by Ariti Jankie
I don’t know how else to be but to be
myself. Blame it on running wild and free in the sugarcane fields and lagoon
lands in the shadow of my parents and elders.
I was circulating “HUSH. DON’T CRY” and Ravi Ji told me that I should write my parents story. “In the Footsteps of Rama” resulted. Both books did very well by the way. Then I took footsteps to Vijai Sadai, and he asked me to write the history of the Raja Yoga in Trinidad.
Immediately, in my head, I had the book already laid out. It would be literature instead of history as all history in Trinidad today is emotional and still in the making, particularly the Raja Yoga.
What made me more excited was the handful of men and women who were born in good homes and carried a streak of purity in their inner spiritual reservoir. I had met them along the way and bonded naturally.
My challenge was to use a universal language of the spirit in the hope that it would inspire the younger generation who may not be blessed with that inner strength that came to us through the gentle inculcations of a different type of parenting. I wanted the words to fall gentle by a light drizzle of rain, soft and silent. And I wanted the book to read like we speak in Trinidad; a kind of spontaneous literature.
And something else happened when I almost complete the book; a disruption that brought out a ritual that I didn’t quite know I possessed.
Readers who are in my generation would remember our mothers cooking on the chulha.
First thing on morning, Ma would pick up the pan with a rag and soaked dirt from beneath the chulha (the chulha was on a stand). She would lepay the chulha with the rag, lay the sticks to catch the fire easily and when she lighted the match, shesaid a prayer. Then she began to cook. And when finished, she would take a lotha of water and sprinkle it around the fire, bow and then pull out the remaining pieces of wood to out on its own.
From that tradition, we got food that was finger licking good. I’d say it was not cooking with wood and on a chula but cooking with LOVE.
As I wrote “Path of Peace” I realize that the tradition was steeped in my consciousness and like cooking I took the ritual to my writing.
PATH OF PEACE was a working title but the Raja Yoga boss liked it and wanted to keep it. I interviewed men and women and told their stories to preserve their history. I tremble with the desire to place before you a dish that would allow you, the reader to see the importance of spirituality in our lives versus religion.
I started with Hemlata and our friendship, went to Brother Harry, Vijai, Khem Jokhoo, Sister Jasmine, Kay Narinesingh, Uma, Chandra, Geeta, Garfield King, Anthony Weekes and ended with an almost life story of Silvereen Mangroo, a young village girl Avocat.
I made friends along the way and now “PATH OF PEACE” is out of the printery and ready to be launched.
Let me know what you think by emailing aritijankie@gmail.com or your comments at the end of this text.
I was circulating “HUSH. DON’T CRY” and Ravi Ji told me that I should write my parents story. “In the Footsteps of Rama” resulted. Both books did very well by the way. Then I took footsteps to Vijai Sadai, and he asked me to write the history of the Raja Yoga in Trinidad.
Immediately, in my head, I had the book already laid out. It would be literature instead of history as all history in Trinidad today is emotional and still in the making, particularly the Raja Yoga.
What made me more excited was the handful of men and women who were born in good homes and carried a streak of purity in their inner spiritual reservoir. I had met them along the way and bonded naturally.
My challenge was to use a universal language of the spirit in the hope that it would inspire the younger generation who may not be blessed with that inner strength that came to us through the gentle inculcations of a different type of parenting. I wanted the words to fall gentle by a light drizzle of rain, soft and silent. And I wanted the book to read like we speak in Trinidad; a kind of spontaneous literature.
And something else happened when I almost complete the book; a disruption that brought out a ritual that I didn’t quite know I possessed.
Readers who are in my generation would remember our mothers cooking on the chulha.
First thing on morning, Ma would pick up the pan with a rag and soaked dirt from beneath the chulha (the chulha was on a stand). She would lepay the chulha with the rag, lay the sticks to catch the fire easily and when she lighted the match, shesaid a prayer. Then she began to cook. And when finished, she would take a lotha of water and sprinkle it around the fire, bow and then pull out the remaining pieces of wood to out on its own.
From that tradition, we got food that was finger licking good. I’d say it was not cooking with wood and on a chula but cooking with LOVE.
As I wrote “Path of Peace” I realize that the tradition was steeped in my consciousness and like cooking I took the ritual to my writing.
PATH OF PEACE was a working title but the Raja Yoga boss liked it and wanted to keep it. I interviewed men and women and told their stories to preserve their history. I tremble with the desire to place before you a dish that would allow you, the reader to see the importance of spirituality in our lives versus religion.
I started with Hemlata and our friendship, went to Brother Harry, Vijai, Khem Jokhoo, Sister Jasmine, Kay Narinesingh, Uma, Chandra, Geeta, Garfield King, Anthony Weekes and ended with an almost life story of Silvereen Mangroo, a young village girl Avocat.
I made friends along the way and now “PATH OF PEACE” is out of the printery and ready to be launched.
Let me know what you think by emailing aritijankie@gmail.com or your comments at the end of this text.
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