I found my Starbucks Coffeee!
Arlington, Virginia
Dearest Nadia,
There are times I wonder if with time we would have other lives and slowly you and I would not become each other’s center of attraction. I remember my time schedule used to revolve around yours and yours mine. We sometimes write as though we are lovers ourselves. The truth is I am in love with you in a non-lesbian kind of way; its the sort of love which is completely unconditional (unless we are meeting then condition is you come to my house) and you know there is little you can ask of me which I will not do for you.
What is important for us as friends is to always remember where we have come from together, little impressionable and I’d say manipulative 17 yr olds with great ideas on how to live and love. How we came together and became true friends is quite a story and one that I will keep forever in my heart. Its not a story I can readily tell due to the secrets we have between us; but perhaps that mystery is one for both of us only to honour.
I am incredibly happy that you have met Eoin, that you met him at the right time, and that you handled the initial stages of the relationship with great maturity (though at the expense of his frustration!). I hope you both continue to grow together and love each other with so much of passion. I am so so happy he has found a job in Singapore – you both are building your lives together in actual. It all sounds so mature and so far fetched that you could do that with a man no…. I myself am struggling to believe it could be the same with me. How is that possible, we are still so young?
I love you Nadia and want you to know how truly special you are to me. I think after my immediate family members I love you next, and considering the way I treat friends I think you’ve come very far 
Rest your bambi eyes when needed and breathe life into you when you feel down. In any case, I am only a ‘ping!’ away
Love lots,
Add a comment April 1, 2010
Happy Birthday, Natasha!
“We are all born like Catholics, aren’t we-in limbo, without religion, until some figure introduces us to God? After that meeting the matter ends for most of us. If there is a change, it is usually for the lesser rather than the greater; many people seem to lose God along life’s way. That was not my case.”
I am unable to recall the exact time I began to fall in love with this book but I am quite certain it was after I read the passage above. I knew instinctively then that there was a wealth of knowledge I was going to gain from this gem of a book, and this awareness gave me an anticipatory, tingling feeling. You always remind me, Desert Rose, that every sight, every encounter, every action has a meaning; a purpose. I only discovered this recently, and I was more conscious of the underlying purpose behind everything, including the books I read. As with ‘Eat, Pray, Love’, this book had a special significance, especially at this stage of my life where I am keen to explore more about my faith. (and not so much about its rituals, as interesting as those can be at times)
“But religion is more than rite and ritual. There is what the rite and ritual stand for.”
I followed Pi through his spiritual journey from Hinduism, to Christianity and finally, to Islam. His life, even before his foray into the spiritual world, was exciting and fascinating, growing up in the Pondicherry Zoo, owned by his father. His description of the zoo and its beautiful, intriguing animals left me slightly envious.
“To me, it was paradise on earth. I have nothing but the fondest memories of growing up in a zoo. I lived the life of a prince. What maharaja’s son had such vast, luxuriant grounds to play about? What palace had such menagerie? My alarm clock during my childhood was a pride of lions. They were no Swiss clocks, but the lions could be counted upon to roar their heads off between five-thirty and six every morning. Breakfast was punctuated by the shrieks and cries of howler monkeys, hill mynahs and Moluccan cockatoos. I left for school under the benevolent gaze not only of Mother but also of bright-eyed otters and burly American bison and stretching and yawning orang-utans.”
What struck me about Pi’s spiritual journey was the nature of the religions which he was attracted to, and later, embraced. I have often heard of the many similarities that exist with the three religions of the book-Christianity, Judaism and Islam. However, Pi’s first encounter with religious practices was through Hinduism. “I owe to Hinduism the original landscape of my religious imagination”
It was Hinduism that he first grew up understanding, and this paved the way for his attraction to other religions. In the beginning, I thought it strange that it was Hinduism that was the foundation of his religious devotion since it is usually not associated with the other two religions of the book, making me question how it could have served as a springboard to the religions that followed. However, later, I found it appropriate that it was Hinduism that allowed for his acceptance of other faiths. It is the more universal and more accepting nature of Hinduism that made it the best, most appropriate catalyst, to his other spiritual discoveries. The idea of the Supreme Being in Hinduism is well known and it is this simple concept that rightly reduces the usually overrated emphasis on the ‘correct’ religion. The notion of infidels, non-believer, or kafir, is not, I believe, as entrenched in Hinduism, as it is with other religions like Islam. Hinduism was here, the most giving, making the passage to his other discoveries smooth and guiltless.
His understanding of Christianity and Islam was facilitated by two deeply religious figures-a Parish priest, Father Martin and a Sufi, Satish Kumar. His meetings with both men tickled me, partly because of Pi’s wonderful reaction to them, and his lovely sense of humour, but more importantly, the meetings showed me the beauty of these religions. The love that was abundant in The Son, and the brotherhood that was Islam. The scene that was to follow after his acceptance of these three religions was to be expected. Though slightly comical, what with their exaggerated gestures and indignant tones, the three religious men’s heated exchange, was a representation of the extreme intolerance to religious difference today, plus the large scale violence and mindless killing. The spiritual interconnection that Pi had, I thought, was best illustrated through the short passage below.
“His house is a temple. In the entrance hall hangs a framed picture of Ganesha, he of the elephant head. He sits facing out-a rosy-coloured, pot-bellied, crowned and smiling-three hands holding various objects, the fourth held palm out in blessing and in greeting. He is the lord overcomer of obstacles, the god of good luck, the god of wisdom, the patron of learning. Simpatico in the highest. He brings a smile to my lips. At his feet is an attentive rat. His vehicle. Because when Lord Ganesha travels, he travels atop a rat. On the wall opposite the picture is a plain wooden Cross.
In the living room, on a table next to the sofa, there is a small framed picture of the Virgin Mary of Guadalupe, flowers tumbling from her open mantle. Next to it is a framed photo of the black-robed Kaaba, holiest sanctum of Islam, surrounded by a ten-thousandfold swirl of the faithful.
On the television set is a brass statue of Shiva as Nataraja, the cosmic lord of the dance, who controls the motions of the universe and the flow of time. He dances on the demon of ignorance, his four arms held out in choreographic gesture, one foot on the demon’s back, the other lifted in the air. When Nataraja brings this foot down, they ssy time will stop.
There is a shrine in the kitchen. It is set in a cupboard whose door he has replaced with a fretwork arch. The arch partly hides the yellow light bulb that in the evenings lights up the shrine. Two pictures rest behind a small altar: to the side, Ganesha again, and, in the centre, in a larger frame, smiling and blue-skinned, Krishna playing the flute. Both have smears of red and yellow powder on the glass over their foreheads. In a copper dish on the altar are three silver murtis, representations. He identifies them for me with a pointed finger: Lakshmi, Shakti, the mother goddess, in the form of Parvati; and Krishna, this time as a playful baby crawling on all fours.
In between the goddesses is a stone Shiva yoni linga, which looks like half an avocado with a phallic stump rising from its centre, a Hindu symbol representing the male and female energies of the universe. To one side of the dish is a small conch shell set on a pedestal; to the other, a small silver handbell. Grains of rice lie about, as well as a flower just beginning to wilt. Many of these items are annointed with dabs of yellow and red.
On the shelf below are various articles of devotion: a beaker full of water; a copper spoon; a lamp with a wick coiled in oil; sticks of incense; and small bowls full of red powder, yellow powder, grains of rice and lumps of sugar.
There is another Virgin Mary in the dining room.
Upstairs in his office there is a brass Ganesha sitting cross-legged next to the computer, a wooden Christ on the Cross from Brazil on a wall, and a green prayer rug in a corner. The Christ is expressive-He suffers. The prayer rug lies in its own clear space. Next to it, on a low bookstand, is a book covered by a cloth. At the centre of the cloth is a single Arabic word, intricately woven, four letters: an alif, two lams, and a ha. The word God in Arabic.
The book on the bedside table is a Bible.”
Above is one of the most beautiful passages I have read in my entire life, that not once tells, but shows in splendid view, the acceptance of the diverse and universal Being that is God.
The writing style of Martel, Desert Rose, I believe, is a combination of both our preferred writing styles. His poetic, dreamy style serves the first half of the book, where he explores his religious devotion, whilst his more playful, humorous side reveals itself prominently in the second. The former, more lyrical style, awakened the senses to the beauty of surroundings and beliefs he was immersed in, while the latter, earned his story the credibility it needed, given the context. His marvelous ability to tell a story is beyond words. Not once did he have me question, even for a second, the possibility of Pi surviving on a boat with a Royal Bengal tiger, a hyena and an orangutan. I did, however, begin to waver, slightly, when Pi met a blind man, just like himself, who was also living out the same nightmare. This hesitation to doubt however, proved what a remarkable storyteller Martel was. I enjoyed and savoured every word from ‘Life of Pi’, and I cannot wait to re-read this lovely novel, on one of those cold, rainy days under a warm blanket, sipping on hot cocoa.
Add a comment October 15, 2009
2nd Feb, drinking mummy’s tea at home, Sengkang Singapore
‘Life of Pi’ Review
Happy Birthday, Natasha!
“We are all born like Catholics, aren’t we-in limbo, without religion, until some figure introduces us to God? After that meeting the matter ends for most of us. If there is a change, it is usually for the lesser rather than the greater; many people seem to lose God along life’s way. That was not my case.”
I am unable to recall the exact time I began to fall in love with this book but I am quite certain it was after I read the passage above. I knew instinctively then that there was a wealth of knowledge I was going to gain from this gem of a book, and this awareness gave me an anticipatory, tingling feeling. You always remind me, Desert Rose, that every sight, every encounter, every action has a meaning; a purpose. I only discovered this recently, and I was more conscious of the underlying purpose behind everything, including the books I read. As with ‘Eat, Pray, Love’, this book had a special significance, especially at this stage of my life where I am keen to explore more about my faith. (and not so much about its rituals, as interesting as those can be at times)
“But religion is more than rite and ritual. There is what the rite and ritual stand for.”
I followed Pi through his spiritual journey from Hinduism, to Christianity and finally, to Islam. His life, even before his foray into the spiritual world, was exciting and fascinating, growing up in the Pondicherry Zoo, owned by his father. His description of the zoo and its beautiful, intriguing animals left me slightly envious.
“To me, it was paradise on earth. I have nothing but the fondest memories of growing up in a zoo. I lived the life of a prince. What maharaja’s son had such vast, luxuriant grounds to play about? What palace had such menagerie? My alarm clock during my childhood was a pride of lions. They were no Swiss clocks, but the lions could be counted upon to roar their heads off between five-thirty and six every morning. Breakfast was punctuated by the shrieks and cries of howler monkeys, hill mynahs and Moluccan cockatoos. I left for school under the benevolent gaze not only of Mother but also of bright-eyed otters and burly American bison and stretching and yawning orang-utans.”
What struck me about Pi’s spiritual journey was the nature of the religions which he was attracted to, and later, embraced. I have often heard of the many similarities that exist with the three religions of the book-Christianity, Judaism and Islam. However, Pi’s first encounter with religious practices was through Hinduism. “I owe to Hinduism the original landscape of my religious imagination”
It was Hinduism that he first grew up understanding, and this paved the way for his attraction to other religions. In the beginning, I thought it strange that it was Hinduism that was the foundation of his religious devotion since it is usually not associated with the other two religions of the book, making me question how it could have served as a springboard to the religions that followed. However, later, I found it appropriate that it was Hinduism that allowed for his acceptance of other faiths. It is the more universal and more accepting nature of Hinduism that made it the best, most appropriate catalyst, to his other spiritual discoveries. The idea of the Supreme Being in Hinduism is well known and it is this simple concept that rightly reduces the usually overrated emphasis on the ‘correct’ religion. The notion of infidels, non-believer, or kafir, is not, I believe, as entrenched in Hinduism, as it is with other religions like Islam. Hinduism was here, the most giving, making the passage to his other discoveries smooth and guiltless.
His understanding of Christianity and Islam was facilitated by two deeply religious figures-a Parish priest, Father Martin and a Sufi, Satish Kumar. His meetings with both men tickled me, partly because of Pi’s wonderful reaction to them, and his lovely sense of humour, but more importantly, the meetings showed me the beauty of these religions. The love that was abundant in The Son, and the brotherhood that was Islam. The scene that was to follow after his acceptance of these three religions was to be expected. Though slightly comical, what with their exaggerated gestures and indignant tones, the three religious men’s heated exchange, was a representation of the extreme intolerance to religious difference today, plus the large scale violence and mindless killing. The spiritual interconnection that Pi had, I thought, was best illustrated through the short passage below.
“His house is a temple. In the entrance hall hangs a framed picture of Ganesha, he of the elephant head. He sits facing out-a rosy-coloured, pot-bellied, crowned and smiling-three hands holding various objects, the fourth held palm out in blessing and in greeting. He is the lord overcomer of obstacles, the god of good luck, the god of wisdom, the patron of learning. Simpatico in the highest. He brings a smile to my lips. At his feet is an attentive rat. His vehicle. Because when Lord Ganesha travels, he travels atop a rat. On the wall opposite the picture is a plain wooden Cross.
In the living room, on a table next to the sofa, there is a small framed picture of the Virgin Mary of Guadalupe, flowers tumbling from her open mantle. Next to it is a framed photo of the black-robed Kaaba, holiest sanctum of Islam, surrounded by a ten-thousandfold swirl of the faithful.
On the television set is a brass statue of Shiva as Nataraja, the cosmic lord of the dance, who controls the motions of the universe and the flow of time. He dances on the demon of ignorance, his four arms held out in choreographic gesture, one foot on the demon’s back, the other lifted in the air. When Nataraja brings this foot down, they ssy time will stop.
There is a shrine in the kitchen. It is set in a cupboard whose door he has replaced with a fretwork arch. The arch partly hides the yellow light bulb that in the evenings lights up the shrine. Two pictures rest behind a small altar: to the side, Ganesha again, and, in the centre, in a larger frame, smiling and blue-skinned, Krishna playing the flute. Both have smears of red and yellow powder on the glass over their foreheads. In a copper dish on the altar are three silver murtis, representations. He identifies them for me with a pointed finger: Lakshmi, Shakti, the mother goddess, in the form of Parvati; and Krishna, this time as a playful baby crawling on all fours.
In between the goddesses is a stone Shiva yoni linga, which looks like half an avocado with a phallic stump rising from its centre, a Hindu symbol representing the male and female energies of the universe. To one side of the dish is a small conch shell set on a pedestal; to the other, a small silver handbell. Grains of rice lie about, as well as a flower just beginning to wilt. Many of these items are annointed with dabs of yellow and red.
On the shelf below are various articles of devotion: a beaker full of water; a copper spoon; a lamp with a wick coiled in oil; sticks of incense; and small bowls full of red powder, yellow powder, grains of rice and lumps of sugar.
There is another Virgin Mary in the dining room.
Upstairs in his office there is a brass Ganesha sitting cross-legged next to the computer, a wooden Christ on the Cross from Brazil on a wall, and a green prayer rug in a corner. The Christ is expressive-He suffers. The prayer rug lies in its own clear space. Next to it, on a low bookstand, is a book covered by a cloth. At the centre of the cloth is a single Arabic word, intricately woven, four letters: an alif, two lams, and a ha. The word God in Arabic.
The book on the bedside table is a Bible.”
Above is one of the most beautiful passages I have read in my entire life, that not once tells, but shows in splendid view, the acceptance of the diverse and universal Being that is God.
The writing style of Martel, Desert Rose, I believe, is a combination of both our preferred writing styles. His poetic, dreamy style serves the first half of the book, where he explores his religious devotion, whilst his more playful, humorous side reveals itself prominently in the second. The former, more lyrical style, awakened the senses to the beauty of surroundings and beliefs he was immersed in, while the latter, earned his story the credibility it needed, given the context. His marvelous ability to tell a story is beyond words. Not once did he have me question, even for a second, the possibility of Pi surviving on a boat with a Royal Bengal tiger, a hyena and an orangutan. I did, however, begin to waver, slightly, when Pi met a blind man, just like himself, who was also living out the same nightmare. This hesitation to doubt however, proved what a remarkable storyteller Martel was. I enjoyed and savoured every word from ‘Life of Pi’, and I cannot wait to re-read this lovely novel, on one of those cold, rainy days under a warm blanket, sipping on hot cocoa.
Add a comment October 15, 2009