My baggage of books I authored, The Saffron Path and The Walking Monk – Poems.1, was dispatched successfully, destined for Tampa from the Toronto Airport. In the line for security there was a long wait for the bins to arrive for our carry on. Once my goods got through, the buzzer alarmed, addressing my new bionic knees. I waited for quite some time for a male security to search me. Next, I went in queue for the US customs. It was a long lineup. I covered at least three rounds on my japa m
monk (4)
A poem by Shantipriya to The Walking Monk:
3 DAYS OF THE WALKING MONK
O’er Suriname’s green and sunlit land
A monk walks softly, staff in hand
Bhaktimarga Swami, with steps so true
Guided hearts to a higher view
Three days he stayed, a fleeting grace
His spirit brightened every space
With every mile, each stride so pure
He taught of paths that can endure
Through city streets and forest trails
We shared our stories, songs, and tales
Forty
Before tucking into bed last night my host, Sreyas, a doctor at one of Ottawa’s hospitals, brought me to see his father, 91, recovering from surgery. This is one of those comforting obligations that goes with the priestly portfolio. The next morning, however, I had the pleasure to visit, not the aged and mature, but those classes of youngsters at the Bhakta Prahlad Montessori School.
Krishna Dulal, who is sometimes described as entrepreneur extraordinaire, is also the manager of the school, and
Anita Sharma was just a little girl when she and her parents and two brothers started coming around. Her dad and mum came from the Punjab, and the family is now in their third generation here.
Successful? Yes! When she mentioned she has a nephew who's now a doctor, I was quite surprised how fast everything evolves with the generations.
Does she have her own family? I asked her and she smiled and said something about "updating." Anyway, she's married to her career as an anchor/reporte
