday, I had a chance to speak to my landlady’s father who is a retired architect. In his 80s now, he is bedridden but his mind is spry and alert. Deaf since the age of 17, he approached Morarji Desai for permission to travel abroad (in the 50s) to see if there were any doctors who could help him with his hearing. Morarji Desai provided 400 pounds and letters of references to top doctors in Austria to help him out. He set sail. While on a quest to find a cure for his hearing loss, he managed to get a job in London, rented a Viscount’s house, learned lip reading from nuns in Birmingham, travelled all over Europe and finally decided to come home to get married and look after his younger brothers. Still deaf, he decided on a final jaunt to Dubai for work before he came to India to settle down and start his own architecture firm.
So I decided to ask him about the fakir’s grave. “No no he doesn’t walk…he doesn’t go anywhere.”
“What?” I was puzzled.
“Yes, he doesn’t walk anymore. We’ve created a walkway for him and given him a house, so he doesn’t bother us. He stays there only.” So he was talking about the fakir.
The house he’s referring to is right behind the room which I’ve taken. There’s a tree under which the fakir lies. For obvious reasons I choose not to dwell on that right now. However, I will try and get a picture of that house and tree one of these days.
Ganesh Chaturti is a big deal in Maharashtra and today was one of the first holidays
(besides Sunday). I realized this only last night and I got so excited when I realized last night that I could actually read all night if I wanted to. That’s exactly what I planned on doing, but stumbled upon ‘The Painted Veil’ on YouTube. I’m having issues putting the book down these days, and I was curious to see how they’ve done the movie.
I could hear ‘Ganpati bappa moriya!‘ as my hosts brought their Ganpati home and I went up later to see what they’ve done. Family members have been visiting all day and festivity is in the air. Tomorrow is the visarjan, where they will take the idol and submerge it the river. Good to be in Maharashtra at this time.





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qbut at the end of the day we return to the group, enriched by all our adventures. From a small group of 3, we’ve grown to a vibrant group of 10. A year ago, when I went to visit my parents for 2 months, I had created a program that I wanted the girls to follow while I was away. It was a very general outline, and to my delight, one of the girls still had it saved on her phone. She sent the entire routine to me and I decided to make a few modifications to it to suit the practitioners after an added year of practice. Here it is:
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and the potholes of the Bannerghatta road faded away and we were on the dusty country roads. Here there were no signboards and everything looked the same. Perhaps the danger of getting lost was very real, which is why our host kept on repeatedly calling us to ensure we were safe. That is, when we got connectivity. The rest of the time we kept on going on a hunch. Driving a rickety old Alto over craggy rocks and stones and on terrain meant for four wheel drive is no mean feat. Every time I saw a mound of formidable rocks, I would set my jaw and press along. My own man vs nature adventure.


temperature deep in the jungle is a couple of degrees lower than in the city. And I certainly didn’t expect to sleep out in the open inside a mesh hut. The still remember my first night at the farm. The croaks of the frogs, and right outside the hut, the river illuminated by the light of the moon, the silhouette of the trees framing my view. I snuggled deeper into my warm razai and drifted off into the most peaceful sleep ever.![POMELO_20160529164649_save[1]](https://yogawithpragya.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/pomelo_20160529164649_save1-1.jpg)






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of young girls, but he had a huge farm with banyan trees and lakes, horses, a humungous collection of music and great food. The night we reached we stayed up late into the night talking to our host and getting to know each other (and to some extent getting to know ourselves better too). The next day we hiked up a mountain post a cup of coffee and returned famished to a breakfast of simple local fare. We talked, read, listened to music, talked some more, had a huge breakfast and before we knew it, it was time to leave. The time we spent at the farm really made me think about the kinds of lives we lead. Lives largely revolving around traffic (pollution) or food (junk). Whatever little time I spent at the farm reinforced a few ideas that I already had about life, but in the hustle bustle of daily life, we tend to forget. The four simple truths that were reinforced for me during my stay at the farm are:

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