India Book House

Every year, it’s not guaranteed that my beloved and I will take a vacation. We do take time off throughout the year, but an actual dedicated vacation is something a bit new to us, after almost a decade of being together. While there are a few other trips on the potential horizon, this past week has been it for the year. We mostly piddled around the house and around town this week, and bounced a few travel plans around – finally settling on a day trip to Chicago. Saturday. My parents came with us, and it really made all the difference. Our plans were basic: Drive to northern Indiana, take the South Shore Line into the city and use the L to get everywhere, everywhere being two comic book shops for my beloved and Chicago’s Little India for me.

What actually happened was that we all carpooled into the city and got confused almost immediately within China Town, parked in China Town, boarded the L there and took it north to Devon Street, where Little India was supposed to have been. The first 20 minutes in the city and the last 20 minutes in the city were probably the most confusing. Luckily, the very first person we encountered was an L employee who was about as helpful as she could have been without actually riding the L with us – and she actually did do that breifly. You can see her below.

As soon as we boarded the L, we shot from the south side to the north and exited as close as possible to Devon Street, which Google indicates is the Little India of Chicago. Unfortunately, what Google doesn’t share is that there’s a good mile (more?) trek from the Loyola stop on the L to where Little India actually begins. On a hot summer day with Midwest humidity, walking a bajillion city blocks is miserable. Just about as miserable, though, is getting to your supposed destination and repeatedly finding only the same kind of stores: Groceries, dress shoppes, and eateries. Occasionally, we’d see a phone place or a salon of some kind, but the variety was lacking in the most disappointing way. Further, here in Indy, puja items are mostly bought at the Indian grocery stores. In Chicago, most of the groceries in Little India are actually more Muslim (Pakistani) than Hindu. In fact, this area of the city is alternately known as “Indo-pak” because of the very prominent Muslim presence. The result, as far as my shopping was concerned, was that none of the groceries we passed carried Hindu puja items like here in Indy. However, the closest thing we found to fulfill my needs actually was a bookstore and it was a treasure indeed!

The treasure trove discovered at the edge of Chicago’s Little India is called India Book House. We were almost passing it before we knew we were upon it, and after checking out a few Ganesha murtis in the window, decided entry was mandatory. The only way our time spent there could have gone better is if I were made of a little more of money than I am. This place was mostly a book store, but also carried a significant array of mandirs, music, DVDs, CDs, and murtis – many of which were of Ganesha. We spent a good hour in the store while I examined every square inch of the place, making sure no Ganesham went unnoticed. I left with five books: Shree MahaGanesh Siddha Vrat, The Book of Ganesha, Srimad Bhagavadgita (I have about 20 different versions of the Gita, but this is the copy most used at my temple here in Indy and I’ve been looking for an exact copy), The Thousand Names of Ganesha (this particular publication is only available for Ganesha, Vishnu, and Shiva), & Ganesha Puja Vidhi (a manual on proper Ganesha puja protocol as published by the Chinmaya Mission Trust.

I also left with no less than eight very unique Ganesha murtis some of which were good ole chaturbhuj forms, but I also nabbed a fantastic panchamukh and a 16-armed Mahaganapati which is likely to replace the Nrityaganapati as the mahamurti in my home’s mandir. I only say these are unique because I search the local stores and the internet on a somewhat regular basis and I’ve either never encountered these murtis before, or I may have seen close resemblances but not exact. Further, while I’ll admit to having spent hundreds of dollars more than I should have, I know from having already looked far and wide that the same murtis in most other places would be significantly more pricey. The multiple hundreds of American dollars that I spent were well-spent, indeed. Below, you’ll see a pic my dad took of me near one of the shelves with Ganesha murtis. I feel like the pic is a little goofy, but considering how exhausted I was from the trek there, the heat/humidity experienced, and then being nearly blissed out at the finds, goofy is what you’re bound to get from me.

Like the L employee, the man and woman who own and work the India Book House were immensely helpful and kind. Well, mostly the woman. The man mostly just tried to sell me on things I’d already spent 40 minutes looking at and decided against. That was annoying. She, however, assisted me numerous times making sure to keep my items at the register, freeing my hands free to grab more Ganeshams. She also gave me a couple swastikas free. And boon of boons! Near the end of my time there, I asked about locating some rakhis for upcoming Raksha Bandhan – one of my favorite Hindu holidays, and one I’ve been slowly preparing for. They didn’t have any, but she took my address and asked how many I wanted and how fancy I wanted them. I gave her all that info and she promised to grab me some directly from India, ship them to my home address, AND insisted I didn’t pay her for this! We’ll see if she delivers on her promise. If so, I’ll be quite pleased to finish my gifts to people! I still regret not getting a pic with them when I had the chance.

I’m not superstitious, but I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit to thanking Ganesha in my mind and heart when we found the India Book House. We’d walked SO far already, had seen mostly useless stores – half of which were strictly Islamic – and were really about to give up, when we very suddenly found ourselves at the storefront. I’ve taken photos of each murti purchased and have posted to my Facebook Ganesha Collection album which can be viewed here, I think.

After finishing up at the bookstore, because we had spent so much time just getting there, it was time to grab lunch and get to some of my beloved’s shopping. We grabbed lunch in Lockerbie Square where I saw a Hare Krishna cross the street wearing a dhoti, neck mala, and t-shirt. He disappeared into an apothocary.

We kept moving and found our way to the comic stores sought after by my beloved. Sadly, he was disappointed by his findings, much as I was with Little India in general. And I’ll admit, for being nicely located in a place like Chicago the comic shops weren’t spectacular. In fact, we’ve been to small town places back in Indiana that had more to offer. After visiting his places and buying more things, we meandered a bit around the city ducking into one place or another and then decided it was time to head home. During our wandering we passed a gurdwara for the Chicago Sikh community and meditation center for Raja yoga of te Brahma Kumaris.

Sweaty and quite exhausted we worked the L back to China Town and left the city. Overall, I’m quite happy to have this memory with my family. I can think of about 50 others I would also have liked to have along for the day, but time like this with just my parents and my beloved is worth more than gold to me.

Excellent blessings were received from my first and most important gurus, my parents, as we enter the Shravan month and celebrate Guru Purnima. I don’t think God actually loves anyone in such a way as to favor them (after all, that would mean the at least occasional negation of karma), but when so many “good” things happen as they did, it’s hard not to feel smiled upon.

Om Shri Mahaganeshaya Namaha
Om Shanti

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10272012

Last night was my annual Autumn Fest/Pumpkin Carvering Party. It’s only the third one my beloved and I have held, and it’s something that’s turning out to be a really great tradition.

We never invite a ton of people, just those we really want present, as we’d rather everyone be able to engage in conversation as well as actually hear that conversation -plus we’d like to be able to actually hang out with everyone present. We always provide the foods/beverages, and make sure we have at least one extra pumpkin in case someone forgets to bring one. This year the menu included BBQ turkey links (the only actual meat item present), home-made salsa, home-made zucchini bread, pumpkin spice bars, jalapeno popper dip, two types of humus, a veggie tray, a variety of chips, home-made and store-bought soda, and a variety of adult beverage options. Finger foods, to say the least, but it didn’t seem like folks had a problem stuffing their bellies. After the meal, we enjoyed individual Keurig K-cup coffees.

I invited a total of around 25 folks, including 2 out-of-towners, and up until the last minute around 15 were promised(or mostly promised) to come. The size of the group and the size of my home actually made for a nice setting for everyone with lots of laughing and mingling.

As folks arrived the pumpkins they brought were lined up outside along my home’s front walk, welcoming each subsequent arriver, and were allowed to sit outside in the brisk evening air under the (nearly?) full moon. When the time seemed right, we began bringing them in and gradually those present settled in their chosen places to work on their masterpieces. Newsprint covered everywhere anyone was working, with heavy-duty spoons and sharp knives in abundance.

A few people did stencils, but most free-handed. We had one message, “BOO,” one buddha face that morphed into something along the lines of an infamous bomber who’d made the news in past years, and everyone else produced some kind of ghastly, ghoulish, or benign visage. Each of us awed and joyed at how each creation, in some way-to some degree, reflected its creator. I’ve included my own creation below, followed by a photo of the whole bunch.

 

Gatherings like this are my favorite kind. I think, in different ways, they’re a good indicator of my dharmic compass And they allow me to connect with folks in a way that my normal work/work/school/temple schedule wont allow for, and I have the change to read their dharmic compasses then, too.

I often read a lot into things, often more than most people think I should. The full moon, the age-old practice of carving pumpkins, and the company of my own parents and other bests all felt very auspicious to me and further cements this young tradition in my heart and mind. I look forward to another gathering a year from now.

Om Shanti

Nigh upon 1997

Today is National Coming Out Day, and I think it’s auspicious tha the date is a clean 10/11/12. I think it’s fitting to tell my coming out story. Ready?

I was born.

No joke. That seems a bit ridiculous but that’s about where the whole thing begins. Of course, from day one my family knew how spectacular I was/would become. My birth mother says that she always knew I am gay. Always. I think my dad has always, too. I know, through the years, a number of other family members from both my paternal and maternal sides have told me that they knew (or could have guessed) from the time I was a very young age. I think if there was any doubt while I was still young, my infamous My Little Pony birthday party would have cleared things up, as well as my exhaustive My Little Pony collection (which included Seaponies, Flutterponies, etc…) some of which I still retain. I’d liked to have been able to post a photo with this entry that proves the party was a success, but alas, that evidence is filed away (with thousands of other photos taken through the years) in the family’s many-multi-tome Family Photo Album collection.

Truth be told, after the point of my birth, my coming out is fully a three-part experience. Keep reading.

At one point, not super long after diving into Christianity head first, and after getting my driver’s license, I found myself at the family computer with my father suddenly sitting next to me. He asked me a few lead-in questions like if something is wrong or …I forget what else he asked. He used my behavior at a recent family birthday get-together as an example. You see, it was my habit to disappear. I’d always bring a book or cassette/CD player, and then wander off into another part of the house, preferring seclusion.

I attempted to answer as vaguely as my young mind knew how. I recall saying something like, “Well, maybe there’s a lot going on in my mind right now and I can’t talk about it.” The truth here is that there was a lot going on in my mind. I’d already figured out that I’d never marry a woman, and was beginning to tackle how I’d approach my newest love, the Baptist Church, regarding who I am. I’d also just read a number of alarming stats on youth homelessness, and learned that an overwhelming majority of homeless youth are homeless because their parents kick them out for being gay. It was after I gave that first response, my father replied with the question, “Well, are you gay?” Suddenly feeling my heart in my throat, I looked down and didn’t answer immediately. Since I had stalled, my father stepped back into the conversation and said, “‘Cause if you are, get over it. Sex is great, but it’s not something that should rule your life.” I later answered him in the affirmative, still not realizing how sagely his advice was, but was very glad he hadn’t threatened to un-home me.

That’s part one -the most important part in my story. There’s never been a moment in my father’s life where he didn’t put his children above his own self. From the time I and my brother, Justin, were born -all through a marriage that was crazy and doomed and into a second marriage and ceaselessly for the last thirty years – he’s never shown anything except love to my siblings and me. The very same is to be said of his second wife, my real mom, Connie.

Part two, naturally, comes after part one. Feeling somewhat more stable knowing I wasn’t verging on homelessness, the next person I needed to know was my then-best friend, Sara-with-an-H Kidd. I recall writing here this LOOOOONG letter and asking her to meet me at the church we both attended. She did. We found our way up to the balcony in the sanctuary, and suddenly terrified, I gave her the letter to read right in front of me. Umm… but then because I feared she’d read a different tone than the one I’d written in, I took the letter back, and insisted that I read it to her, instead. I recall her being a little perplexed (after all, why not just tell her my words instead of reading them to her?), but she obliged. And so I read. And she listened. And when I was done reading/coming out to her, and asking her not to tell anyone yet, she said, “Oh Joshua, I love you and your secret is safe with me,” while opening her arms and squeezing them around me. Thus concludes scene two.

I had no idea when I came out to my best friend in the church balcony that the next big thing I’d do would be to come out to my church. I think to a lot of people, the weight of this is lost. I grew up in a very small town. At the turn of the last century, it still hadn’t reached even 20,000 inhabitants. In that town, two groups of people were just about the most influential: the farmers and the churches. Obviously a lot of overlap between the groups exists. In my hometown there were three main bodies of believers. There were Catholics. And then there were two quasi-mega churches, which were kind of really the same congregation that had split over an argument about money. These were the Baptists. There was Calvary Baptist Church and Baptist Temple. I always liked the name “Baptist Temple” better than the other, but the other is where I attended due to some band camp karma my freshman year of high school.

After I knew it wasn’t likely I’d be homeless, and after my best friend hadn’t (yet) shunned me, I decided tackle the church. The long-and-short of this is that rumors began to spread -not that I was gay, but that I was spreading “false doctrine.” This false doctrine was, of course, that I not only don’t feel the Bible condemns gays, but also that there’s proof of the contrary within it. Before I knew it, I’d been called to the home of my youth pastor, Dudley. He’d just built a really great home for his family and everyone loved being there. I don’t recall whether I knew why I was being called there or not, but I remember having a McDonald’s vanilla milkshake with me (the only thing I could keep down at the time, because of being upset due to a recent break up). After I arrived, we went into his library. I sat on the couch and he sat at his desk chair. He started right off with the accusation of spreading false doctrine. I explained that I thought it was neither doctrine, nor false. He disagreed and for only a few minutes we back-and-forth’ed on it all. Finally, he stopped us and asked me, “Do you consider yourself a homosexual?” I confirmed this. His response was, and I am quoting, “Well, there’s no place in the youth group, or anywhere else in the church, for someone like you.” As with my father, I looked down, only this time I wept. Honestly, I don’t recall what he might have said after that. In my memory, I can still see my feet and the McDonald’s cup that was beside them as I looked down crying as quietly as I could. At some point I just nodded that I understood, arose, and left.

I remember driving away that day with this dual feeling of immense pain and simultaneous relief. I had no idea what ordeals the following year would bring, both with the church and just about everywhere else. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice to say it was a time of “therapy,” loss and loneliness, and of strengthening.

Were it not for this window of time in my life, I certainly wouldn’t be who I am today. I think I’ve always been a bit independent and came here with a pretty finely tuned compass, but experiences like this offer a great opportunity to learn and grow. Indeed, that is the intent of all forms of pain. And not to sound arrogant or conceited, but each day reminds me that I’m about as awesome as I’ve ever been, and helps me look forward to the new awesomeness I’ll reach someday soon.

My heart sings a little when I think of how things were and what I went through, and how things are now and where they’re going. I’m so happy at what the youth of today are able to do and how they’re more able to truly and honestly live. They’re benefitting from the brave people of our past, and generations yet to come will benefit from the brave people of our today. Regardless of what our battles might be, bravery and honesty can’t be cheapened or downplayed. We owe it first to our own survival to be brave and honest, and also to the survival of those walking here after us.

Om Shanti!

Gurupada Puja

Today is the full moon for July, and marks Gurupurnima. This holiday is a “limbo of great importance” to me. The source of importance is obvious to anyone familiar with the day. Purnima correlates to the full moon. In Hinduism, many holidays fall either on the full moon, or within a certain number of days before or after it. The “limbo” part of this, for me, is due to not having a dedicated guru -something else of high importance within the Dharma. With that in mind, in this post I’ll try to detail a few of the most influential gurus in my life.

The first guru worshipped in Hinduism is Sage Vyas. It’s said that Hinduism is the only major world religion without an actual founder. Sage Vyas, however, comes close. He’s known to have lived in ancient times and according to his personal sadhana, had attained a number of siddhis. Aside from being a masterful rishi, he is most noted for compiling/editing the Vedas, which are the foundational body of scripture for Sanatana Dharma. I think he’s also known to have composed a number of other Scriptures holy to Hindus. I adore Sage Vyas for obvious reasons and some reasons which are less obvious. His influence, the karma-phala of his efforts, reaches from modern Hindu religion so far back into history few can conceive. Additionally, a well-known story about the recording of scripture involves Sage Vyas dictating to my very own ishtadevata, Ganesha. Sri gurubhyo namaha!

The stage being set by Vyas thousands of years ago, my parents were 900% my first living guru. Truth be told, my birth mother hasn’t proven herself to be worth the flawed genetic material she managed to pass on, let alone anything of greater value. My father, on the other hand has truly beautiful karma. Part of that karma was that he’d eventually meet and marry my step-mother. The two, together, make an amazing, albeit typical pair and without their guidance my life wouldn’t have amounted to half of what it has. And while I’m still able to discern parts within my own makeup that are surely inherited from my birth mother, I’m honored to report that by far I’m the sum of the two that actually cared enough to raise me. I have the level head and generosity of my father, and like my step-mom, eternally insist on perfection in all the right areas of life, have some pretty decent reasoning skills, and also would likely have made a fair living as a lawyer (AKA I can argue just about anything, always have the higher good as my goal, and no matter what you say, you can be sure I’ll find a flaw in your logic and will end up winning the debate.) If gurus come into our lives (or vice versa in this case!) to help guide and shape us for our betterment, my parents could sit on their rumps for their next ten lifetimes and still succeed in this regard. Because of this, when I’m at temple and we sing the shloka, “Twameva mata cha pita twameva…“, which translates as “You (God) are mother and father…“, I’m filled with adoration and love for these two primary human figures in my life. Below is a picture of my parents and a younger brother (at his wedding, we’re not actually Christians for the most part).

Another guru influence in my life is that of Paramahansa Yogananda. If Vyas-ji was technically a first among gurus, and my parents were the second, then Yogananda-ji was certainly the third. I came to know of him actually in the most unexpected of ways, which I’m hesitant to share. But here goes:

In my early twenties a relationship I had been in came to an end. It had lasted about seven years and when it dissolved, you can imagine, I was still very inexperienced at life. On my own for the first time ever, I was mostly doing just fine. During this time, though, I had been approached by a man from my city’s south side who was seeking models. You see, he sold clothing items online… he ran some kind of website that was fetish-gear-oriented. I’ll spare you the details of exactly what garments I modeled, but the idea is that he was no longer young or lean or unwrinkled and needed a tighter, younger body to show off these things, which folks would then buy from him. Before anyone takes this info and runs with it, believe me when I tell you that the shadiest part of all this was that all photography was shot in his home, as opposed to an actual studio. But none of that is important except to lead me to tell you that this man happens to be a devotee of Yogananda. I had an Om or something on my necklace which caught his attention and started our conversation on all things Hindu. Both of us being caucasian, we commiserated at being the only non-indian Hindus we knew of in the entire state. From then on the modelling was entirely secondary (indeed stopped) and our dealings were mostly in the context of spirituality. He took me to the temple for the first time and gave me my first copy of Yogananda’s autobiography, which as so many others will verify, is life-changing. He also gave me my first copy of the Bhagavad Gita, a translation by P.Lal. Of all the different Gitas available, this simple version remains my favorite.

Since learning of Yogananda, I’ve been drawn to his teachings and have a large number of his books, as well as a book or two written by Yogananda’s own guru, Sri Yukteshwar. I love that Yogananda was so connected with western Christianity. He does well at showing dharma in the Bible. I’ve fallen just shy of joining his “sampradaya,” The Self Realization Fellowship for a couple of reasons, namely that it’s suffered a great bit of internal conflict which has veritably split the group, and it seems to be in decline. All that aside, this is to say nothing about Yogananda or his teachings which are truly liberating. And for that, he’ll always remain a dear teacher to me. Kriya Yoga might not be my best fit, but I’m not nearly done with him, and it’s my hope he isn’t nearly done with me.

Next of gurus influential in my life is Mata Amrtanandamayi Ma. She’s an avatar of Sri Durga. Known around our planet as “The Hugging Saint, and to myself and fellow devotees as Amma (Mother). Her life has been incredible and it’s apparent that She is mahashakti personified. Born into a working class family and pretty much forced into familial slavery, Her upbringing was rough to say the least. Virtually from Her birth she was a kind of lunatic for the Lord, constantly seeking union with Sri Krsna, and even today demonstrates what is known as devibhava for the benefit of others. Today She’s the founder of humanitarian organizations and Her own sampradaya which is truly unique, as well as Amrita Yoga. She’s written many great books and She’s also the creator of the Brahmasthanam. She spends hours and hours (easily 12-16hrs in a single day) seated and receiving Her “children” as She hugs them. The Mother never tires of this. She never stops for breaks for sustenance and offers Her love, freely, until all present have received. These hugs are known to be transformational. She also offers diksha/initiation as well as a unique meditative practice. She’s helping to clean up the current state of bhakti yoga, which She says should instead be called kamya yoga, because too often what we think is bhakti is actually desire-fuel devotion. As often as I’m able, I attend local satsangs and worship Amma for multiple hours on end. I also have a very personal story about a healing I received from Amma soon after coming to find Her. Amme Sharanam!

Someone else, who is also a modern-day guide, deserves recognition. I’m not sure this soul is someone many consider a guru of the level of Amma or Yogananda, but she is no less a spark of Brahman than they, and like them does her best -every chance she has- to uplift and educated and help. She can be found on Facebook and on Youtube. She and I belong to the same (gay) community and our hearts are more similar than not, although I’m no nun. It’s actually because of this siddha-yoga jiva that I own my first copy of the Guru Gita. Her name is Sister Unity Divine, and I find in her inspiration, strength, wisdom, and encouragement. My heart is truly glad to know of her and also to be benefitting from her life’s expression.

As I’m nearing the end of this (very, very, very  long) post I want to lastly give consideration to the inner Guru within each of us. It’s this Guru that all the others are merely an outward, seemingly separate expression of. You, at your deepest, most inner level, are non-different than the Source all other gurus lead you to. Any soul you may choose to follow, who indicates anything diffrently is… False. Believe it. Your truest Self is all that has ever been, all that will ever be, and all you’ll ever need. All else is only meant to help you experientially realize this.

Om Shanti!

Die Woerter meines Vaters

Last weekend my husband and I went to a small burp of a town, not far from where I grew up, where my family’s newest jewelry store opened about two months ago. This one happens to be owned and operated, specifically, by my father. I work at least half of all Saturdays, but this was one that was free of obligations. I had been invited to Chicago for some festivities, but declined because of many reasons… one of which was the visit paid to my father.

Near my father’s location is a hole-in-the-wall, greasy spoon kind of place called Lumpy’s Cafe. The food is really good there. Cheap. Home-cooked. I think the place is only open for lunch and breakfast. Last weekend was only the second time I’d ever even been there. I ordered the same as last time: hash browns/home fries, with cheese and onion. Drink? Milk. Our waitress was the same as last time, also. Her name is Mary. She’s one of those “rode hard and put away wet” kinda people. To say the least , I’m not likely to ever tip her again- which is saying a lot considering I almost invariably tip quite a bit more than most people I’m ever with say I should.

Something that almost never happens… Me buying something for my dad. This breakfast, however, was a belated Father’s Day present. I snatched the bill and went to the register to check out. My dad and Wayne caught up with me. A local or two, who know my dad, started a conversation from across the dining hall. Most of the details of their back-and-forth with my dad escape me now, but one thing was said, that I’ll never forget.

It went something like…

Stranger: “Blah blah blah… and (more) blah blah blah.”  My dad: “Blah blah blah (puts his hand on my shoulder), blah blah blah…This is my oldest and he’s got a good heart!”

<sigh> My dad said I have a good heart.

Normally, if I say something about sent me into orbit, I mean it in the most frustrating of ways. This, however, about put me into orbit, only I was elated.

Anyone who reads the section of this blog titled, “Samyag Akhyate” will learn that disappointing my parents is one of my three biggest fears, next to heights and suffocating. Unless he’s had a lot of tequila, my dad isn’t super gushy or emotionally showy in public. Knowing that about him, I’m confident he wasn’t blowing hot air or otherwise showing off. I feel he’d likely speak similarly of my brothers, but I’m not concerned with them.

My dad thinks I have a good heart. <sigh>

I could have been killed that very minute and would have ascended into the highest of heavens. One of my parents, who can remember back since before I was born, has assessed my life, and my actions, and …my heart, and reached the conclusion that my heart is “good.”

Not to toot my own horn, but I’ve heard similar things for years from others. For the last decade, every place I’ve worked I’ve been almost the only male. This makes for being an easy target. The benefit? When good things are said… I’m often the target. It’s easy to be exemplary when you are the exception. Like being a big fish in a little pond. As a result, I’ve actually become quite accustomed, quite used to receiving praise.

None of that means anything to me, really. But my dad says I have a good heart. And even better, he’s sure enough of this, that he tells others. Most other things are icing on the cake to me. In my book, knowing my father’s genuine soul, this is one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received.

At temple we sing, “Twameva mata cha pita twameva. Twameva bandhush cha sakha twameva. Twameva vidya dravinam twameva. Twameva sarvam, mama deva deva.” I have always tried living my life as if these words are true. It’s incredibly fulfilling when one’s life lives him in this way as well!

Om Shanti

 

 

My dad and me… probably 4 years ago.

 

My “mata cha pita”