The holy hill is blanketed by a thick cloud throughout the day.
The foreigner, who seeks, is still seeking silently as he sits right next to the door from the mother's shrine to the samadhi hall.
The Japanese lady, Shunya, has aged gracefully. She still sits on her stool and sings the parayanam.
The 'beautifullest woman in the world', who's name I know not, still sits behind the bronze statue of Bhagwan and spreads her grace to all who perform pradakshina around his samadhi.
The twin sisters have grayed a bit but their voice hasn't aged.
The president of the ashram and his wife still occupy center stage though it takes the president longer time to reach his chair now.
Illayaraaja inconspicuously comes, graces the mother's shrine and the samadhi and partakes of his blessings and offerings.
Prasadji's zest for life and relationships still matters in this indifferent world.
Ramana is still here. For all those, who can feel him.
The parayanam goes on with sustained and renewed energy each day.
Somethings change and somethings don't in this ever-changing permanent asramam, a microcosm of the world.
The foreigner, who seeks, is still seeking silently as he sits right next to the door from the mother's shrine to the samadhi hall.
The Japanese lady, Shunya, has aged gracefully. She still sits on her stool and sings the parayanam.
The 'beautifullest woman in the world', who's name I know not, still sits behind the bronze statue of Bhagwan and spreads her grace to all who perform pradakshina around his samadhi.
The twin sisters have grayed a bit but their voice hasn't aged.
The president of the ashram and his wife still occupy center stage though it takes the president longer time to reach his chair now.
Illayaraaja inconspicuously comes, graces the mother's shrine and the samadhi and partakes of his blessings and offerings.
Prasadji's zest for life and relationships still matters in this indifferent world.
Ramana is still here. For all those, who can feel him.
The parayanam goes on with sustained and renewed energy each day.
Somethings change and somethings don't in this ever-changing permanent asramam, a microcosm of the world.
