Subhash Dhawan: A life of Excellence

 Two short lines from Neeru in a text message. Telling me her world will never be the same again. 

“My Subhash left me alone. He is gone.” And, “I have no idea how will I live without him.”

We last met them in June of this year, when we all, as a family, visited them at their home in South Florida. Neeru and Subhash were always welcoming, with a large-hearted graciousness that made one feel valuable and a cherished visitor at their beautiful home, which Subhash completely refurbished to a very high standard. It had to cater to all of Neeru’s desired comforts in their retirement years. Who knew that would be the last time we would meet Subhash? 

Neeru and I are childhood friends, and in our earliest photographs together, we are around two years old. She lived diagonally across my grandparents' home on Babar Road, where I was raised in my infancy and early years. We were constant playmates and grew up together as children. Our bond continued into our adolescence, and during our teenage years, we shared our crushes and heartaches. Our sari-wearing phase occurred at the same time, ushering us into our marriageability. 

Neeru was the first amongst us to get married. We were in awe of her groom, with his “sone ke Baal,- with golden hair” as Neeru described him with a nervous excitement, after their first meeting. Subhash was a swashbuckling, tall, and handsome man. He really had “golden” hair, as bleaching hair was then in fashion amongst youth in Canada. 

I clearly remember attending the wedding. Neeru recently shared a wedding photo that shows her friends, including me, watching the couple as they took their vows and performed the wedding rituals around the sacred fire. Subhash soon whisked her away to Canada. 

As girls in proximity physically for long periods of time, we had developed emotional attachments and a secure complacency in our friendship. This was quickly reestablished when we reconnected, since Neeru’s move to Atlanta. 

Subhash always exuded a genuine hospitality which was all embracing, and never wavered, in the years since Neeru and I reconnected as adults, several years ago. My awkward trepidation at our ‘first’ reunion meeting was soon dispelled as the decades gap was closed by the warmth with which we were greeted at her home. Subhash had a good-hearted, cheerful dignity and reserve about him. He displayed genuine care, and I felt protected around him, as if I were in a safe place in their home. 

Subhash, even more so than Neeru, made me feel that I was not just Neeru’s friend but a valued addition to their lives. Subhash brought a proactive sincerity to his relationships. This aspect of his friendship helped nurture a deeper bond between us, and the frequency of our meetings increased, aided by the proximity since they moved down to Florida. I enjoyed their hospitality on numerous occasions, even staying overnight, with the persuasive encouragement from Subhash. 

As we interacted more often and caught up on our lives over the years, I learned more about Subhash. He had been a good son, brother, and uncle. Subhash deeply cherished his own family and nurtured their two children, Neha and Neil; and fostered a strong marriage in which Neeru blossomed and grew more beautiful. 

Earlier this year, Subhash and Neeru renewed their vows in bridal attire in the temple, with family in attendance. 

Subhash was a good provider and devoted father. They put Neha through medical school, and encouraged her to complete her Residency in London, where Neeru also visited her. They were both very proud of Neha, and Subhash adored his granddaughters, Anaya and Siana. Neeru indulgently brags about the girls, especially Siana’s love of books and her reading stamina. 

Neeru proudly recalled Subhash braving the early winter mornings in Toronto to take Neil to his hockey games, and he never wavered in his commitment, come hail, snow, or storms. They felt extreme pride in Neil’s success as a lawyer, and even more so as a wise, wonderful, and caring son, as well as a devoted husband to his lawyer wife, Catherine. The apple did not fall far from the tree. 

Subhash’s open-door hospitality fostered strong family bonds, and Neeru’s younger sister, Archana (Bablee to us), and her husband, Barjinder, along with their children, often visited from Vancouver for extended stays. In fact, Bablee’s children were so close to Subhash that they trusted him with their confidences and valued his advice. Coming from a place of abiding love, Subhash built trust and respect with ease and efficiency. He could exert influence over the younger generation, who knew they could trust Subhash with their confidential issues. 

It was lovely to meet with Bablee and Barjinder recently on one such visit, thanks to Subhash and Neeru, who drove down to Orlando with them. Despite his respiratory health issues, Subhash retained his zest for life, and living large. In this age where secular families have become a fashion and a norm, Subhash’s household flourished with the welcome additions of family and friends. I always felt at home around him. 

Subhash had an excellent sense of design and an impeccable style. Their home reflected his good taste, his love of life, and his generosity with his own and others. 

The void left with Subhash’s passing already echoes with the deep sense of loss felt by those who knew and loved him. With some people, it’s personal. That’s how I feel Subhash’s loss. It is hard for me to offer my condolences in just words. How can I, when I feel the loss too? 

Subhash belonged not just to his own family, but to all of us who knew him and loved being in his presence, knowing that the precious friendship he offered was a rare gift to be cherished by all who were touched by his life. Those feelings, memories, and moments shared with Subhash are all part of life’s joyful days. 

Neeru’s life will indeed never be the same; it will be colored with happy memories built with this lovable man. She will be kept busy carrying on his legacy. A giant amongst the generous. A class above the classiest. A husband who was the heartbeat of his wife. A father who showered his children with the priceless gift of Presence. 

No one left empty handed from meeting him, whether they wanted or not. Being in the presence of Subhash was a gift. You will be dearly missed, dear Subhash, by all who knew you. We feel blessed to know you, and my family is the better for having benefited and been honored by your friendship. 

Neeru, Neha, Neil, and their families will keep the torch burning bright. The world needs the illuminating example of such a life as yours,  richly lived, with charity, determination, resilience and shared good fortune. Thank you for your friendship. 

Veenu Banga

October 3, 2025. 

2:57 am

There’s a new Angel in Heaven

  There was a soft knock on the door, almost inaudible. However, it warranted answering. When I opened the door, I looked down to see two small hands clutching a small box of Mithai sweets, with a bright, elaborately made Rakhi placed on top of the box. There was a tentative smile and an uncertain look on the face of the little boy holding this treasure with a questioning tenderness, and a hope that he put into words, saying, 

“Didi, will you tie this Rakhi on my wrist?” 

Thus began our relationship. One that would endure over time, distance, silences, and the vagaries of life’s ups and downs, expected and unexpected travels and turns. 

This became a ritual that continued over the years, and with each passing year, as he grew older and I gained maturity, a steadfastness in our bond resonated, which did not require constancy of proximity. 

Sanjay Dhir and I were ‘neighbors’ who lived diagonally across from each other, our homes in a block of flats were on opposite sides of the two rows of Central government dwellings, separated by common well-maintained lawns, playgrounds for the children, in this very desirable enclave called Pandara Road. Many of the allottees, such as my mother, arrived in the late 1950s when the housing was constructed and stayed on until retirement, so deep bonds were forged among residents, and festivals were celebrated together despite regional and cultural differences. 

Sanjay’s family came about a decade later, so he was initially an outsider and subject to some banter and bullying. He was a well-behaved and calm child who did not exhibit these tendencies. Sanjay was also of a gentle disposition and prone to cold and respiratory illness, which prompted his mother to keep his head and ears covered with a scarf. He was the only child with the scarf tied under his chin, like girls do. My mother called him her “little girlfriend.” 

Sanjay often fought off sniffles that were easily triggered by the Delhi winters. That set the scene for him to be quietly introspective, though not without the boyish nuances which he indulged in a restrained and balanced manner. His personality, therefore, developed differently from the other boys of his age. As he grew older, this became increasingly evident. He was the kind you could depend upon, trust, and know that, above all, he would be respectful, lacking all vindictiveness. He knew a lot more than he let on, and I was to discover later that he kept the adolescent secrets of the girls and boys of his age group. 

By now, his mother had acknowledged me as “Sanjay’s didi,” and our relationship had an unspoken promise of commitment, without any expectations. Our paths would soon diverge as we headed towards our futures. 

Sanjay came to me one day with the good news of his success in being selected for the National Defence Academy (NDA). I had no idea that was in his plans, and I was happy for him. We discussed it, and the patriotism and flamboyance of the Defence Services uniform had influenced his excitement. He asked me which branch of the Services he should choose. I don’t know if that was a serious question, and if my answer really had anything to do with the choice he would make. It was just one of those things that Sanjay reserved for our conversations. Never frivolity, just a sincere deference to life’s defining moments as we traversed the coming of age. I truly felt the “Didi” in our relationship. Our closeness was on an as-needed basis, devoid of regularity or expectation. 

When Sanjay retired as a Wing Commander from the Indian Air Force (IAF) and later joined Air India as a commercial pilot, it seemed the plan had panned out as envisioned when we had discussed it. By now, we had gone our separate ways, but Pandara Road still kept us tethered together.

Another thing we had in common was the discovery of Shirdi Sai Baba’s temple that had opened up in the Lodi Road area around the early 1970s. It was in the same Lodi Institutional Area, near the DTEA (Delhi Tamil Education Association) Senior Secondary School, where many of the “Madrasi” children (a common name given to all Indians from the Southern Part of the country) lived. Many Tamilians began to frequent it. 

True to the camaraderie of the residents of Pandara Road, the Panjabis and other diverse communities were also initiated into the temple, including my mother. She devoutly observed Holy Thursday by making and sharing the prasad of Chana dal khichdi and rice kheer. This became a tradition for life. 

Sanjay’s mother, Mrs Dhir, also became a Shirdi Sai Baba devotee, and so did Sanjay. We all were children of the Colony, in ways both comforting and inspiring, influenced as we were by the activities of the various communities. One of my friends, Vijaya, a Tamilian who lived diagonally downstairs from us, sang Bhajans there every Thursday, which was Sai Baba’s day, and we frequently went with her to pray in front of the framed photo of Shirdi Sai Baba. 

I have clear memories of when the temple installed the white marble statue, and the Pran Pratishtha of Sai Baba’s Statue was celebrated. Vijaya was singing in the front row as I, along with just a couple of others, diligently swept the continuous flow of milk and water, mixed with Haldi and fragrant pastes, which was being generously applied and washed down several times with milk and water, poured continuously over the Holy Statue. The fragrances and chanting surrounded us, and I often reflect on the fortuitous moments that allowed us to proactively be a part of that great day—another opportunity to unite all of us neighbors in that ceremonial moment. 

The temple tied our families together spiritually, and the Bhakti to Sai Baba became another commonality, strengthening the foundations of our community with our neighbors. Those were magical times, when diversity was celebrated. 

Sanjay had a spiritual commitment, and he was not shy of flaunting his devotion. Around the time Sanjay went to the NDA, he also visited Shirdi for the Darshan of Shirdi Sai Baba. He brought back a gift for me from Shirdi, which I have traveled with me over continents. 

Sanjay had a reserve and discreet maturity that was uncommon for his age. Just yesterday, I found out from my friend Neelam, who lived diagonally below our house on the other side of Vijaya’s, that Sanjay studied Mathematics with her and Jyoti, her elder sister. That Sanjay’s mother credited, “Neelam and Jyoti for his acceleration in academics, especially Maths,” and “Veenu for his increased confidence.” It was heart-warming to re-live those transitional years on the periphery of adulthood.

We were not in touch for some years. While Sanjay attended my wedding and I was in Delhi to attend his, in subsequent years, our paths diverged and took us in different directions. Sanjay was a devoted son and elder brother. I met Sanjay’s mother in Atlanta where she was visiting her older son and his family. It was good to see Mrs Dhir again. 

I had found out that Sanjay had become a single father to his beautiful daughter, Niharika, ‘Noni’, when she was a small child. He poured his affections into the love of his life. I met Noni for the first time in London. She was studying law at King’s College. I was in London for a week, and Sanjay facilitated a meeting. At her suggestion, we had decided to meet at the Lahore Kebab House. 

We took a bus from White Chapel, where we had our Airbnb, and headed to the location. A few minutes later, two girls of Indian appearance boarded the bus chattily, and I gasped in recognition. It was Noni! She favored Sanjay in appearance, and I recognized her immediately. 

Sanjay was the kind of person who could be a rock for others in relationships, but after we reconnected, I could feel a difference. A passing fragility brought upon by life, that all of us have moments of, had touched him too. That notwithstanding his resolute nature, his generosity of spirit and all-embracing compassion never left him. We had one conversation over the phone, during which I poured my heart out to him with as much brevity as I could muster in one of my own fragile moments, and he was present for me. 

Another time, I unhesitatingly reached out to him when I needed to pay INR 200 in India for a book that an editor friend of mine, the author, wanted me to review. This, even though we hadn’t really been in touch, I knew I could ask him and feel no obligation. 

So, yesterday, when Rajiv, another friend from Pandara Road, called and gave me the news about Sanjay, I was deeply shocked. It was the first thing I saw when I opened Facebook, and I knew Rajiv was right. I was not yet ready to offer my condolences to his family because it could not be true, but what could it be? Perhaps I expected a follow-up to confirm that Noni’s and Sanjay’s Facebook pages had been hacked, and that this news was not trustworthy. I called Neelam, and she was just as shocked. 

My heart has been restless since yesterday. I did not feel like cooking or eating. Sleep did not come easy. I told a few people close to me, still in disbelief. Woke up at 4 am and 5 am, and restless thoughts returned to all the moments shared with Sanjay, seeing him in my mind's eye, as a child, then a teenager, and now, reflecting on the family photo of Wg Cdr/Capt. Sanjay Dhir. On September 8, 2025, he posted pictures from San Francisco. 

Captain Sanjay Dhir. Wing Commander, Sanjay Dhir, IAF. Captain Sanjay Dhir, Air India. From a cherished resident of Pandara Road to a beloved and revered resident of Nirmal Vihar, which embraced and honored this hero, a gem of a man. This was the man who raised the flag at all the community National festivities functions at Nirman Vihar. On Independence day there he was in the Facebook photos saluting the flag as the neighbors cheered him and honored his Service. 

Today is Dussehra day, and the flames at the Lodhi Road crematorium must have hungrily fed on the mortal remains of a pure soul, the likes of who don’t come easily anymore. Fly away, free bird, fly, Sanjay, fly! Touch the sky on your way out to Heaven. 

Heaven has gained a new Angel. What we have discovered is that goodness lives on. I have personally come to understand that some love never truly dies. Love evolves with us. Some relationships are so cherished and so worthy that they cannot be tainted by sorrow and are to be celebrated. Sanjay was such a personality, such a life. In all his mortality, his love, compassion and dignity survive. An extraordinary human being who was one of us, as I speak for all of those who were privileged to be a part of his life on Pandara Road. 

Veenu Banga

October 2, 2025

3.39 pm. 

A walk down s..

 The Albert Cuyp Markt. 

Every visit some things old and some things new to catch the eye. However, today went into three very fascinating shops. Actually, had gone into more than one, but three were outstanding, one very good and the others mediocre. The markets run from Tuesday to Saturday, (I think) and many of the shops have spread their wares outside on the steeet where the markets are held. They’re about 10 blocks along their full length. 

Lots of food places, and I’m guessing the storefronts don’t mind the obstruction? Or it must be a minocipsl thing that store owners get first right of use and then, if they’re not interested in the space, they could be compensated. Since they seem to have been here forever, and are one of Amsterdam’s most popular markets, and tourist draws, they must be prime venues for the vendors. 

Anyway, the three shops were, in order of appearance, haha, or entry rather, 1) The Delft Blue store, massive two story outlet selling all things Delft Blue. While we’ve been visiting Amsterdam pretty regularly since well over a decade, have never gotten around to visiting Delft. And it was on the list this time.

The second shop was a fabulous Fabric store. HUGE- great selection of fabrics, all kinds. My weakness- fabric. I think my eyes lit up seeing the variety. We had sauntered in to check out fabric that had been used as curtains behind the glass door in the Delft shop. Found it in the vast interior hall where upholstery was kept. One glance at it, and I was in love. Then I touched it, and fell deeper in love. It was so tightly woven, the perfect thickness and it was firm. Very wide whatever it’s called, width? Forget all the technical names for yardage, warp and weft and all that kind of stuff. The lady did not know where it was manufactured, and I told her, I’m glad I asked after she had cut me the 5 meters. I know, I know..it’s a lot but I’m not sure yet what I will do with it. Upholster one of my fabric covered sofas, or have cushion covers made from it, or table mats, or a Chinese style jacket ( to likely, I’m no longer going to work) or perhaps hand some of it like a tapestry panel. It is just SO beautiful, with its muted colors and perfectly palette, that will enhance any wall. 

Always a sucker for good fabric, and my favorite thing to hoard, because no opportunity to sew, or rather no inclination to learn how to use the electric sewing machines, of which I have two, and despite taking sewing lessons at Sears and JoAnne fabrics. Both now defunct- so I must be ancient.  

My all time favorite fabric are the Kalamkari linens. Their fabric has some magic woven into it. It doesn’t need ironing after washing, if it is hung out on a clothes line. You just fold them nicely. I think my love stems from the fact, that my mum, who never lacking for excuses to keep her teenager (latch-key child of sorts) daughter occupied was to reward me with a new “suit” every time I stitched one. It interesting how I accidentally fell into sewing. In the summer holidays, the Pandara Road community center held sewing classes amongst other activities, and I joined sewing. 

The first week, they taught us how to cut and sew a girl’s panty. We had a paper design, made from old newspapers. To stitch something to our size, the teacher suggested to use our own panties as a paper design. So that’s how it’s done? What was there to learn. I already knew how to operate my mother’s wedding / dowry sewing machine, which she barely touched except for minor repairs, so that was all I needed. I wasn’t going to go to any community center in the middle of the day during the hot Delhi summers. It was easy to use my own churidars and shirts as a reference, and cut out and see my new “suits!” Along the way, I innovated with designs, and soon was stitching away. Mummy was good with her word, and I would stay up late to finish my dress, and wear it to college the next morning! 

My mother was not just educated, she was also very knowledgeable and gifted. She knew stuff. She also nurtured her hobbies. She learned drawing via postal lessons from a school in England and used to paint. She had carried her water color paraphernalia to Mussoorie, where the children (she and her siblings) were in their summer home, when partition happened, so her paints, brushes, and painting paper pads all came with her to India. She later painted a lot, a real lot, after retirement. 

I think I must get my love of fabric from her. She had very good taste in clothes, used only pure cotton and pure silk, and knew the best from every region. So she had Bangalore silks, Kashmiri silks (which were not as fine as her Bangalore silks,) her Pochampally sarees, which we later also used to buy from Lepakshi Emporium on Baba Kharak Singh Marg. She had the odd Bernardo, but only ever wore them for weddings, and that too rarely. I wore those more than she did. Her preference was for ‘fabrics’ and I think that’s why the Kashmiri Silk and Pochampallis were here preferred choices, because the Kashmiri silk back then had texture, and it was hand printed. Every winter our Kashmiri Shawlwala would faithfully come down from Srinagar and bring her the goodies. Ghulam Ahmed Butt and Sons. He usually came with another shawlwala, and later started bringing his fresh faced young son with him. There was a time I even knew their address, but while their faces are fresh in memory, the address eludes me. 

I think the love for Pochampalli is because of the design is in the weave, and the colors are deep and rich. Ditto with her cotton sarees, often plain in the middle, and with woven elements in the borders and Pallu. And not forgetting the Oriya linens! All our curtains were from Utkalika, the Orissa Emporium. Their colors were bring, though the fabric is much thinner that the kind you get from Tamil Nadu or at the Co-Optex stores. The checked bedsheets, all the same materials as the Kalamkaris, thick, rich and with vibrant colors that kalamkari lacks, conservative in their colors palette, because they use vegetable dyes and stick to to their teals, black, red, brown. I also have gold jewelry purchased from KAIRALI, the Kerala emporium,  besides sarees, which used to be in a different part of  Connaught Place, before the single stores small row of shops was broken down and they moved to some new premises. So many memories. Cotton Blankets from Assam emporium, cotton finely woven into slim tubes and clustered close together to form the whole surface area of the blankets. So, so many memories.  I think I must have gotten thiis education and love of fabric from her. But of ourselves, I never picked up knitting- I never had the patience to apply myself where counting was involved- it was all maths to me. 

My love for color deviated into tie-dye and I did a lot of that in my school holidays. I think the purpose of blogs such as mine with their reminiscing and rumination will someday, perhaps be a domestic/ social history of that era in the sixties and seventies. Mummy knew stuff and she told me how to use alum to make my colors remain ‘fast’ on the fabric. I’m proud to say that even black never bled in my tie-dye work.  

My mother loved pure cotton and I’ve been longing to wear some cotton sarees, but everything is so plasticized these days. My mother abhorred synthetic fabrics, and while I tolerate the mix now, it was never purchased for me in my mother’s reign. We purchased many things from the Khadi Gramodyog Bhavan as well, and I still have my hoard from my visit to Delhi, on a quick trip to India which needs tailoring. 

But back to The fabric store on Albert Cuypstraat, that took me down the long memory lane. The lady there told us about the tailoring stores there and how easily one can find tailors in Amsterdam. Not so back in Florida. I had wanted to get some blouses and petticoats stitched and the fabrics or rather dress shop on OBT told me it will take a mo to as they send it to Tampa! They had nothing ready made I cotton! All shiny slimy synthetic mixes. Luckily, I was able to find fabric and tailoring at Katcha tailors in Liecester which is just 45 minutes away. 

Back to the markets- the third shop was an amazing little treasure trove, of everything you can think of for the kitchen and your spiritual requirements. I found tea leaves there that I last purchased in Bombay almost 45 years ago. They’re famous for their teas, spices and too many other things, not to mention appliances. I asked and they had BOP (broken orange pekoe) special tea! Except she said they had a Ceylon BOP,  ut did not know if it was Broken Orange Pekoe. Fair enough. I came home and made some, but of course my first attempt with loose tea after a while, and that too loose unfamiliar tea, made me misjudge the quantity, and I used too much leaf and also did not steep it long enough. Adjusted it, and it took me a few sips to appreciate it.  

Before I forget the Fabric store had a very well stocked haberdashery section as well. But ofcourse, naturally it would.

Took the tram home as the markets started losing sharp at 5.00 pm. It was hot today with a high of 30C. Yeah, popular Homeopathic potency, and now don’t get me started on that! Mindis going all over the place today. The fabric shop was my happy place and seeing all that fabric, my mind started to fantasize about all the possibilities with the different fabrics. I miss wearing tailored clothes. Why do we have to be rich to  do that? 

It’s been a while since I last visited the museums, but let’s see how much I can do. Life is good and God is kind. All is well. And different,  very, very different. Every place is so different as the lady in the Kitchen supplies store pointed out, showing me something I had never seen or imagined before. A specially designed place, that goes underneath a cooking pot/ saucepan, or whatever you’re cooking in, and on the gas hob, to diffuse the heat, so the food cooks slowly. She said she has two at home, and has always seen them used when I asked if this was new thing or a Dutch staple. She nodded at the matter, and answered in the affirmative when k asked her if she has seen her mother use them too. A very firm yes. 

So that was that. Thought I’d write about my forays into researching the “Fractal” phenomenon, but it wasn’t to be. It was interesting in that web searches just thee up a lot of scientific stuff, maths and physics and incomprehensible to my non scientific mind. But I did eventually find just what my pretty heart could relate to! And, and, this website has an awesome tagline: Fractals are SMART- Science, Math and ART! love that the Fractal Foundation (fractalfoundation.org) also has a free online course which I browsed through this morning. 

True to my nature, there was one sentence there, that took me off to a whole different tangent. But we can’t get into that, can we? Not with Fabrics, and tea leaves, and I forgot- the cotton bag I purchased! No, the Fractals deserve their very own thesis! 

Veenu Banga

16th August 2025

1:22 am. 

Fractal Division

 Is keeping me up at night. 

Totally fascinating. How it starts in nature and is also part of our bodily systems. It’s 2:04 am and this is my last fascination of the day. 

Earlier this morning, (or yesterday mid morning, to be technically correct) I stood looking outside the living room windows, which span the whole wall. There stood the tree, full of foliage, its leaves fluttering and shaking in the breeze. Learning to dance, I thought. Almost mid August, peak summer. 31 degrees. The very tree which inspired my poem, “First time dancers,” written after seeing the solitary dry leaf  lifted up and away by a gust of wind, on the autumn day, as I say looking outside in this very living room, in Amsterdam. The circle of life, also something we share with Nature. 

Two days ago, on our evening walk I noticed the very large and tall trees on approaching the green areas of the sprawling forest. I stood at the base of the tree trunk, and upon spreading my arms out wide, noticed they did not equal the girth of this majestic tree, the branches of which were touching the ground on all sides. I was standing as if enclosed in a dome of foliage, the greenery was so generous in its inclusiveness. I felt sheltered, safe, and playfully home. 

Upon turning the corner, and crossing the bridge over the still waters of the canal, we were greeted by very tall trees. Like the Dutch, their trees are tall too. K obliged me and Took out the phone to measure (thank you smart phone) its height. Twenty six meters! Another mother and daughter walking by wondered what we were looking at up in the trees, and stopped to speak with us, in Dutch. We responded in English and managed our conversation with me holding out my hands and with my fingers indicating the 26 meters. The goodbyes were said in Dutch and smiles. 

We walked towards Amsterdam Bos, however were distracted by the outdoor gym. I did some leg presses, and realized my legs were still as strong as my RDV days. My saving grace from all the walking I would do during my teens, twenties, and all of my thirties. Fortunately the world across the pond brings that walker back to action. 

Deciding to return home, passed a few very well populated Allotments, with all kinds of fruits, vegetables and flowers growing bountifully. A fog tree sans fruit, but an apple tree, quite loaded. A massive sunflower, much larger than my palm. On the walk back, one of the allotments had a wooden box with the words GRATIS engraved on it in black. A few sprigs of green overflowing out of it naturally inviting me closer. It did not seem to be coriander, nor parsley..and before I could take another guess, there I was and saw a bunch of carrots nestled inside. A woman emerged from the allotment carrying a wicker basked loaded with an assortment of harvested produce. I waved the carrots at her and thanked her. Very sweet carrots- the traditional kind, red not orange. 

Have guests coming over, and the carrots will be used in a gajar-aloo-and lots of mattar sabzi! That seems a nice note to end upon. And maybe the smile on my face from this reminiscing will come with me to bed, and leave thoughts of fractal divisions for another day. A not too far off day to be sure! 

Fractal division, you leave me fascinated! And hungering for more. 

Veenu Banga

August 14, 2025

2:47 am.

Consumed

 That was the name of the play we saw at the Belgrade Theatre (https://www.belgrade.co.uk/ ) today. Second row seats, so all the more dramatic. Very intense and disturbing. Since it’s based in Northern Ireland, the nuances of the history between the Irish and British loomed at almost every turn. From sound to lighting to acting, the play about the four generations of women under the one roof exposes the stresses and vulnerabilities of each generation. Since it was a preview performance tickets were inexpensive, and we got to see it first! Abel is visiting from Australia, so he came with us too. Which was very nice. 

Belgrade theatre is not far from the Coventry Cathedral where, last week we saw Much Ado About Nothing, Shakespeare comedy performed in the Cathedral’s courtyard, by a cast of just four, who call themselves The bicycle Bards. They travel all o ear on bikes and perform. 

I’ve been wanting to write my blogs again, if only because when I revisit a blog, it brings back the memory and I’m able to relive the moments. 

Another show I’m looking forward to at the Belgrade is Lost Atoms, written by Anna Jordon who wrote Killing Eve. We’re supposed to know that, though I did not. But I hear she’s good. 

What I’m really looking forward to at the Belgrade is Magic, Illusion and Cicus, this coming Tuesday, and more eagerly The Littlest Yak, which is in October. Let’s see if we go. Which reminds me, haven’t checked our local Rugby Theatre website, as they e been excellent in the past! Just checked (https://www.rugbytheatre.co.uk/) and they’re having performances of Far From the Madding Crowd, in No ember. This is Thomas Hardy’s story, which we had in our First year of English Honors. We’ve seen it already last year perhaps? Thomas Hardy can be dreary and depressing, but has some beautiful lines, including one of my favorites from A Pair of Blue Eyes.

On that note, I must end. Plan to sleep in tomorrow. Hopefully. And write about stylist, as that’s been going around in my mind. 

Veenu Banga

!!:35 pm

07/25-2025.

Jainism is a..

 Feeling! Feeling life, ours and all life that is around us. That’s why I love it. Jainism is so uncomplicated because you can live it, and be practicing Jainism, without the need of the formality of rituals. Which is not a bad thing if you know how, but if you do not, then Jainism doesn’t expect it of you. Jainism basically ties everything to its core principles of Ahimsa, or Non-violence. That is the premise of everything it entails. I just love that simplicity factor. Besides, they have Samanijis, who I just adore. It’s so easy to be in so much awe of them, hold them in reverence and generally feeling a calming presence of divinity when I’m with them. 

This morning as I drove to an appointment with Dr. Lisa, I saw a rather large road kill on Wekiva Springs Road. Couldn’t tell what it was, but I instantly felt very sad. Instinctively, I started reciting the Navkar Mantra, and was going to say it five times, for this poor dead animal. For his ‘gati’ which is a word I’ve heard used in such circumstances, but I’m not entirely sure about its accurate meaning. Anyway, I just continued to recite it, even after the 5 times was over. 

Whenever I say the Navkar Mantra for anyone or anything else, it’s because I’m reminded of an incident that occurred on John Young Parkway. I had just picked up the Samanijis and was driving them somewhere, when a truck showed up directly in front of us. It was filled with large logs of wood, big and tall tree trucks, felled and being hauled away. Samaniji Jin Pragyaji ji, let out a painful sigh and I could hear it echo in my heart. I feel that same way about trees, and all plants actually. She was distressed to see these grand old trees felled for whatever reason. It was healthy wood too, and one the rings were clearly visible in the wood. I was also sad. She started chanting the Navkar Mantra for them, and I did too. I’m so glad I had the opportunity to learn something so important, it’s also a ritual of sorts. 

Last summer in Sweden, a little bird came and dashed into the glass door of the living room, and fell to the ground. Another bird tried to peck at it and revive it, but couldn’t. Then I stepped in and tried to give it reiki, brought water for it, but it was in too much distress. One of its wings had broken off. Finally it just closed its eyes and lay still. I buried it in the flower beds, and recited the Navkar Mantra for it. 

Just a simple act, and yet it’s so powerful. It is empowering, in the sense that even when you cannot do anything for someone to save their life, you can say the Navkar mantra for them. 

There was so much more to chat about, but as always, I leave the blogging to the last. Another day, another night. Not asking for sweet dreams, but just a good night. 

Veenu Banga

10:44pm

June 3rd, 2025.

Despite my best Intentions, I

 Mismanage my time, and another day goes by without writing. Not just my blog, but my own writing which churns away in my mind. Ditto with the blog, always so much to write about and then, doesn’t happen. Habit of putting my needs last takes over, and before I know it, the day is ready to call it a night. 

So much thought provoking material. Had read some fantastic stories on NYT, and the kind that should jolt one to action. But, not yours truly. So help me blog- come to my rescue. The story was titled “Living to die well”  (https://www.nytimes.com/2025/06/01/opinion/dying-well-planning-life.html?smid=nytcore-ios-share&referringSource=articleShare )At one point, the writer asks what one’s regrets would be if the past six months were the last six months of my life. OMG! That was a jolt of a question. In my case it would be the tragedy of letting my stories die between the pages of a notebook, or in the ‘cloud’ of despair that ultimately arises in my mind, when I can’t find my work on the laptop. Besides other regrets. 

Apologies blog, very sleepy so not writing straight. Anyway, on a  over note, had to shampoo my hair today, and couldn’t find my Tate’s shampoo. K gave me a bottle of Christopher’s shampoo that I had once ordered during a Sale even at Christophers. It was absolutely amazing. My hair feels so soft!

Susan is back from CA last  ight, and had called today. So good to hear the sound of  her sweet voice, sound therapy! 

So many women are opening up more, and being authentic in their writing and with life in general. Someday, maybe Me Too, aka, your’s truly. 

Going to succumb to you, dear sleep, eyes already closing. Please bring me nice dreams. People I’d love to see. Whether or not we talk, doesn’t matter. I’d like to see the ones I love. Life is beautiful. Meanwhile, I just have to remember that, and never forget. How else will I appreciate Venus shining bright outside my window when I open my blinds next morning. 

On that note, it’s O&O.

Veenu Banga

10:32 pm

06/2/2025