Brandon Bays - The Journey

THE JOURNEY - BRANDON BAYS
  
   Brandon Bays was in the mind and healing business, as one of the leading trainers with Anthony Robbins, a personal growth trainer in America. She lived an apparently healthy, happy life but in 1992 she discovered that she had a tumour as large as a basketball. Her doctor recommended surgery but Brandon refused to go under the knife. In six and a half weeks, through a self-cleansing programme that she intuitively devised, she was able to heal herself. She attributes her quick recovery to her faith in the Source (or the Infinite Intelligence that some of us call God) and also her belief in cellular healing, as espoused by Dr Deepak Chopra.
  
   Now what, you may ask, is cellular healing? It is a fact that the body's cells are constantly being regenerated. The liver cells are renewed every six weeks, skin cells every three weeks and the cells of the eye every two days. Now you would probably want to know why,  when someone has cancer, he may still have it six months down the line? Dr Deepak Chopra says that the "cell memory" is being carried into each new generation of cells, carrying the degenerative cancer cells into the new cell through the cell memory.  Dr. Candace Pert, a well-known cellular biologist, says that when we have an intense, powerful emotion that we repress or shut down, specific chemical changes take place in our bodies. These changes can affect certain cell receptors, blocking those cells from communicating with other cells. And over time, this can lead to disease. When we feel and express our emotions fully however, our cell receptors remain open. Allowing feelings to flow releases cellular memory and unblocks cell receptors .As suppressed emotions start to flow again, cell receptor sites are unblocked and cellular memory is released.

Poem by a 12 year old student

COLOURS AND THEIR SYNONYMS

 
SOME COLOURFUL THOUGHTS

 Our Writers' club has a page on Facebook called 'Writestuff Writing Club. Here some of the 185 members regularly post their thoughts, poems and short stories.

 On one occasion I asked them to mention five synonyms for the colour RED. Sushma Mehta Shah compared red to an angry face, fire, autumn leaves, and the traditional red wedding saree. Priya Sanghvi Madhavdas ‎said that the colour red reminded her of Flushed Cheeks 2) Wine 3) Cherries or Tomatoes 4) Danger....as in when you see red 5) The status of a married woman....her Sindoor . Chaitali Shah said that Red stood for: Heart, Signal, Cross, Fire Brigade, BEST Buses in Mumbai. 18 year old Hina Thadani said that Red made her think of :Blood, Apples, Tail light of vehicles, Ruby and Wine. Phorum Pandya's red: blushing cheeks, mahableshwar strawberries, teary eyes, oozing blood after misusing the kitchen knife. And here's  Aanchal Shetty's Red: 1) the colour I see when I shut my eyes in broad daylight, 2) sindoor that is applied by and to all married bengali women during sindoor khela, 3) red lips and talons of a sharp corporate dresser. 4) red carpet with actress in deep red gowns hugging their perfect figures, 5) autumn leaves.

   Next we had a go at the colour BLUE.
Aanchal Shetty saw Blue in: 1) the Ashok Chakra in our flag, 2) the bottle of Camel Ink, 3) the ink stain on fingers and white uniform (that I wore with pride as it denoted our transition from primary to secondary section), 4) the ocean with its azure waters that beckons one to leave the safety of the shore and venture into the unknown, 5) the ink blue sky sprinkled with stars that hold the promise of sweet dreams and lull me to sleep .Swapna Redij sang the blues of the Blue sea at Somnath, Blue waters of the Narmada, Blue mountains, Blue sky in Ladakh, Blue ink, Blue eyes, Bluebells, Blueberries, Films like Blue, Avatar and Saawariya, The Blue Nile, Blue Gods (Ram, Krishna), She continued by going blue in the face, blue heavens, colours navy blue, sky blue, royal blue; blues singer . To Phorum Pandya blue meant: Camlin pastel paint bottle, peacock's feather, Krishna,  Blue Frog, the nightclub, deep sea water and sadly, also heart ache.

The Deluge - memories of 26th July 2005

Dirty water everywhere 

   We watched, at first in fascination, then trepidation, as the water steadily crept into the building compound, then slowly seeped into our house. Frantically we tried to remove everything from the ground level of the first room into the next room. A feeling of helplessness gave way to horror as we watched the clear water grow murky because of the gutter water now seeping into the rooms at the back from the kitchen and toilet.

   My younger son and I emptied the lower shelves of the cupboard, which contained clothes, books etc and dumped them on the bed. Surely the water would not rise so high! But we were wrong. The flood had started around 3 pm and by 7 pm we were standing in knee-deep water. Our one year old Hyundai Accent in the compound was now covered with water up to the headlights. The plants we had purchased from the Green Grower nursery in Bandra were still in the car. The fish we purchased for the aquarium in the office were still in the plastic bag in the house. We put the bag in a bucket of water but as the water rose, the bag moved out and joined the medley flotsam of newspapers, buckets, mugs, slippers, mats, bottle caps, worms and cockroaches.

   By 9 pm the water level had reached the mattresses on the bed and the sofa-cum-bed. All the clothes and other things we kept on the bed were slowly getting wet. The neighbours called us upstairs to share a meal but we hesitated – still waiting for the water to come down so that we could make our way to Colaba, or at least Mahim, where we could spend the night, but it was not to be. Finally at about 10 pm we went up to the first floor and had dinner prepared by our neighbours.

   Our neighbours gave us mats to sleep on but we were restless.  At about 11.30 pm the water had reached the electric meters in the meter room on the ground floor and suddenly the lights went out. With the help of torches we kept looking out at the water level but looking didn’t help at all. The water kept rising higher and higher. Now we could only see the tops of our cars in the compound. The scooters and bikes were already buried in the pool of water.

   Calls kept coming in on the one mobile with us that was still in use (my BPL phone was out of service). We learnt that one sister-in-law was stuck in her office at Malad. My brother-in-law went to pick his niece who was stranded in the school bus. He finally picked her up at 10.30 pm. My other sister-in-law was stranded near the Siddhi Vinayak Temple at Prabhadevi. A friend who worked in a hotel had to spend the night there. The few  people who managed to return home at night into our building had to wade through water that was neck deep. Our compound and adjoining roads were now a swimming pool.

Why do you Write?

In an essay titled ‘Why I write’ George Orwell  of ‘Animal Farm’ fame had this to say about his journey as a writer.

 I write because there is some lie that I want to expose, some fact to which I want to draw attention, and my initial concern is to get a hearing. But I could not do the work of writing a book, or even a long magazine article, if it were not also an aesthetic experience. Anyone who cares to examine my work will see that even when it is downright propaganda it contains much that a full-time politician would consider irrelevant. I am not able, and do not want, completely to abandon the world view that I acquired in childhood.

   Joan Didion – author of ‘the year of Magical Thinking’ says that a writer is a person whose most absorbed and passionate hours are spent arranging words on pieces of paper. I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.

‘Why do you write?’ I asked the members of the Writestuff Writing Club. Here are some of the responses

Phorum Pandya

It was a rainy Saturday morning. “Don’t go to work today,” my boyfriend suggested. Who’s going to work, I thought to myself. I’m going to write, I smiled, to myself . “It’s production day, it’s  the day we put the edition to bed and I HAVE to go,” I answered.

“So you won’t change your mind?” he asked.

I picked up my backpack, put on my windcheater and opened my umbrella, before stepping into the rain.

Writing is my shadow. Sometimes, when a creative block strikes, I detest writing. But it stalks me. The more I run away from writing, the more it creeps into my system…

Investigative reporter J Dey was shot dead on June 11, 2011.

His fault (according to the underworld) – was that he wrote. Truthful reports. And two books. About the underworld.

Would he have changed his profession if he knew this day awaited him? I doubt.

He was the first reporter whose copy I was given to edit. As a cub editor, I often stammered while asking him questions. While subbing one report, I had called him five times in ten minutes. The sixth time, I apologised.

“You can call me a hundred times. I understand,” his voice smiled through the telephone.

That’s all it took to look up to this senior reporter with pride and respect.

To me, he was a like the Big Friendly Giant (BFG) from Roald Dahl’s book with the same title.

At this moment, news channels are flashing reports about his death. Five bullets were reportedly pumped into his body in broad daylight.

Not many know he started out has an environment reporter before switching to crime. He loved plants and animals, and had the friendliest smile ever.

I never met him again after I quit MiD DAY in 2009. But, he came to my mind often. Sometimes, when I read his bylines and sometimes for all the ‘underworld’ stories he had narrated while we sipped chai in the office canteen.

You will be remembered, BFG.

                …………..

I write, for it is my fate and my destiny.

I write. That’s all I know.

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Phorum Pandya  writes for Hindustan Times

Saurabh Gupta

I write bacause the silence of mind create thoughts...
I write bacause every beings and no beings communicate with me through universal language...
I write because I understand that "words are the most ultimate creation of the universe, without which every atom will loose its recognition..
I write because I cannot cry..
I write because I cannot tell you what I did not like about you..
I write because you went away and I have no one to talk..
I write bacause no one understands me better than myself..
I write becase I cannot live without it.
I write because I was made to..
I write because thats how I breathe..
Actually I don't write, "My imaginary pen does in association with my mind"

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Manohar Bhatia

I write,because I observe
the happenings of the
world around me.... that
can be an experience, incident,
conversation,interview,meditation.....

Manohar Bhatia is a businessman

Kiran Pundlik Patil

I write because my mind doesnt' allow me to carry on the worldly burden in my mind. And the only way to lighten my mind is to pen down those thoughts and pondering of hours. I write because i can not help it out. I write because my intuition compells me to do so. I write because commotion in my mind doest not stop unless i write it down. I write because i can! But the question remains unanswered wether i write to please myself or to please thousand hundreads of empty souls strolling around on the road with bare feet desperatly wanting to be fed with intellect.
I WRITE BECAUSE I AM HAPPY DOING THIS!

Patil is a lecturer in a technical institute.

Sunil Khadawala

i write as i am not wrong
mostly
i write as i am not left
cpi, cpi (m) communists eeeekss
i write as i do not bite
i am a paper tiger only

.
i write as i bleed
but blood scares me                             
i write as life makes me
a forced writer
i write as i have 
limited tears 
i write as my heart
can take no more

 Sunil is a businessman who occasionally raves and rants about politics

-Chaitali Shah

I write what I see. 
I write what I hear.
I write what I feel.
I write what I read.
I read what I write.
I write my thoughts. 
I write to clear my thoughts.
I write to give direction to my thoughts.
I write my dreams.
I write because I enjoy writing.

Chaitali is an artist

---Karthik Nambiar

I write because I can. I am not sure how I can explain why I write. I write just because I think my brain can not hold all these thoughts and that it needs to come out. Also the thrill of writing with a pencil on paper is far more than typing something and when the pencil in my hand touches a paper it has to end with an artistic expression, be it a drawing or a written piece. I guess I write just like that.

Karthik revels in the fact that he is ‘awesomely unemployed’ right now.

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Sunny Pant

I write because I have stories to tell,
the roads i have walked, from heaven to hell

I write because sometimes I just want to just let go,
to express delight, to share a sorrow

I write because it brings me together,
it tickles my senses, like a Peacocks feather

I write because of all the wrongs,
they cannot be set right, but can be sung as songs

I write because of everything that I have left behind,
i cannot go back or hit rewind

I write because time never stops ticking,
to escape the gravity of life, to give myself wings

I write because theres a void to fill,
all those lost thoughts, all those feelings in my "Dil"

I write because my it keeps my soul alive,
makes me feel human, a real person inside 

I write because I have a stories to tell,
the roads i have walked, from heaven to hell

Amen.

Saumitra Pant works for Google as an AdWords Associate

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It’s that time of the year again. Schools and colleges re-open and so do the heavens. Some people look forward to the rains which bring a respite from the summer’s searing heat and for others rainy days and Mondays always makes them gloomy. For those out-of-towners traveling in Mumbai can be quite an experience. Avinash, who’s  from Hyderabad and Lorraine who hails from  Goa share their experiences.

 ‘Commuting’  - by Avinash Agarwal.

For a person staying in the ruthless city of Mumbai, this is second nature. Millions of pushing-shoving-sweating-stinking-irritable commuters on this city’s rails and roads have given a new meaning to the word. It has lost its charm and become a daily battle, with nothing glorifying about it.

But there’s a reason people say, “Enjoy the journey, not the destination” and “When you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em”. Fuse the two sayings together and you’ll see, there’s simply no way out! You might as well enjoy the commute while you commute.

Commuting is much more than just getting from place to place. It’s more than a mechanical activity involving 2 or 4 (or more) wheels. It’s the green and blue and vividly colored blurs on the way, as you look out the window. It’s that evergreen track the radio station surprises you with, in the midst of their daily buffet of advertisements. It’s the touch of that soft hand when you are dawdling in the name of walking, not really headed in any direction. It’s that feeling of wanting to go someplace and reaching the crossroads, then realizing that your destination is called ‘right here, right now’.

Enjoy the commute!

Commuting –  by Lorraine Fernandes

I remember my first train ride in Mumbai. I was SO kicked!

I had come from Goa, where all you get is rickety buses that take ages to reach your destination. And now, I was travelling in this marvelous system!

My profile picture that week was of the logo of the ladies compartment.

For a long time I’d stand at the door and feeling so inspired. I’d watch the different women and wonder about their lives

I think my excitement about the Mumbai train network died a heroic death when I unknowingly travelled by a Virar fast. It was the monsoons and I was in one of those old trains that do not forewarn you about the next stop.

When I finally made it to the door after pushing, shoving and hitting, I got onto the platform with the crowd. It was a magical, out of body experience. I was levitating; My feet were three inches above ground and I was moving! Then, suddenly, as if bursting a bubble, the crowd dispersed and I was brought down to my feet. Thump.

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Would you like to make your Answering Machine Recordings more interesting? Maybe you could consider these unusual ones contributed by Avinash and Lorraine.

·         “I was waiting all week. And NOW you call?! BAD TIMING!”

·         “Osama is NOT DEAD. It’s all a Top-secret US conspiracy. Your phone shall self destruct after the beep. RUN for your life!”

·         “I wish I could take this call. But I don’t want to. I’ve got better things to do”

·         “EEEW! Your breath smells NASTY! Even over the wire. Please brush after the beep”

·         “This is the first telephone set ever invented. It even has Graham Bell’s fingerprints on it. What you say could rewrite history. Choose your next words carefully”

·         “You can wait for the beep. Or you can SHUT UP now. There’s a reason I didn’t take this call”

·         “Hi. You’ve dialed a wrong number. Please disconnect and redial”

Hi, I’d like to order a large pizza. Pepperoni and extra cheese.

Your telephone is going to explode in 3,2,1…*beep*

GET OUT OF MY LIFE, AND NEVER CALL ME AGAIN! You mother *beep*

No, I’m not out. I’m actually at home sitting next to the phone. I just like to screen people before I actually pick up the phone.

This is a test; if I pick up the phone I like you.

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