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A Site Worth Visiting
A Trip to Sindh
Ami Ja Nuskha
An interview by V. Patil
As Old As The Hills
Balaji Sri Venkateswara
Bhakti Barve Inmadar
Dreams Can Come True
Food Fit For The Gods
Havans and Talismans
Heavenly Hills of Tirupati
How to Orient a Mandir
Kali Maa
My Stopover in Chicago
My Trip to the Americas
My Trip to Delhi
Peace Without War
Story of Ma Vaishno Devi
The Mystical No. 9
Trip to Bangalore
We Shall Overcome
We, The Sindhis


Bhakti Lata Barve Inmadar 
A Shradhanjali

Whenever she would call me up at home, she would try to explain her name to my maids: "Tell your Memsaab that Bhakti called; Bhakti as in Bhagwan ki Bhakti."

Bhakti was my school and class mate. We both studied in Queen Marys High School.

We both shared sweet memories.

We hit it off. We would only fight when it was time to stand in line. We would both fight over who was shorter and therefore eligible to lead.

Yes, she was not very tall, but that is, only the physical aspect that we are talking about.

She had a commanding personality. And that emanates from internal heights.

We lost touch for many years. We started to meet briefly again during our school and class get-togethers.

We reminisced about school days, and we would again lose touch!

Until she lost her husband, Shafi Inaamdar.

Before I could call her to pay my condolensces, she did!

I was surprised. But she was so unconventional and spontaneous. She said that she needed to talk to me.

She told me that she had lit a ‘diya’ for her husband, put it in the sea, and granted permission to her loved one to move on in his next life. Had she done the right thing? She asked.

"Of course, you have!" I said, ":What you did came straight from your heart, and that can only be right!"

When I told her that that was a practice amongst Sindhis, she said she had done so instinctively.

That is the kind of person she was. So much in touch with instincts that she inadvertently touched upon rituals that have been practiced mechanically by multitudes for times immemorial.

She was truthful to the core. Many times in our conversations she would not compromise on truth even though that, would make her drop a rung lower. It is ironic that, that is precisely what made her rise in my esteem.

Boy, was she talented!

She invited me to see the play in which she took the part as Gandhiji’s wife.

Even though my Marathi leaves a lot to be desired I sat transfixed on my seat while the play lasted!

Just about a month before the shocking accident which took her life, I had invited her for a get-together at my place. She could not come as she was traveling in connection with work.

She said : " We will meet."

Sure, dear friend. We surely will. Until then, fare you well.

God Bless you and keep you under His tender care.

May you be at peace, and close to those you loved, but who went ahead to arrange for a beautiful place for you, to be happy in, without concern.

Your friend,



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