DO PIAZA CHICKEN

A Simple recipe for the ultimate Mughlai Cuisine

By

VIKRAM KARVE

If you want a first impression of the authenticity of a “Mughlai” Restaurant, the first dish you must order and taste is a “Do Piaza” and it will give you an idea of the standard and authenticity of Mughlai Cuisine you can expect there.

Indeed the “Do Piaza” may be considered the culinary benchmark to judge and evaluate a Mughlai Restaurant.

And if Do Piaza [Mutton or Chicken] doesn’t figure on the menu, you better order Chinese or Continental, or stick to the ubiquitous “Punjabi” Butter Chicken-Naan routine!

“Do Piaza” means “two onions” or rather “double onions”.

Now how did this dish get its name?

Maybe it’s apocryphal, but legend has it that this delicious dish was invented by Mullah Do-Piaza, a renowned and celebrated cook at the Mughal Emperor Akbar’s court. One of the Navaratnas (nine jewels), it is said he could conjure up culinary delights using only two onions, and a Mughlai dish cooked in that particular style is called a “Do Piaza”.

Water is not used at all when cooking a Do Piaza.

Onions (Piaz or Pyaaz) are used twice – hence the name “Do” [“Two”] Piaza, or Pyaaza, spell it whichever way you like.

Come Dear Reader and fellow Foodie; let’s together cook a Chicken Do Piaza. It takes time, but it’s easy.

THE FIRST PIAZA

First cut a generous number of onions (the more the onions the sweeter the gravy) into rings, yes separate onion rings.

Now, in a large cooking vessel, put in the chicken pieces, add a liberal amount of curds and mix well. Copiously layer the chicken-curd mixture with the onion rings, cover with a tight lid and set aside to marinate for at least an hour.

Remember, do not vigorously mix in the onion rings; just liberally layer the chicken-curd mélange with the onion rings.

After marinating the chicken-curd-onion ring mixture for an hour or more, place the vessel on a slow fire with the lid on, and let the chicken cook slowly in its own juices and those released by the onion rings, till the onion rings are reduced to a pulp and, finally, the liquid almost dries up.

This is the first “Piaza”!

THE SECOND PIAZA

In another pan, pour in and heat pure ghee and fry sliced onions (the “second” piaza) till crisp brown, add finely chopped ginger and garlic, bay leaf, slit green chillies, cardamoms, cinnamon, cloves, peppercorns, and then an adequate amount of chopped tomatoes, stir and fry on slow fire, and when the ghee separates, add the chicken [cooked in curds and onion rings] from the first pot, and stir fry till well browned and the gravy becomes nice and thick.

I don’t like to add garam masala, turmeric, red chilli powder, or any other spice powders; but if you like it, go ahead.

I always find it best to taste the gravy and add the minimal amount of salt as necessary almost at the end of the cooking process.

Remember, do not add water at any stage or you will ruin the dish.

A “Do Piaza” cooks in its own juices – during both the first and second “piazas”.

EATING THE “DO PIAZA”

Place in a serving dish, squeeze a lemon, garnish with fresh green chopped coriander and your Chicken Do Piaza is ready to eat.

But first let’s “visually” savour the Do Piaza in our mind’s eye.

It looks appetizing – nicely browned generous pieces of succulent mutton, in translucent juicy onion rings in scrumptious gravy.

It smells good too – heavenly mouth-watering aroma wafts towards you making you smack your lips and salivate in anticipation of the gastronomic treat that awaits you.

It tastes marvellous – absolutely delicious, not spicy hot, but mild and flavoursome, the unique sweetish zest of onions is discernible and as the heavenly medley of flavours and fragrances synergizes inside you, and you feel a sense of supreme satisfaction.

Relish the Chicken Do Piaza with hot chappties, phulkas or even a piece of soft fluffy pav, and you will experience sheer bliss.

For more such mouthwatering recipes do read my foodie book Appetite for a Stroll

http://www.flipkart.com/appetite-stroll-vikram-karve/8190690094-gw23f9mr2o

http://books.sulekha.com/book/appetite-for-a-stroll/default.htm

http://www.indiaplaza.in/finalpage.aspx?storename=books&sku=9788190690096&ct=2

Happy Eating.

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://books.sulekha.com/book/appetite-for-a-stroll/default.htm

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

vikramkarve@sify.com

When the Muslim dynasties came to India, the cultural fabric of the country dramatically changed. Food, clothing, architecture were all influenced and of course, music as well. Many beautiful forms of classical music emerged from the confluence of Hindu and Muslim cultures, including the khayal style of singing (prior to this dhrupad was the mainstay of vocal music) and the introduction of tabla.

Alongside these changes, came the commercialization of music. Until that point, classical music was found only in the temples. Music and dance were for the Divine. To hear it, the king went to the temple, the musicians did not come to the court. It is under Muslim rule, that music made its way into the courts, both Hindu and Muslim courts, and the objectives of the musician began to shift.

Classical music has always been described as a yoga or path to the Divine. Through rigourous and tirelessly worship of sound, a musician purified their notes and their souls, seeking to please and ultimately merge with God. In the temples, the human audience was not of importance – they sat behind the musicians; it was for God that the musician played. The power and depth of these artists, the energy they emitted has become that of legend. Their music was their devotion.

When the musician shifted his stage to the court, the King became the focus. If a particularly type of harkat or musical pattern invoked appreciation (which was often in the form of a gold coin), then more were added to the next performance. The King was to be pleased for he was the lifeline for the artist. The goal became materialistic and coinciding with this change, the power of the music diminished.

A story of Akbar and Tansen explains the phenomenon quite aptly.

Tansen was a legendary singer and the court musician of King Akbar. His prowess is still spoken of today and his influence and contribution to Indian classical music far-reaching.

Once the king said to Tansen, “I believe you are the greatest singer in the world.”

“No, my king, you are are mistaken. My music is nothing compared to that of my Guru Swami Haridas.”

“I wish to hear him sing, call him to my court.”

“I am afraid that is not possible. He does not travel outside of his place. If you wish to hear him, you shall have to travel with me on a long journey into the forest and that too, in the guise of a commoner.”

It was an unusual condition, but Akbar was adamant to hear the person who Tansen claimed to be better than him.

The king ordered for a disguises and the two set off. They travelled far into the forest, ultimately coming near remote hut along a river.

“We shall wait here,” Tansen said, asking the king to rest after the long journey.

Soon they hear the most divine notes from the direction of the hut and the king was lost in a state of ecstasy. Slowly he made his way towards the source and found himself in front of saintly man dressed in a simple dhoti outside the hut.

As the last notes faded and silence descended upon them, the potency of the music remained with Akbar.

The singer opened his eyes and greeted the visitors. “Welcome, O King of India. Your wish has been fulfilled.” Swami Haridas recognized the king, despite his peasantry clothing.

The king began to offer much wealth and land to him as recognition for his art, but Swami Haridas would have nothing of it.

Taking leave of his guru, Tansen and Akbar made their way back to the city.

“You sing magnificently, but there really is no comparison to that of your Guru,” Akbar pointed out.

“That is no surprise as there is one major difference between us. I sing for you, my guru sings for God. “

Location: Fatehpur Sirkri, Uttar Pradesh, India

We had a good night sleep in a very nice room. We had our breakfast and went to see what we came here for- the fort. The town used to be the capital of the Mughal empire between 1571 and 1585. It is also a World Heritage Site and a very charming and atmospheric place especially around the fort.  The rest of the town is as any other Indian towns very dirty with lots of rubbish piling everywhere, cows and goats shitting  on the streets and crossing your way, an open sewer running on the street and people full of despair.

  So we made our way up the hill where we first visited Jama Masijd – a beautiful mosque, which contains elements Indian and Persian design. We were warned about people trying to be our guides and advised not to take one. Lots of local people were sitting on stairs socializing or selling some souvenirs. We entered the mosque at Victory Gate and found ourselves in a big enclosed courtyard. At the opposite side there was a white building within the courtyard with the tomb of some Sufi saint, who had predicted the birth of an heir to the Mughal throne. There were many more tombs and four long corridors around this square courtyard.On the left side of the main gate was the mosque. The whole complex was very nice and felt very ancient. We were constantly disrupted by guys trying to convince us we needed a guide and them being just right person for us and by the souvenir sellers pushing us to buy something. Just outside of this mosque fields were covered by a thick layer of rubbish greeting us –”Welcome to India the land of the rubbish. “It was pretty sad to see the World Heritage Site surrounded by fields of garbage and nobody cares.

After that we went to see the main part of the fort, which we had to pay to get in. The fort was a big complex of courtyards, gardens, buildings, towers and walls all of them built from a red stone. The emperor, Akbar, had actually three favourite wives, one of whom was Hindu, one Muslim and one Christian. His favorite one was said to be the Hindu one and we could see it, because he built for each of them palaces, where they lived. The house he built for the Hindu wife, was the most beautiful one  and set around an  enormous courtyard  with traditional Indian columns, Islamic cupolas and turquoise-blue Persian roof tiles. This one was also the largest of the three. His least favorite was probably the Christian one, because her house was converted from a kitchen and was very, but very basic and also very tiny. The Muslim wife had a mid sized house with nice carvings around. There must had been lots of jealously and hatred among them three, one more favorite than the other. After that we entered another courtyard with an ornamental pool with a platform where singers and musicians were performing for Akbar, who was watching from a pavilion in his private quarter. These days it is only something looking like a maze. Just behind it there was his bedroom with an enormous bed looking like for four people, maybe for his three wives? On the grounds of the same courtyard there was a Hall of Public Audiences, where the emperor was orchestrating public executions carried out by his war elephants trampling  criminals to death and also many other interesting buildings like the emperor’s treasury or a building where the emperor was debating with his ministers. There were many more scattered buildings around and many more courtyards. Before we left the complex we walked through the big complex of the royal stables. They must have had also camels and elephants over there, because individual compartments for animals were bigger than for horses. From there we strolled around the ruins and went down the main road, through piles of bricks and boys with goats.

We returned to the guesthouse and decided we don’t want to stay here another day, so we left and took a bus to Agra. There we waited for five hours to get an overnight  bus to Rishikesh in Uttarakand, which was at least 500 kilometers north of Fatehpur Sikri, if not more. There we were planning to chill out and take a few days of yoga classes. My reclining seat in the bus was broken, which was fantastic, because it was nearly like a bed, which was a big advantage .

Akbar the Great was the third and greatest Mughal emperor of India, ruling from 1556 to 1605. He had been brought up as a Sunni Moslem, but was very familiar with Shia Islam and minority sects from his time in exile Persia when his father had been deposed. Once Akbar inherited the empire, most of his subjects were Hindu, and there were large numbers of Sikhs, Parsis, Jains and Buddhists too.

His ancestors had included Timur and Ghengis Khan, who had carved out empires in the East, both of which were known for religious tolerance, and his own immediate predecessors on the Mughal throne had kept on good terms with their diverse subjects. There is some evidence that Akbar was somewhat intolerant early in his reign, even of different branches of Islam, but as he grew older he seems to have mellowed, possibly under the influence of mystical Sufi teachings.

In 1575, he opened a debating hall called the Ibadat Khana (House of Worship) next to his palace, and invited Sunni clerics, teachers and philosophers to come and discuss religion with him. However, on fine points of theological detail things got so acrimonious that Akbar decided to open up the attendance to try to achieve a broader concensus. Naturally that was doomed to fail.

Nonetheless, he invited representatives of all the major religions and schools of philosophy to come and debate. He even got two Portuguese Jesuits from Goa (outside his realm) to come and explain Christianity, and among the Indian scholars were members of the Charvaka school, an ancient atheist philosophy. Unsurprisingly, nobody could agree on anything at all, leading Akbar to doubt if any set of beliefs could possibly be the whole truth, even his own Moslem faith.

He gave up on the debates in about 1581 and decided to invent his own religion, taking elements of everything he had heard about. He called it Din-i-Ilahi, Divine Faith. It was a mystical religion, without gods or prophets, but respectful of the spiritual aspects of nature. Following the Jains and Charvakas, moderation, tolerance, kindness and abstinence were considered virtues; and the usual suspects like greed and gluttony formed the line-up of deadly sins.

If you were feeling cynical, you might suggest that Akbar was just writing the rulebook to make people docile, easily-governed citizens, but if he’d rigorously enforced any of the existing religions he could have achieved that. After all, it’s what the Roman Emperor Constantine did with Christianity. And, in fact, he didn’t actually “roll out” the new religion to the masses. He became vegetarian himself, but only banned animal slaughter on Jain holy days. The Divine Faith was only ever followed by Akbar’s family and the most senior members of his court, and was forgotten once he died in 1605.

By coincidence, a few days after his death, English Catholics tried to blow up the English Protestant King and his court in the Gunpowder Plot. That was the comparable state of religious tolerance in Western Europe.

[Akbar's son and successor, Jahangir, was described as an "atheist" by the English ambassador (not unkindly: they were great drinking buddies) but he may have just mistaken a general attitude of tolerance for lack of personal belief.]

“Sukses mas acaranya, makasih…”

“Tak cari-cari anda tidak ada, jadi saya pulang duluan, sukses besar acaranya mas…”

“Berapa yang datang mas, ada lebih dari 300 kan? Luar biasa, seru ….”

Masih banyak lagi komentar teman-teman, baik dari kalangan pinisepuh maupun dari mereka yang masih “fresh from the oven”.

Semua komentar itu diterima rata oleh semua panitia, sehingga rasa capek menggelar acara akbar ini jadi tidak etrasa lagi. Yang ada adalah kepuasan yang seperti tidak mau hilang. Langsung saja kita pasang target untuk tahun depan, “Harus Lebih Sukses!”

Ada mas Oni, pendatang baru dalam kepanitiaan yang langsung menunjukkan tajinya. Sungguh beruntung Civeng mempunyai alumni seperti mas Onni ini. Luwes dan enthengan + penuh ide kreatif. Lihat saja blognya, bikin ngakak habis.

Ada juga mas Gema [sekretaris umum] yang terpaksa ninggalin bisnisnya dulu untuk ngurusin acara ini. Selesai acara, beliaunya langsung ambruk, tidak berkutik.

Di bagian keuangan ada mas Yudo yang pusinbg sendiri mikir duit kok gak cukup-cukup. Untung punya sumber utangan tanpa bunga, jadi panitia bisa berjalan.

Duet dari Hutama Karya juga mewarnai kepanitiaan ini, siapa lagi kalau bukan Mas Putut dan mas Gatot. Mereka berdua inilah yang pontang panting dikejar-kejar mas Yudo yang kekurangan duit. Acungan jempol pantas diberikan pada mereka berdua.

Di belakang layar ada dua nama yang terus mendorong poanitia agar tidak gentar menghadapi apapun yang menghaklangi. Mereka adalah pak Eko Prastowo dan Pak BEM.

Pak Putut kalau sedang ditanyain tentang sumber dana, maka salah satu jawabannya adalah “sedang ditelepon pak Eko Prastowo, tenang saja…”

Pak BEM malah lebih parah lagi, justru pak BEM-lah yang nanya pada panitia, “..siapa lagi yang harus kutelepon…?”

“Pak XXX sudah terima proposal belum? Saya telepon sekarang nanti panitia menyusuli surat porposalnya…”

Aku sempat kepikiran, kalau saja nggak ada pak BEM, maka panitia ini mungkin sudah balik kanan mengembalikan mandat kepanitiaan.

Acara reuni akbar ini memang penuh dengan warna khas Pogung. Nekad abiz…!

“Spanduk ini kalau mau dipasang harus ijin dan biayanya lebih mahal daripada harga spanduknya, gimana pak Eko?”

“Pasang saja, nanti saya urus ijinnya kalau sempat. Kalau gak sempat dan kemudian spanduk diambil oleh Satpol PP, maka ikhlaskan saja…!”

Jadilah semua spanduk terpaksa dipasang tanpa ijin dari yang berwajib.

Acara yang sedianya dimulai jam 8.30 ini akhirnya molor juga, padahal sudah wanti-wanti untuk tidak molor, tapi sikon memang belum mengijinkan untuk memulai acara.

Para tamu baru saja berdatangan dan terus berdatangan serta masih asyik ngobrol dengan penuh canda ria, sehingga tidak tega kalau harus diputus untuk mengikuti acara resmi panitia.

Dalam rapat sudah diputuskan untuk segera memulai acara bila tamu yang datang sudah mencapai jumlah angka 100 orang.

Lalu bagaimana kita tahu kalau tamu sudah berjumlah 100 orang?

Kodenya adalah kalau kaos alumni sudah habis berarti sudah 100 orang yang masuk ke ruang Reuni. Ternyata kaos sudah habis, tetapi ruang yang luas membuat tamu terlihat hanya sedikit saja yang datang.

Ketika jumlah tamu sudah menginjak angka 170 orang, berdasar data absen yang ditanda-tangani para tamu, maka dimulailah acara reuni ini.

Dibuka oleh Ketua Panitia, pak Ketupat Oke, maka sambutan ini hanya berlangsung dalam hitungan detik. inilah sambutan tercepat dalam sejarah reuni Civeng.

Sambutan selanjutnya adalah dari Ketua Yatsigama, Kajur Sipil UGM dan dari pimpinan konsultan WGA. Inilah sambutan yang memang dikorbankan untuk tidak didengar.

“Yang mau ngobrol silahkan ngobrol dan yang mau ndengerin silahkan mendengarkan”, begitu kira-kira apa yang ada di pikiran para pembicara di atas panggung.

Di sela-sela sambutan tersebut diadakan acara penyerahan cek senilai 75 juta untuk bantuan Bea Siswa bergulir, sumbangan dari kagama.

Pak B3 mewakili pak Menteri Djoko Kirmanto menyampaikan sambutan berkaitan dengan sumbangan tersebut.

“Ini memang uang Kagama, tetapi karena saya yang kebagian mencari, maka saya tahu persis bahwa sebagian besar uang yang saya kumpulkan adalah dari alumni Sipil UGM, jadi sangat layak kalau disumbangkan lagi ke Teknik Sipil UGM”

Tepuk tanganpun bergemuruh ketika ucapan itu disampaikan.

Setelah selesai acara sambutan, maka situasi makin tidak terkendali, semua asyik ngobrol dengan bahasanya sendiri-sendiri dan dengan angkatan masing-masing. Angkatan 73 yang tadinya memecahkan rekor sebagai peserta terbanyak, ternyata akhirnya harus merelakan mahkotanya untuk angkatan 71.

Dalam suasana yang kacau balau ini, pak Koen dan pak Sis menyumbangkan suara emasnya dan minta sumbangan dana pada para tamu. Lumayan juga hasilnya, 13 juta lebih untuk membayar suara pak Koen dan Pak Sis. Selesai acara penggalangan dana ini, maka suasana sudah tidak terkendali lagi. Semua tamu asyik dan tenggelam dalam kelompok-kelompok kecil dengan suara yang memenuhi ruangan acara.

Disinilah peran penting Mr Onni sebagai eMCe yang langsung merubah susunan acara sehingga suasana bisa kembali teratur dan tetap santai, bahkan sangat dinikmati oleh mereka yang mengikuti acara main angklung bersama ini.

Mas Onni memang mengajukan urutan acara main angklung menjadi di depan ceramah, sehingga acara ceramah “halal bi halal” dilaksanakan setelah acara main angklung.

Sebuah kolaborasi yang apik dari permainan angklung dan ceramah motivasi oleh Pak Parlindungan Marpaung, sehingga semua hadirin terpaku sampai ke titik omongan penghabisan dari sang Motivator.

Acara makan siang yang didahului dengan doa terasa sangat cair dan sangat “gayeng”. Omongan yang tadi sempat tertahan karena terpesona oleh :”sihir” dari angklung dan ceramah sang motivator, sekarang terlampiaskan dalam canda dan lagu.

Sampai ketemu di Reuni yang akan datang.

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This was a terrorist attack by a traitor. This is no different than 9/11 on a smaller scale and should be treated as such.

Fort Hood shooting: Texas army killer – Nidal Malik Hasan linked to September 11 terrorists worshipped at a mosque led by a radical imam said to be a “spiritual adviser” to three of the hijackers who attacked America on Sept 11, 2001.

Fort Hood terrorist tried to contact al qaeda terrorists

Nidal Hasan’s business card explained – “soldier of allah”

Read about it HERE for updates and commentary.

Soldiers reported that the gunman shouted “Allahu Akbar!” — an Arabic phrase for “God is great!” — before opening fire, said Lt. Gen. Robert Cone, the base commander.

“Luar biasa mas Eko, saluuuut…!”

“Biarpun ada riak-riak kecil di acara ini, tapi secara keseluruhan sudah sangat melampaui target…”

“Kalau fakultas teknik sipil saja bisa mendatangkan peserta reuni lebih dari 350 orang, maka untuk tingkat universitas bisa berapa orang ya…”

“Wah….. bisa dijadikan langganan panitia nih…”

Begitu banyak komentar yang masuk melalui berbagai macam media [imil, fisbuk, SMS, dll] dan aku bersama teman-teman panitia hanya bisa bersyukur padaNya.

Panitia ini telah dikaruniai para senior yang rajin memberi semangat dan teman-teman panitia yang tidak patah semangat meskipun dihajar dengan berbagai macam kendala.

“Ini saatnya kita mendengar, jadi marilah kita dengarkan apa yang direncanakan oleh panitia dan kita ikuti apa maunya panitia”

Ucapan sejuk itulah yang membuat panitia tetap tegar melangkah, meskipun kalau melihat “sikon” yang ada, sebenarnya panitia ini sudah siap untuk “bubar jalan”.

Dana Panitia di BANK yang sangat memadai untuk melaksanakan acara ini, sampai acara reuni selesai tetap tidak bisa dicairkan, sehingga panitia benar-benar bekerja tanpa modal yang memadai.

Sandungan pertama datang dari “bertemunya” acara ini dengan acara Kagama dan terlambatnya memesan gedung untuk acara ini, karena terlalu banyaknya pertimbangan masalah keuangan.

Ketika akhirnya acara ini diundur, muncul sandungan kedua. Ternyata acara ini tetap “tabrakan” dengan acara Golf Kagama di Yogya.

Dengan membulatkan tekad, akhirnya acara tetap dilaksanakan meskipun harus “bertabrakan” dengan acara Kagama.

Sandungan selanjutnya adalah pemilihan Gedung yang dianggap kurang Qualified. Perlu sebuah pertemuan khusus untuk menyepakati hal ini. Disini panitia berjudi dengan nasib dan menerima masukan dari para alumni.

Sandungan terbesar adalah ketika susunan acara diprotes oleh para alumni. Protes ini begitu deras dan terjadi di saat mental panitia sedang “down” karena tidak pegang duit dan tagihan sudah di atas angka yang ada di buku rekening panitia.

Dalam rapat terakhir di Gedung Waskita, aku akhirnya tidak sanggup menampung sandungan ini dan terpaksa cerita pada anggota panitia lainnya.

“Sepanjang aktif di dunia hiburan, ternyata sekarang ini aku tidak dipercaya menyusun sebuah acara”, begitu kataku.

“Ini mirip dengan saat masih jadi mahasiswa dulu, saat aku memimpin bagian kesenian dan dipercaya untuk menyusun acara tetapi diprotes oleh seorang senior”

“Lucunya, senior itu dan aku punya anak buah yang sama, sehingga para anak buah ini menjadi bingung, mau ngikut yang mana… hehehehe….”

“Aku sangat yakin bahwa peserta acara ini akan banyak dan aku juga yakin bahwa pengisi acara sudah sesuai dengan format yang kusiapkan”

“Okelah, kita jalan terus !”

Alhamdulillah, panitia reuni aktif yang sudah kenyang makan asam garam panitia, sepakat dengan keputusan ini.

Panitia yang terlihat aktif menjelang acara ini antara lain adalah Mbak Juita, Mas Gema, Mas Yudo, Mas Onny, Pak Putut, Pak Gatot, Widi Yoga, Mas Arinova dan aku sendiri.

Panitia ini jarang rapat dan kalaupun rapat tidak pakai pembukaan tapi langsung selesai, karena masalah memang sudah dibahas secara detil.

Kuucapkan salut buat mereka yang begitu setia mendukung acara ini meskipun berada dalam suasana yang kurang kondusif.

Yang bikin tersenyum kecut adalah ketika acara sudah selesai dan aku harus meluncur ke Launching BloggerBekasi. Ternyata ada tamu yang harus jalan kaki menuju terminal bis/angkot. Padahal ada satu mobil Kijang Innova baru [gress] yang nganggur.

Ada juga acara deg-degan panitia, soalnya cek raksasa untuk visualisasi pemberian bantuan beasiswa bergulir tidak kunjung datang ke lokasi acara.

Untung kita punya eMCe profesional [mas Onny] yang membuat semua acara tetap mengalir sempurna [padahal acara sudah diacak-acak agar sesuai dengan kondisi audience]

Nilai lebih dari Mas Onny [kaji edan] ini adalah kontribusinya dalam menyediakan sound system, lengkap dengan playernya [yang juga profesional].

Tidak usah disuruh dua kali, para penyanyi Civeng inipun langsung larut dalam lagu demi lagu.

Acara yang diselingi dengan spontanitas “ngamen” untuk peduli gempa Indonesia ini ternyata berhasil mengumpulkan nilai 13 juta, padahal belum semua peserta kita sodori kotak amal.

Luar biasa!

Begitulah kalau kebersamaan sudah terbentuk, maka semua yang hebat-hebat pasti segera muncul, gak perlu ditunggu lagi.

Pak Yono (81 thn) didampingi pak Maryadi

Kebersamaan ini memang muncul dengan kuat dan makin kuat ketika para alumni diajak bermain angklung bersama-sama.

Fokus dan komitment yang kuat merupakan salah satu hasil dari permainan angklung bersama ini. Ada 200 angklung dan semuanya dimainkan dengan apik dalam suatu kolaborasi yang unik.

Motivator Internasional [Parlindungan], pengarang buku “Setengah Isi Setengah Kosong” ikut membuat acara ini semakin punya arti. Dimaknainya semua kegiatan yang dilakukan audience saat bermain angklung, sehingga tidak hanya kepuasan lahir yang didapat, tapi kepuasan nurani juga didapat.

Alhamdulillah, kuantitas makanan dan minuman cukup cocok dengan audience yang beragam, sehingga belum terdengar komplain dari audience. Baru pujian yang didapat oleh panitia.

Akhirnya, sampai bertemu di reuni yang akan datang.

Terima Kasih Cinta

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Spesial terima kasih buat pak BEM yang tidak henti-hentinya melakukan tugas panitia [maksudnya nelpon kesana kemari].
Buat Pak B3, panitia dan hadirin cukup terkejut melihat jumlah uang yang disumbangkan untuk beasiswa bergulir ini.

Cek Bea Siswa Begulir

August 11

After a breakfast of “vegetable crooked” (it was actually a veggie croquette, but “crooked” was curiously appropriate given my experience with the salwar kameez scallywag, Aslam) and pakora-style French toast, I went to check out. At the reception counter I tried helping a French family whose kids had been vomiting all night and whose parents were trying desperately to find a doctor and suitable medication. Those poor kids looked tres malades. After they left I decided to show the staff the yellow scarf I had bought from Aslam in good faith, the one covered in inked numbers and scratchings of various colours and for which I was embarrassed to admit I had paid 200 rupees ($5). They didn’t seem to understand (or have the interest in) warning other tourists against this rogue, unscrupulous Aslam Khan of Meer Handicrafts.  Their advice? Don’t buy from guys in the street. Ha!

On a mission, I directed Nandu to drive around the corner where I entered the grounds of the offending shop. A neighbour in typically-curious Indian fashion came up to me and commenced the interrogation:

Take a close-up of me!!

Where are you from?
Are you married?
How long for?
How many kids?
Why no kids? Are there problems?
Take a picture of me.
Why isn’t the picture a close up? Take another one.

By this point Aslam’s nephew had arrived, but Aslam was nowhere to be found. I explained to the neighbour, the neighbour’s husband, the nephew and Nandu why I was there.  I was assured, as I knew I would be, that Aslam was on his way.  Sorry, I said, I don’t have time to wait.  I demanded my money back.  The nephew said he had no money, could I wait for Aslam. Sorry, no, I responded, and I gave him a choice: either he gives me my money back or I exchange for another scarf. Looking worried, he unlocked the shop and I perused the selection, dissatisfied by the ugly parade of scarves. Instead, I picked up a beaded bag (for my niece) and ask that I take this instead.  He agreed.

And then, the most amazing thing happened.  His furrowed brow relaxed into a massive smile and he stuck out his hand.  This absence of hard feelings and genuine warmth following a negotiation was something I experienced more than once in India, and each time I was surprised and completely charmed.

Our eastbound lane on the Agra Road from Jaipur was under construction, so we essentially shared it with oncoming traffic. I watched in horror as one motorcyclist who wasn’t paying attention came straight at us.  At the very last minute he swerved and Nandu yelled a bloody tirade at him.  We both laughed heartily, once I started breathing again.

After listening to Nandu’s high-pitched whiny music for the seventeenth time I asked if he sang. “No,” he said. “I am Brahmin. Brahmin don’t sing. It is not respectful enough.” I took this as an invitation to ask him about castes in India. He was part of the Sharma (which he pronounced “Sarma”) caste, number three in the Brahmin pecking order of seven sub castes. He explained that men can marry below their caste, but women can’t, but if you are from Mathura Village you can only marry members of your own caste due to it being the birthplace of Krishna. He spoke of the lowest caste as “the sweepers.”  I asked him if inter-caste relationships were portrayed in Bollywood films, to which he answered yes.  I asked if it happened in real life. “No,” his unwavering answer. Then I asked which was worse: marrying a lower-caste Hindu or a high-caste Muslim?”

“No. Neither possible,” his perfunctory reply.

Leaving Jaipur

Just then a truck nearly ran us off the road.  Nandu squawked, pulled in front of the truck, slowed to a stop, got out and stood in the middle of the highway yelling at the driver. I studied the “Jolly Fat-Go” road sign with great interest.

Back on track I learned that he was a middle child of four brothers and three sisters, all of whom were still living in UP, the nickname for the state of Uttar Pradesh. He grew up in a six-room, one-story house with some land where they ate chapatti, rice and dal everyday. He said he cooked for himself in Delhi. “Better than your mother?” I asked mischievously. “No!” the startled reply. “My mother is, good cook.” We laughed.

His phone rang. Nandu chatted away as I stared at the green countryside. Then he handed me his phone.

“Speak to my friend. He doesn’t speak English.”

“Uh…namaste?” I said tentatively.

“Arrey, dost! Kyaa chal rahaa hai? Kya mein aapke madad kar sakti hoon?” A torrent of Hindi filled my ear. I proceeded to read off every Hindi expression I had thus far written down, much to Nandu’s giggling delight and my unseen friend’s perplexity.

Phone conversation over, I asked Nandu when he was growing up if all castes learned in the same classroom.

“Yes, but Sweeper children stay in corner.”

“Oh. Could you talk to them?”

“Talking ok. But not touch. If they touch you [he demonstrated by tapping my leg] you have to go home, change your clothes and wash.”

“How many Sweeper children per class?” I inquired.

“Three, maybe two, maybe one.”

“If they touched you, would they be punished?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

He wouldn’t answer.  He pretended he was tired and clearly didn’t want to continue this conversation.

I felt profoundly sad.

I watched the scenery slide by. Little children crossing highways alone. Tractors carrying impossibly humongous loads like giant bloated mushrooms. Green fields studded with brown buildings, trees, distant hills obscured by monsoonal mist. Tractors teeming with brightly-coloured passengers. Occasional towns with mechanics, machinery, fruit and vegetable stands, cows, goats, and always lines of people trying to cross the road. Sentries of brick kiln chimneys like rustic versions of the Qutb Minar.

Driving on the Agra Road

The guidebook recommended the Pelican Hotel for lunch. I agreed to the thali, given that was all the one chef was able to prepare. A young guy on a bike returned with a small black plastic bag whose undisclosed contents undoubtedly would comprise part of my lunch. Strange, steam engine noises emerged from the kitchen. Eventually I was presented with a delicious potato curry, un-refrigerated yogurt and fresh chapatti.

My request for the bathroom led me to one of the hotel rooms. It was then I understood why Indian hotels are reputed to have different standards than in North America. The filthy room had a bed of doutbtful hygiene and chaotically-wired 1960’s-issue television. Then there was the bathroom. The toilet seat was covered in unidentifiable liquid and there was a bug party going on in the bowl. The flush was like their Jacuzzi; they continued frolicking afterward even though (or because?) a strong sewerage smell filled the room.

Back in the car Nandu went slap! and showed me the crushed carcass of the mosquito he had just killed.

Aack! Dengue!

I covered myself with bug spray.

We entered the state of Uttar Pradesh and he shouts gleefully “U.P.!” I say, “U.P., I pee, we pee,” and he laughs uproariously. Seems guys all over the world find pee jokes hilarious.

We arrive at the parking lot for Fatehpur Sikri, a mosque and palace built by Mughal ruler Akbar in the late 1500’s and abandoned shortly afterwards for reasons unknown. As soon as I exited the car in the blazing heat to commence the one kilometre ascent I was surrounded by touts. One was particularly clingy.  I tried all sorts of tactics: sympathy (Please, I just want to be by myself); logic (If you won’t take my money, what’s the advantage to you accompanying me?); and slyness (I’m from Goa, leave an Indian sister alone). I finally said, “Look – you’d be better off spending your time looking for someone who will give you money.” They finally gave up.

The imposing heights of Fatehpur Sikri

At the top of the hill was an imposing building and equally imposing staircase to reach it. By this point I am a complete sweatball and climbing a huge set of stairs doesn’t help. At the top I am greeted with a scene of such chaos you cannot imagine. There are old people, young people, healthy people, sick people, beggars, families, goats, people yelling, running, loitering, pleading, jumping, sleeping. I deposit my shoes with the shoe minder and enter the gate. It is even crazier inside. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Nothing – there is no training.  India is crazy, dirty, crowded and Islamic India is the most. And the corners – what a smell!  As long as there’s a corner someone will have already marked it.

Fatehpur Sikri scene

As I start to walk around a guy who wants to be my guide latches onto me. He claims to work for the mosque and not want any money. “No one does anything for free in India,” I answer.  When he won’t leave me alone I finally say, “Please, please, I would like to be alone.  Will you respect me?” He acquiesces and is immediately replaced by two very persistent three year olds. They disperse and are replaced by slightly older children. So I bring out my top secret weapon: I started speaking Hebrew really, really fast, made even more interesting that I don’t really speak Hebrew.

“Manishtanahalailahazehmikolhalailot!” the ritual line from the Passover meal came spilling out of my mouth at breakneck speed.

It worked! I confused the little hustlers into submission.

Unfortunately, I find the whole experience gross, particularly as I am walking around barefoot.  Everywhere smells like urine.

After collecting my shoes I dart quickly to ask a Westerner if he knows where the palace entrance is.  He’s Spanish and, thankfully, provides the directions. I walk there, sweating and seared. I desperately look for my hat which I have cleverly left in my suitcase. I then go into a lotion-slapping frenzy, breaking the heart of a vendor who thought my scrounging was for his benefit.

More civilized: Fatehpur Sikri Palace

As opposed to the Jami Masjid which had no entrance fee, the palace cost 260 rupees and was worth every penny, because entering it was like attaining Nirvana. It was quiet, unpopulated, sort of green and had slightly less urine.

I decided to walk back to the car, even though it was on a different road. How hard could it be? A tuktuk stops and offers to take me back to the parking lot for 50 rupees. I say no thinks, I can walk for free.  30, then.  No thanks, I can walk for free. 20? I say I’ll do it for 10. Agreed.  Good thing because I would have walked the wrong way.

Nandu and I arrive in Agra and we go to my hotel, 8 months old and in the middle of nowhere.  My room is # 209 but I press floor #1 to get there. I was confused.  There was something else a little off about the hotel, but I couldn’t put my figure on it. Then I realized it was the woman working at Reception: she was the first woman I had seen working at an Indian hotel thus far.

Back to the car, Nandu drove me around Agra, described previously by my friend Dave as a “poophole”. We saw the entrance to the Taj Mahal grounds (you cannot drive anywhere close to the building itself), the Red Fort and massive monsoon puddles. I found a tiny Internet provider where the first 15 minutes was spent just trying to get it to work.  He tried to charge me for that time, but he backed off very easily when I challenged him. I was hungry, so Nandu persuaded me to try the restaurant next door to the Internet shack named “Quality Quality Quality Quality Restaurant”. I reluctantly agreed.

It was a small, windowless restaurant with five waiters serving seven large tables, only two of which were occupied, by tourists. Picture bloated upholstered benches, the top half of the backrest covered with a pink fabric condom, orange walls, a blue-lit disco faux chandelier and the steady hum of the pop machine. Zero ambiance, except for the five waiters staring at you. I ordered a Mughali dish of paneer with nine fruits and vegetables which was remarkably tasteless.

Suddenly the electricity popped. In a recessed, window-free room, this was an interesting proposition. Luckily I had my mini headlight flashlight which helped illuminate the room. Chalk another point for the experienced traveller!

An Indian family arrived. Locals?! I was ecstatically shocked. It didn’t bring back flavour to those nine fruits and vegetables, but I was no longer feeling as duped.

It occurred to me that it was six months to the day I would begin my fortieth year. Shit.

The boys from NYC @ the Quality x 4 restaurant

The restaurant was beginning to fill up.  One of the waiters brought three guys to my table and sat them down unceremoniously. Juan and Alejandro were brothers from New York who decided to do a two-week whirlwind trip of India: Delhi- Agra – Jaipur – Pushkar – Udaipur – Mumbai – Kerala – Chennai. Their friend Kurt was a last-minute addition. I guessed his background was Haitian and he nearly fell over when I started chatting him up in Haitian Creole.

The boys had me in stitches with their travel stories. Having no pre-arranged accommodation, the tourist office directed them to a hostel in Paharganj, Delhi, located up a tight alley and with a feature “welcome urinal” outside the front door. Their room was approximately 64 square feet with three beds and no window.  They were supposed to have air conditioning but the power went out, so they spent the whole night rolling over into each other’s faces and waiting for the alarm clock to ring. At 6 am they ran up to the restaurant only to wake up the entire hotel staff who were slumbering on the roof. Then in Mathura, the home of the god Krishna, they were the *only* non Indians and were subject to rather invasive body searches.  I arranged to meet them the following morning at the Taj Mahal.

When I left the restaurant and met Nandu he started walking away from our car to another, similar white car.

“You switched cars?” I inquired.

“Yes,” he replied. “It is my friend’s.”

I waited for more but no further explanation was forthcoming.

Back at the hotel I arranged a 5 am wake-up call.  They asked me if I would need hot water in the morning. “I have to ask for hot water?” I was puzzled. The hot water was evidently turned off at night and then switched on again at 7 am.  Indian quirkiness was starting to make more sense.

Sin duda, una de las leyendas del Sarod (instrumento parecido al laúd del norte de India) es Ali Akbar Khan. El siguiente video muestra el virtuosismo de este hombre, considerado un “tesoro nacional” en su país.

Kenal dengan penyanyi, Akbar. Dia ni memang kureng dikenali ramai, cuma penampilannya lebih tertumpu kepada bidang nyayian nasyid dan pernah berduet dengan komposer, Yassin. Baru-baru ini Akbar telah selamat dinikahkan dengan gadis idamannya dengan penuh sederhana di salah sebuah Masjid yang kurang jelas lokasinya. Apa-apa pun tahniah kepada Akbar kerana membina sebuah ikatan yang sah.

Assalamu’alaikum wr. wb

Kepada teman-teman miggers se jatim diharapkan kehadirannya pada acara kopdar akbar mig33 se jatim yang insya Allah akan dilaksanakan pada:

Hari/tgl     : Minggu, 25 Oktober 2009

Tempat      : Pantai Ria Kenjeran Park

Htm             : Rp. 10.000

Bagi yang berminat, silahkan beli ticket box di koordinator masing2 room se surabaya. oya acara ini di meriahkan dengan penampilan band dari tiap room se surabaya.

info lebih lengkap bisa hubungi aq, nick : dykur1

Wassalam…..

Sep 27, 5:29 AM (ET)
By Nasser Karimi

TEHRAN (AP) – Iran said it successfully test-fired short-range missiles during drills Sunday by the elite Revolutionary Guard, a show of force days after the U.S. and its allies condemned Tehran over a newly revealed underground nuclear facility that was being secretly constructed.

English-language Press TV reported the Fateh-110, Tondar-69 and Zelzal were test fired in a missile defense exercise, but did not give specifics on range or other details. All are short-range, surface-to-surface missiles.

Gen. Hossein Salami, head of the Revolutionary Guard Air Force, told reporters Iran tested a multiple missile launcher for the first time. Press TV showed pictures of at least two missiles being fired simultaneously and said they were from Sunday’s drill in a desert in central Iran. In the clip, men could be heard shouting “Allahu Akbar” as the missiles were launched.

“The message of the war game for some arrogant countries which intend to intimidate is that we are able to give a proper, strong answer to their hostility quickly,” the Web site of state television quoted Salami as saying. He said the missiles successfully hit their targets.

Continue

Akbar, âgé d’à peine 5 jours fait déjà plus de 8kg (8.7kg le jour de sa naissance) et 62cm. Dimanche dernier, sur l’île de Sumatra, une foule de personnes attendait devant l’hôpital où l’accouchement était prévu. Tous se sont rués afin d’apercevoir cette naissance hors du commun. A cette occasion, les parents ont choisi un prénom plutôt significatif : en effet, Akbar signifie “grand” en arabe. De nos jours, ces naissances restent très rares et la plupart du temps, le pronostic vital de l’enfant reste confidentiel ; toutefois, l’enfant est parfaitement pris en chage par les médecins.

Sources :
www.nouvelobs.com (article publié le 25/09/09)
www.20minutes.fr (article publié le 25/09/09)

Corrigé par LUC GALLAIS

Contributed by Mrs. Narmadha Sundar

During   the reign of the Pandavas Udaipur was a great holy town. It had beautiful buildings and temple towers. It was a flourishing town and the people were very pious. The people spent their free time in listening to religious lectures, devotional songs and participating in bhajans .They worshipped lord Krishna with great love.

The king of this region was a reverent bhaktha of Vishnu, to whom by the grace of god a beautiful girl baby was born and she was given the name Meera Bai. This Meera Bai grew up to be very devoted to lord Krishna. She would always have an idol of Krishna with her named “Giridhara gopala”. She would decorate the idol with beautiful silk dresses, pearl  malas and other jewels which made the idol so pleasing to look at and enchanting with his wonderful  broad smile. In the palace she used to listen to Bagavatham and Bhagavad-Gita lectures. With passage of time she developed intense bhakthi to lord Krishna and even firmly decided to marry Krishna when she grew up.

Meera with Lord Krishna

Soon Meera Bai came off marriageable age and her father decided to look for a worthy bridegroom and get her married. On hearing about this Meera Bai said in a sweet voice to her father, ”I have already chosen a husband for myself and  it is none other than lord Krishna ,whom you worship.”The king was taken by surprise and he tried to convince her, telling her that the Krishna she was so fond of was only an image and it would only be befitting for a princess like her to marry a prince belonging to a great dynasty. Meera Bai was reluctant and argued saying that Krishna was more than an image and was the most superior being ever. She was very strong willed  and on seeing her bhakthi the king was astonished and even gave her an exclusive  room in the palace  for her Krishna .Meera Bai  installed her Giridhara Gopal in that room and did aradhana, adorned him with beautiful ornaments and garments. She constantly chanted his nama and sang hymns which were outpourings of her divine bhakthi. Giridhari looked charming with vaijayanthi mala, a beautiful tulsi mala and he also adorned a crown and often in true visible form showed his beauty to her. Meera bai would often invite holy people and worship them and listen to them tell numerous interesting stories of Krishna and also performed nama sankeertanam with them.

However there were some crooked minded men in the town remarking that Meera Bai was ruining the reputation of the king and spoke ill of Meera Bai’s activities. They thought that it was improper for the royal princess to engage with sadhus and poor bhaktas by singing and dancing in their presence. Rumors about Meera’s immoral character and unbecoming behavior were afloat throughout the town and they soon reached to the kings ears. The king due to a gross lapse of judgment grew angry with Meera and decided to punish her. He asked his wife to control and put an end to Meera’s bhakti related activities and expressed his desire to get her married right away.

The queen went to Meera Bai and told her about her father’s unhappiness with her behavior and  his wishes. Meera Bai replied, ”Tell my father I will marry only Krishna and none other. My heart has no fear. Some say, I have become crazy, but those ignorant people do not understand my heart. I am determined to walk the path of bhakthi.” Unable to convince Meera, her mother came back and told the king about Meera Bai’s strong determination .Hearing this the king became very angry and replied,” then I have no choice other than to poison her. “He gave the queen a cup of deadly poison and asked her to give it to Meera with her own hands.

The queen was shocked. But due to the king’s order, crying bitterly she took the cup of poison and went to the temple where Meera was. She said to Meera, ”oh lovely child, your father has sent this cup of poison to you.” Meera pacified her mother with her sweet voice  ,”Ma, Don’t worry, nothing will happen, due Krishna’s blessing and grace this poison which you have brought will turn into a nectar.” Meera took Krishna in one hand and the poison on other hand and said, ”Oh Lord, my father has sent poison for me. Now I will reach your lotus feet. But my only worry is who will look after you when I am nomore.” She offered the poison to Giridhara Gopal  as she habitually  always offered  everything to him before par taking it and drank it  as Prasad at once.

A wonderful thing happened. The poison Meera Bai drank really  became harmless nectar. But the idol began to change its colour due to the poison’s effect. On hearing about this the king rushed there immediately, his throat choked with emotion. He then pleaded, ”I am a sinner and a wicked person, I have made god drink this poison.” He grasped the feet of Meera Bai and begged her to forgive him for his gruesome deed. She lifted the head of her father and prostrated in front of him and said, ”O father, it is because of you that the lord has shown and demonstrated that he is integral with me.”

Everyone who spoke ill about Meera felt ashamed of themselves as they failed to recognize Meera’s supreme stature. On the other hand all the bhakthas on seeing this miracle became ecstatic and burst out singing and dancing with joy. The entire place reverberated to the namavali ,”Giridhari Giridhari Govardhana Giridhari ….”

The king severely regretted his misdoing and begged Meera to pray to Lord Krishna so that his form be restored to its original color. This, he said would let him feel relieved and indicative of the lord’s forgiveness. But Lord Krishna however chose to retain his changed colour around his throat so as to demonstrate to the world the greatness of Meera’s bhakthi.

Another version of bhaktha Meera charitra which is very popular is as follows.

Right from her childhood Meera was totally in love with lord Krishna and her bhakthi was known far and wide. She held her idol “Giridhara Gopala“ even dearer than her own life. This extreme form of bhakthi was an obstacle to her father who tried to get her married to some deserving prince. However Prince Kumba Rana who himself was a great devotee of Krishna respected Meera for her bhakthi and asked for her hand in marriage. Meera too agreed to the wedding as lord Krishna appeared in her dream and asked her to marry.

After their wedding, Kumba Rana erected a beautiful temple for Meera’s Giridhara Gopala as a token of appreciation of Meera’s bhakthi. Meera, then spent most of her time in the temple itself singing  bhajans, conducting poojas and assembling  sadhus and  other devotees and  her bhajans gained great popularity far and wide. With passage of time Meera’s activities were misunderstood by the people of Mewar who did not realize her greatness. Due to sheer ignorance they spoke badly about her. On one occasion Tansen the renowned singer in King Akbar’s palace sang one of Meera’s compositions and that emotionally moved King Akbar and haunted him that he decided to visit Mewar in disguise to hear Meera herself sing. In Mewar, Akbar in the disguise of a sadhu listened to Meera’s bhajans and rewarded her with a garland of precious stone and she accepted it as Krishna Prasad. But this incident made Jaimal Kumbarana’s brother cast an evil eye on Meera and talk badly about her doings. Even though Kumbarana heard many of his relatives talk badly about Meera for negating her royal duties he never mistook her.

However considering his duties to his subjects more important than his own opinion and due to severe  lapse of judgment Rana decided to poison Meera, but the poison did not affect Meera one bit. Then he finally decided to bring down the temple that he himself once constructed for Meera’s Giridhara Gopala. Unable to bear the insult that her husband inflicted on her lord Giridhara  Gopala Meera decided to leave the palace and left for  the holy land of Vrindavan. The queen of Mewar who until recently was bejeweled with priceless ornaments made a home for herself and settled on the banks of Yamuna. It is said in the puranas that dwelling in Vrindavan is evermore a greater blessing than Vaikunta itself and Gopi Bhava is special to this place.

Once Meera was standing on the banks of Yamuna and was singing Kirtans on Krishna. Some Vaishnavas passing that way recognized her and knowing her greatness, they prostrated in front of Meera and said,” we have come from Dwaraka. The doors of the temple of Dwaraka have remained closed for sometime now and we are of the collective opinion that only a person of your stature can get the doors open and enable everyone have darshan of Srinathji” (the presiding deity of Dwaraka). Meera said, ”I am not a great bhaktha as you think, But  I cannot refuse the  wish  of vaishnava sadhus like you and I will come along with you.” Then along with Meera they left for Dwaraka, singing bhajans all the way.

At Dwaraka Meera Bai sang, ”oh, Krishna, Govardhana prabo, Pranams. Oh, Bhaktavatsala, srinatha, In this world you are the only one I know. You are my father, mother, husband and guru. There is no other protector in this world other than you. I have suffered a lot of trials and tribulations in this samsara. Kesava, please take me in your lotus feet, your leela of shutting yourself in is unbearable for us. So ,oh, Gopala, Accept my prayers, bless me and give darshan. ”To the joy and exclamation of the devotees of srinathji who had gathered around, “The doors  opened, Lord Krishna with his beautiful lotus eyes and broad smile welcomed her and immediately Meera Bai ran into the temple and embraced Krishna .There was a flash of bright light and  She became one with the lord and her form vanished.”

Our Sath Gurunath Maharaj, Sri Sri Krishna Premi says the specialty of Meera’s charithram is that those who read it or listen to her life stories will develop absolute Prema bhakti.