Letter to My Brother Don

The following is a letter I wrote to my brother Don last night. It's been almost four years since he committed suicide. It is not a sensitive, caring, selfless letter. It is a for-crying-out-loud letter, a WTF letter, a what-the-hell-do-you-think-you-were-going-to-achieve kind of letter that I needed to write last night. It's basically for my benefit that I wrote it, because I needed to lash out and I hadn't done it yet, at least not with the intensity that I felt I needed to. Then, I decided to post it on my blog. I don't know why I put it on my blog. Maybe I thought someone out there could relate to my anger.

Letter to My Brother Don

Donny, you brat. Why didn’t you say good-bye to me at the airport? You dropped me and my daughter and grandson off with our luggage and just walked out of the terminal. You just disappeared. That was the first sign that something was weird, that something was wrong. You wouldn’t have done that if you were okay. You were not okay, but you didn’t tell me. And I failed to ask. I thought you did that because you were fed up with us, that we had stayed too long and we had started smelling like three-day-old fish.

All your life you used to say to me, “You are my Guru!” HA! And then you shot me in the heart! You didn’t know, maybe, or maybe you didn't care, but that bullet not only shattered your heart, but it shattered mine as well. If you had known it was going to pierce my heart and break it into a million pieces, would you have shot it into yours?

Now it’s been almost four years, and I am still crying myself to sleep. Nobody knows except Krishna (God) how much your death has affected me. Now your obituary page is old and cold, but my heart hasn’t forgotten that it was shot with a bullet four years ago, by my soul-mate, my beloved brother who is also a singer like me (I used to bounce my songs off of you before I would finalize them), who is also an actor like me, who is also a writer like me, who is also an artist like me. But where are you now, you brat? Where the hell are you now? 

Last month I cried on Elizabeth’s lap at a coffee shop on Colfax. She tried to console me, but I don’t even remember what words she said to me. It just felt good to cry on the lap that my brother had loved. This morning, Elizabeth sent me an article to help me understand that your death wasn’t about me, or her, or anyone else in our family. It was about you.

But Donny, it IS about us. It's about you, but it's also about ALL OF US WHO LOVE YOU. It's about all of us who were torn up--torn asunder--after your death.

After reading the first article, I kept hitting buttons that led me to other articles. I read article after article about suicide and mental health and bi-polar and you-name-it. After reading all morning, I felt I had a better understanding of what I should or could maybe have done, but didn’t know how to do. Shouldacouldawoulda. So all that reading actually didn’t help much, although it gave me a connection to a support group of people who have been suicidal and who try to help people who are suicidal. That was perhaps of some benefit to me, except that it made me start thinking about you again, and again the anger rose up in my heart.

Donny, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I haven’t been able to forgive you yet. I don't know how the rest of my siblings feel about your death now, but I am still struggling with negative emotions. I need you to help me forgive you. I need you to help me understand why you did it. Although you appeared to me momentarily like a vision that horrible morning and smiled and then left, as if to say good-bye to me, that wasn’t enough. I want more. I want an explanation. I want you to help me forgive you. I love you so much, and you know it. Why did you take yourself, my beloved brother, away from me? I'm reaching out because I want to be able to forgive you and move on.

Your loving but still angry sister,

Phalini (aka Francie)

Sri Rama-Setu

"Sri Rama-Setu" means the bridge of Lord Ramacandra. I am so happy and grateful that Lord Sri Rama allowed me to compose and record this song. I remember when the song first came to me. I was driving on Shepard Mill Road across the bridge above the Dan River in Stokes County, North Carolina when I got the inspiration to compose an instrumental to commemorate the building of Rama's Bridge. The melody just kind of popped into my head. I liked the melody, so I stopped the car, found a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote down the notes as I had heard them in my head.

As soon as I got home and could find time, I started working it out on my keyboard. I contemplated how Lord Rama had rallied His monkey army to construct a huge causeway that would span the surface of the Indian Ocean from Rameshwaram in South India to the northern shore of Lanka, for the purpose of storming Ravana's stronghold. Ravana, the lord of the Rakshasa race, had kidnapped Rama's wife Sita and held her captive in Lanka. As soon as Rama gave the order to build the bridge and the monkeys saw that the stones were actually rendered buoyant, they became excited to participate in the building of this fantastic bridge, which would support them as they marched across the sea to storm Lanka.

As I worked, I prayed to be the Lord's instrument for communicating the joy of this pastime through music. The more I thought about that wonderful lila, the more excited I became to record this fun little instrumental. Finally, after several takes, I got the recording to where I was happy enough with it to share it with my friends. I especially like the little effect of the ocean sounds at the beginning and the end.

Every time I hear this song, I can picture the monkeys joyfully running to the mountains to hoist big boulders onto their mighty shoulders and then bounding back to the seashore with their huge rocks. Hanuman would then inscribe each rock with the name of Lord Sri Rama, and the boulder would then be thrown into the sea. According to the promise and prediction of Samudradeva, the lord of the ocean, every rock that bore the inscription of Rama's name would float, no matter how heavy or dense. In this way, the famous monkey army of Lord Rama, yelling at the tops of their tremendous voices "JAI SRI RAMA!!!" out of sheer ecstasy, toiled together to build a bridge that spanned the surface of the Indian Ocean from Rameshwaram to Sri Lanka.

Though the bridge was built millions of years ago, the fantastic structure can still be seen from above. The image below is one of the most famous photos of Sri Rama-Setu taken by a NASA satellite.

Sri Rama-Setu

Krishna's Plan vs My Plan

"Not my will, but Thy will, O Lord, be done." ~Lord Jesus Christ

On Tuesday, July 11, 2017, my friend Aparabhakti took me to the Shimoga Diagnostic Center for a scan. I had been experiencing pain off and on since I had had hernia surgery in May of 2014. So I finally got it together to go have a look at what was happening inside my abdomen.

The radiologist reported that I had a recurring right inguinal hernia and that the opening was small, which is not good. Purportedly, hernias with small openings can be more painful, and they can also be more prone to strangulation. So Appu and I decided to show the report to my gynaecologist, since we were heading over to her office anyway after our visit to the radiologist.

We exchanged the usual jokes and laughter with Dr Geetha and her partner Dr Amita. We showed them the report from Shimoga Diagnistics. Dr Geetha got serious. She flatly said to me, "I will not even examine you until you take care of this hernia." When Dr Geetha talks like that, she means business. She referred me to the head surgeon at Aster CMI Hospital in Bangalore. "Dr Shivaram is a good friend of Dr Ravi (Geetha's husband) and he is expert at laparoscopic surgery (which is the only kind I would consider)." She offered to have her husband call Dr Shivaram that night.

Appu and I said good-bye to the girls and went back to her house to see my husband. He grinned his characteristic happy grin and immediately wanted to know how the two appointments went. I explained that I did have a hernia, that it was small (1.1 cm) and that it could be prone to strangulation. I also told him that Geetha wouldn't even see me until I agreed to take care of repairing my hernia. His smile quickly turned into a look of concern.

In the past, both my husband and my bestie had asked me to remain open to the idea of surgery, although for years I had avoided it because of how painful my previous post-op recovery period had been. I also felt discouraged and apprehensive because another hernia had appeared soon after the first surgery. I didn't want to perpetuate a vicious cycle by undergoing another surgery and then having yet another hernia appear. Nonetheless, despite my fears, I decided that I would go for Dr Geetha's suggestion and agree to my hernia being surgically repaired. My husband was surprised to hear how I had changed my mind, but I somehow felt that it was Krishna's plan, and I was okay with it. So we moved ahead with a strategy to get me over to Bangalore asap.

Geetha's husband Dr Ravi was not able to call Dr Shivaram that night, so we waited. The next day, my husband, who is not a guy to sit around and wait for other people to get stuff done, asked Appu to call Dr Shivaram, since she's a doctor and she may have some influence to put us in front of the doctor. She agreed, and got us an appointment for a consultation on Monday morning 9:30 am. We then called the train station and found out what trains were available to get us to Bangalore by Sunday night.

A little while later, Dr Geetha called. "If you guys are able to get yourselves over to Aster CMI Hospital before 11 am Friday, the doctor will see you earlier than Monday." We got back on the phone and found an overnight train that could get us to Bangalore by 6 am Friday. We grabbed a couple of tickets and prayed that all would go smoothly. We called our friend Jaya Vraja, who is an angel on earth, and asked if we could use her home as a base when we were not at the hospital. She lovingly agreed.

Aparabhakti and I stayed up late that night talking on her porch swing as is our usual pastime, because this would be our last chance for a while. We finally hit the sack around 1:30 am. The next day was casual because we already had our strategy worked out. My husband and I planned to stay at the hospital for only a short time, but I had nonetheless packed a small amount of clothing along with my toiletries, just in case I was admitted immediately. We kept the rest of our luggage separate to be taken to Jaya Vraja's house. Aparabhakti, her husband Dr Shashikumar, and our friend Sandeep dropped us off at the train station at 10:00 pm. We were pretty tired, so we said our good-byes to the devotees and made our beds. Ours was a three-tier AC compartment, and the tracks between Shimoga and Bangalore Central are pretty smooth, so we had a good sleep. We woke up refreshed at 5 am, brushed our teeth, and got ready to alight.

Jaya Vraja's son Adinarayan was there to meet us right on time. We gave him our luggage, which he took home to his Mom's house, and we headed over to the hospital in an auto riksha with my overnight bag and toothbrush. We got there at 9:00 am, in plenty of time to sign in for a consultation. In fact, we were second in line to see the doctor!

Meeting Dr Shivaram was like meeting an old friend. We immediately took a liking to him, and he to us. He was kind and respectful, taking time to listen to my story and look over the report we had brought from the radiologist. He asked us to get a CT scan and come back to see him with the results.

The CT Scan showed a bigger hernia than we had seen with the sonogram scan in Shimoga. He agreed to do surgery Tuesday morning, as long as I was fit for surgery. That would be determined by the cardiologist Dr Sanjay Bhat. We consulted with Dr Bhat and he asked us to come do the tests on Monday at noon. We made a note of the time we had to be back for my cardiology tests, and left the hospital. We had spent the entire day there, so we were tired but we felt accomplished.

The next day, Saturday, Jaya Vraja held a home program for her local Bhakti-Vriksha group. We were delighted to participate. My husband led melodious kirtan for an hour, then I spoke. I had planned my talk previously, but once I got started, the class turned out to be more spontaneous, and not at all what I had planned. My husband and I love coming to Jaya Vraja's home programs. The devotees who attend are so serious and sincere, they inspire us to do better in our own Krishna consciousness.

Sunday evening, we attended Hari-ksetra Prabhu's Sunday program at his preaching center in the Marathahalli area of East Bangalore. It took an hour to get there, so I was grateful for the japa time. The program was blissful, including uproarious kirtan, a thought-provoking talk given by my husband, a Janmastami fund-raiser, and a delicious feast prepared by the devotees. Our friends Jaya Vraja and Supriya Radhika had come with us. We were happy to see our old friends Hari-ksetra, Tilak Prabhu and his good wife Ayushi, and many other familiar faces. One very kind devotee had picked us up and brought us to the preaching center, and another very kind devotee drove us all the way back to Jayanagar, where Supriya and Jaya Vraja both reside. We got to bed right away, as Monday was going to be a full day for my husband and me.

We arrived at the hospital around 10 am. We had called Dr Shivaram on the way to let him know we were coming. We reported to Cardiac Sciences OPD for tests at noon. After a preliminary BP test and weight-check, Dr Bhat's team put me through an ECG, an ECHO test and a TMT (treadmill test--Wow! THAT was a WORKOUT!). I passed the tests with flying colors and was deemed fit for surgery.

By 4:00 pm, we were finished with cardiology and ready for admission. We checked into the hospital. The place was super crowded, so we had to wait until after midnight to get a bed in the general ward. In the meantime, we got a bed in a temporary transition ward and my husband made a "bed" on the floor with a sheet he had brought. At midnight, a nurse came and woke us up. "Shifting" was all she whispered, and we were up with lights on and baggage ready.

We were led upstairs to the 1st Floor to what's called "General Ward Female." They brought a cot for my husband. We settled into our new surroundings, only to find that our sleep was disturbed every few seconds by a beeping monitor on the other side of the curtain that separated our bed from another patient who was being carefully monitored by the nurses. Not only that, there was a baby girl who had just had surgery and she was crying almost constantly. So my husband did not sleep the entire night.

Tuesday, we were ready early for surgery, as we had been advised the night before that it looked like I would be able to be operated on as early as 8:00 am, three hours earlier than the previously planned 11:00 am time. At 8:40, I was wheeled into a room outside the operating theatre. I waited there for what seemed like at least an hour (I had removed all my jewelry, including my watch, and there was no clock visible, so I am guessing about the time) until finally a couple of nurses came to wheel me into the theatre. I was transferred to the operating table, which was warmed underneath (very comfy!) and was administered general anesthesia by Dr Jamana, a lovely young lady with a bright countenance and friendly bedside manner. I quickly drifted off into a deep slumber.

I woke to find myself in the recovery room. My dear husband was next to my side, holding my hand. He explained that the doctor had found two hernias and that the surgery had gone well, and that it had taken about two hours from start to finish. After a short visit, he was told he could not stay, so he squeezed my hand and left.

I soon realized I was next to another woman who had also just undergone surgery. We were separated by a curtain, but I could hear her groaning and moaning and making quite a fuss about her pain. I was also in pain, but I was silent. I expected someone to come check on me and see how I was doing as the anesthesia was wearing off quickly and the pain was becoming more and more intense, but no one came. Everyone was tending to the lady next to me, as she was very vocal about her pain. Nurses were running back and forth but they never stopped to check on me. I finally decided to speak up and ask for some attention. I called out to a nurse who was running by. When she came to my bedside, I couldn't hold back the tears. I started to cry like a little child. She said, "Oh, please don't cry, we are all here!" I blubbered, "Yeah, but no one is checking on me. I am feeling very lonely and neglected. My pain is increasing and my mouth is dry and I would really like a sip of water." She gave me some little sips and stroked my head. That's all I needed, along with a good shot of morphine. Just a little TLC, and I was okay after that.

Finally, I was wheeled out of the recovery room after being hoisted onto a gurney. Ouch! That hurt. I was happy to see my husband waiting outside the double doors. He walked alongside me as my gurney rolled along the corridors. When we reached the ladies' ward, my husband said, "I have a surprise for you. I got us a bed far away from that beeping monitor!" I was relieved. They transferred me to the bed in a more gentle manner (again, relief!) and after a few more sips of water, I drifted off to sleep. He also settled down on his cot, and we were able to sleep for a while until the little child near us started to cry again. We were able to sleep only when she slept, and she seldom slept.

Dr Shivaram came to see me and explained, just as my husband had, that he had found two hernias and had repaired them both with mesh. He showed me photos of the two hernias, before and after the surgery. I was amazed that he had been able to perform such a delicate operation by using a tiny camera and remote instruments, inserted through three tiny holes in my abdomen. Laparoscopic surgery is truly a remarkable procedure.

The doctor agreed that I could go home on Wednesday. He told us to come back for a check-up the following Tuesday, and gave me some restrictions--no traveling, no lifting, and no playing harmonium while sitting cross-legged on the floor for two months. In fact, no sitting cross-legged period for two months. The physician's assistant, Dr Shafeek, also advised me to move slowly and carefully. "No fast moves!" he emphasized. My diet for the week following surgery until I would see the doctor again should be soft foods that are easy to digest. Nandini, an expert on pain management, advised me to do pranayama frequently to aid my body in assimilating oxygen which would help me to heal faster.

We checked out Wednesday at 4:00 pm and drove back to Jaya Vraja's house. I reclined in the back seat of Jaya Vraja's car with my head resting on my husband's lap the whole way home. Jaya Vraja had prepared a delicious hot soup and hot herbal tea which we relished before taking rest. We planned to return to Shimoga on Friday to recover further and to finish up business with Dr Geeta.

Sometimes we may have our own ideas and plans for how to address health issues, and sometimes Krishna has His own plans. This time, it seemed obvious to me that Krishna had a different plan from mine (mine had been to pursue alternative methods of healing my hernia, His was for me to go for surgery), so after three years of trying out my plan, I finally went along with His plan. The result was a smooth, easy, non-invasive surgery with minimal pain, sweet new relationships with many souls who work at the Aster CMI Hospital in Bangalore, a chance for me to be spoiled with even more loving, tender care than usual by my dear husband, and an unexpected and delightful lengthening of our visits with our dear devotee friends in Shimoga and Bangalore.

Post-op Report:

After one week, we went back to see Dr Shivaram to have my stitches removed and a fresh dressing applied. The doctor is pleased with my progress--little to no pain and everything is healing nicely, by Krishna's grace.

Blessing in Disguise

I had just flown into Frankfurt International Airport from Houston. My husband had purchased a ticket to Delhi for me with a layover in Frankfurt. He had managed to get me a ticket on Lufthansa Airlines, which is my favorite international airline company. After spending a month with my daughter and son-in-law and their two children, and even traveling out to Colorado to see my younger son Nitai and his girlfriend Ulupi, my daughter and son-in-law had dropped me off at IAH at around 1 pm on July 1. I waved good-bye to them from the security queue and all went well after that. Well, almost.

The flight was easy and smooth. While in the air, I chanted japa, read a little, and watched "The Artist," a movie from the 1920s about the famous silent movie actor George Valentin. We had a smooth landing in Frankfurt, and after entering the terminal I checked the monitor to see which gate my connecting flight would be taking off from. Turned out it was too early for my flight to be listed on the board, so I settled into a comfortable seat to wait for my gate information to be loaded onto the monitors. I chanted japa and read Teachings of Lord Caitanya, which had been gifted to me by my dear Godsister Nidra devi dasi while we were in Denver just a few days before.

I had five hours to wait before my connecting flight to Delhi. I had not slept on the plane, so I was tired. I settled into a comfortable row of chairs that had no armrests, covered up my backpack and purse with my chadar, and fell asleep. I had set my alarm for one hour later, so that I could get up and check the monitor. I also wanted to ensure that I wouldn't sleep too long and miss my flight. I woke up when I heard my alarm, got up immediately and went back to chanting and reading. After a little while, I felt sleepy again, so I set my alarm for another snap. It worked well again this time. I got up after a short time, checked the monitor, and resumed my chanting and reading. This went on a couple more times until finally my gate was listed on the monitor. I was ready to head over to Gate C 14 for my departure.

When I got there, I checked in at the desk to make sure my special vegetarian meals were keyed into the computer system. They were, but the lady behind the desk explained that my gate had changed. Luckily, my new gate was only two doors down, so it was easy to find and quick to get to. I moved to Gate C 16. Even though I had already inquired at C 14, I went up to the desk at C 16 and asked them to check and make sure my special meals were on this plane. Yes, they were. I sat down and waited for boarding to start. I was still tired because I had slept only a couple of hours since leaving Houston, so I set my alarm for a ten-minute snap. I closed my eyes and slept for ten minutes. When I woke up, all was well. Boarding had not yet started, but it was time for it to start according to the information on my ticket, so I sat up in the chair and waited.

Finally, twenty minutes late, the announcement came. "Thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen, the aircraft is now ready for boarding." As always, they first called for families with young children and people who would need special assistance upon arrival in Delhi. It seemed to take forever for them to board. Then, they called for first class and business class customers. It took an incredible span of time for them to board. My eyelids were heavy, but I fought off the urge to sleep. Next, they called for rows 96 through 98. It took ten minutes for them to board. I was amazed by how long it took for two rows to get on the plane! Then, they called for rows 94 through 96. That was the last thing I heard. I knew my row was 84, so I figured I could close my eyes and wait and listen for my row to be called. I covered up my backpack and purse and hugged them to protect them from being stolen. I closed my eyes. That was my bad. My big, big mistake. One of the biggest boo-boos I have ever made in my life.

The next thing I knew, I was being shaken by someone saying to me, "Madam, are you supposed to be on this flight?" I sat up hurriedly, grabbed my things, and ran up to the desk in front of the boarding gate. But when I reached the desk, I heard the most confusing, unbelievable, shocking words. "No, madam, you cannot board this airplane! It is full. The doors are closed!"

"What did you say?" I thought I was dreaming. I was still groggy and half asleep. "Excuse me? What are you saying?" I couldn't believe that they wouldn't let me take my seat. I showed them my passport and my boarding pass again.

"We're sorry, ma'am. The flight is closed. We called your name three times and even went looking for you. We did not see you, so we gave away your seat. You cannot board the plane. There is no seat."

I started to wake up to the grim reality of what was happening. But I wasn't ready to accept it yet. "But I was right here! How could you miss me?" I was incredulous. Just one hour before, I had reported in at the desk. They knew what I looked like. I had been right in front of them in a chair not far from the front row. How could they not have seen me? How could they not have tried to wake me up?

I was humiliated. Devastated. I panicked. I pleaded with them to please let me get on that airplane as my husband would be waiting for me at the Delhi Airport at 2 a.m. All I could think of was my husband looking and looking for me, watching all the passengers file out of the door, and nowhere would I be seen. He would be worried sick. I couldn't do that to him. I told them I had no German SIM card so I couldn't call my husband to let him know that I had missed my flight and wouldn't be alighting at the time he expected. The flight manager scolded, "You should have thought of that earlier!"

And where was my suitcase? They told me it had not been loaded on the plane, because they couldn't find me. "We're sorry, ma'am. The only thing you can do now is go to Hall B to the Service Counter and ask them when the next flight is."

I wandered out of the seating area, tears blinding my eyes. I had no idea where B Hall was. After walking aimlessly for a few yards, I turned around and went back to the desk. I pleaded with them again to let me board the plane. They refused and reiterated that the only recourse I had now was to go to Hall B and ask them to help me at the Service Desk. I was in a daze. I felt like the lead actress in a Twilight Zone episode. It was the most surreal feeling I had ever experienced. I finally gave up trying to board the plane. I wandered down a hallway and up some stairs. I had no idea where I was going. A voice called, "No, ma'am, that's the wrong way to go. You cannot come up here!" The last thing I needed was to be stopped again from going somewhere.

I burst into tears and blubbered, "I don't know where to go!" A kind young woman offered to help me. I sobbed my story to her. She calmed me down with a gentle voice and soothing words. She showed me the way to the Service Desk. By the time I reached there, I had dried my tears and begun to somewhat compose myself. I had begun to accept that I was the lead player in this horrible nightmare, like it or not, and that I had to somehow get through this. I prayed as I stood in line waiting to be helped at the Service Desk. I prayed for a miracle, though I didn't feel I deserved one after having made such a stupid mistake.

"Yes? May I help you?" Uh-oh, the tears started again. I couldn't help crying as I blurted out my story to the girl behind the desk. "Okay, let me see what we can do to fix this." I was somewhat relieved to hear her gentle voice and kind words. She typed in some codes on her keyboard, stared at her screen, and explained, "There are no more flights tonight." Oh no! I thought. My husband will be so worried and on top of that, he will have to wait even longer to pick me up! I don't want to inconvenience him by making him wait until tomorrow night to meet me! 

"No more flights tonight?" I asked in disbelief. I was incredulous, because the flight manager at the gate had just told me twice that I would be able to get another flight later in the evening. But no matter how this girl searched, she could not find another flight in the evening, even by checking other airline companies. I did not want to spend the night in Frankfurt. I also did not want to spend more money. But what could I do? I slowly began to realize that what I did not want to happen was about to happen.

"The next available flight that I can book you for is on July 4th. That would cost you $2339 USD." She could see that I was not the least bit interested in spending $2000 to wait for two days and stress my husband out by delaying my arrival and spending that much more of Krishna's lakshmi. "Let me go talk to my manager and see what we can do for you." I waited. I prayed. I cried some more. I composed positive affirmations in my mind and chanted them over and over again. Again, I prayed for a miracle.

She reappeared. "Okay, if you want, you can be put on the waiting list for this same flight tomorrow. That will cost you 150 Euros, which will be about $170 USD." $170 sounded a lot better than $2339 to me. "There is no guarantee you will get on the plane because the flight is already full, and there are people ahead of you in line waiting to be called in case there are any no-shows. But at least you might have a chance. Otherwise, you will be guaranteed a seat on the July 4th flight at no extra charge." I thanked her profusely and agreed to pay the $170. She assured me that if I got a seat tomorrow, my luggage would be loaded on tomorrow's flight. Otherwise, if I did not get a seat, my luggage would be held until the 4th, and loaded on that plane. Now, I had to figure out how to get word to my husband.

I asked her where I could connect to the internet. "Oh there's Wi-Fi all throughout the airport! You just need to click on such-and-such, and it will come up." So I found a chair that was tucked away in a private spot, because I knew I would probably end up crying some more and I hated for people to see me cry. I opened my computer, found the name they had said to click on, and sure enough, up came a page for free Wi-Fi at Frankfurt Airport. I registered, and was immediately connected. I brought up my email, and began by typing "EMERGENCY" in the subject line. "Dear Prabhu, I am sorry to tell you I have bad news. I missed my flight!" I explained everything. I told him that it was all my fault and that I was very, very sorry to inconvenience him in this way. To my great relief, he immediately replied.

"Don't worry, Devi. we all make mistakes. Just find a safe place to rest where there are plenty of people sitting and milling around, so that you'll be safe while you wait. You probably won't get on that flight tomorrow, so be patient. No problem. I love you and I'm waiting for you. Please let me know when you find a busy area of the airport where you can hang out and wait for your flight." I was so relieved to hear from him that I burst into tears again, and his sweet response made me feel even worse for having inconvenienced him.

But now I had direction. I set to work finding a place where there were lots of people gathered to wait for their flights. I walked the hallways searching for people. I could not find a crowd anywhere. I asked various airport personnel, "Where can I find a place where there are more people waiting for flights?" Someone said I should go to Hall B. I had just come from Hall B, so I knew where that was. I retraced my steps. I went back to the Service Counter, and looked around. But no crowds were to be found anywhere. I asked at the desk. Someone said, "You need to go out through security and past immigration, turn left and follow the signs to the main part of Hall B. That's where you'll find people waiting for flights."

I thanked them and left the Service Desk. I proceeded toward the security area, only to find the doors all locked and a man inside motioning to me that I was not allowed to enter. Now what do I do? I turned around and began to search the halls. Every place I went, there were no people to be found. It was like a ghost town. Again I felt like I was in Alfred Hitchcock's Twilight Zone. I had never seen a big international airport close down like a small town in rural USA. It was eerie. Okay, it looks like I am locked inside this place. So I guess I'll just accept the fact that I can't get out, and wait until morning.

I wandered around looking for a place where I could rest comfortably, be near a bathroom and a drinking fountain, and where I wouldn't be seen. I found it. If someone asked me where I was at that moment, I wouldn't have been able to tell them. I just knew it felt like a good place to camp out. As I had searched the airport for a suitable place to rest, I had found three things I needed: a sweatshirt that someone had left hours before in a bathroom, a small airline pillow someone had left on a seat, and an unopened package containing a complimentary toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste. My husband often says, "I couldn't see a blue hand come out of the sky, but I knew Krishna was pulling the strings to make things happen." I smiled and whispered, "Thank You, Lord!" as it appeared that Krishna had arranged for three people to leave things where I would find them, things I needed in order to be comfortable during my night at the airport.

But my husband was not so pleased. I reported to him by email that I was not able to get out of the area of the terminal I was in, that they had locked the security station, and that I had to spend the night in there. I told him there was no one around, but he was not satisfied with that. He was afraid I could potentially be in danger. After chanting Nrsimha-kavaca, I fell asleep, emotionally exhausted and weary from walking untold numbers of miles throughout the afternoon and evening carrying a heavy backpack. I was worn out. He emailed me, but I did not see his email until two hours later when my alarm rang. He told me that he could not sleep because he was too worried about me. I assured him that I was practically invisible. I told him I had fallen asleep for an hour, and then woke up. I had spent another hour resting, but was unable to sleep because my body clock was still operating according to Houston time. Lying there wide awake, I decided to check my email. That's when I saw his letter saying that he was too worried about me and that he couldn't sleep. I typed out as reassuring a response as I could, explaining how I felt safe in this isolated place and that there was no one around except one old janitor who was cleaning and had left long ago, never to be seen again. I apologized sincerely for having put him in such anxiety. I sent the email, then passed Krishna's time by reading, chanting, and doing more correspondence. I prayed for my husband that he would be peaceful and be able to sleep.

Soon the sky began to lighten. I felt encouraged. I heard voices. I went to wash my face, brush my teeth, and fix my hair in the bathroom. I was refreshed and ready to face a new day. I wrote out positive affirmations. "My Dear Lord Govinda, if You so desire, please allow me to get a seat on today's flight. My Dear Lord Govinda, I see that You kindly allow me to get a seat on today's flight. Thank You, My Dear Lord Govinda, for allowing me to get a seat on today's flight." I chanted japa, and made positive thinking my new and only mindset.

The hours passed. I continued writing positive affirmations. I continued chanting those positive affirmations in my mind. Everyone I saw greeted me with bright smiles. I felt encouraged. Hopeful. I was not willing to consider failure. I felt like Arjuna, the famous warrior. When his guru Dronacarya told him to aim his arrow at a bird in a tree, his guru asked him, "Arjuna, what do you see?" Arjuna had replied that he saw only the bird. So I saw only the positive vision of myself being called by the boarding crew to accept my seat on the airplane. I typed out an email to my husband, in anticipation of success. "GOT A SEAT! MUST BOARD IMMEDIATELY. CAN'T WRITE ANY MORE. THANK YOU, LORD KRISHNA! THANK YOU, SRIMATI RADHARANI! THANK YOU, LORD NRSIMHADEVA! Love you, Prabhu. See you soon! ~Phalini" and kept my finger poised to hit "SEND" as soon as I heard my name called.

They made announcements. They explained that the flight was overbooked. They asked people to volunteer to give up their seats and take a flight the next day. Overbooked? My heart could have sunk, but I didn't let it. Boarding continued. They called for people with confirmed tickets who still hadn't shown up. Three different groups appeared, one by one, huffing and puffing and smiling, "We made it!" They were cordially ushered onto the plane. I sat in the front row of seats waiting. Alert.

Two of the ladies that were working behind the desk looked over at me. One called, "Ma'am? What is your name?"

I answered, "Frances McLeod." They beckoned for me to come. "You have a seat. Board immediately." I hit "SEND." A rush of gratitude filled my heart. I closed my computer without even turning it off. I gathered my belongings. I walked up to the desk, showed them my passport and boarding pass, and walked through the gate. I was in bliss.

"You have a seat" was what I had continued to hear in my mind for the last several hours, and now I had heard it spoken by the lady behind the desk. That is the first time I have ever flown stand-by, and it turned out to be a positive experience.

After that, everything was positive. Upon stepping onto the airplane I was shown to my seat, which had extra leg room. I was so pleased! A flight attendant hoisted my heavy backpack up into the overhead bin for me. I took my seat, buckled up, and stretched out my tired legs. The flight attendant who had stowed my backpack asked, "Are you in Krsna consciousness? ISKCON?" I said, "Yes, thank you for asking!" He said, "I thought so." We hit it off and throughout the flight, he took special care of me. He and his colleague, a young German lady, tried to make my flight experience as comfortable and pleasant as possible. They frequently came to ask me if there was anything they could get for me or do for me.

Later, when I got up to use the restroom, I peeked through the curtain of their work area and grinned, "You guys are making me love Lufthansa!" They laughed and pulled me inside. They introduced themselves and the young man, whose name was Nayan, asked me to explain to his colleague Laura why we devotees are vegetarians. I told her that because we are trying to devote our lives to re-awakening our love for Krishna, or God, we are trying to live our lives in such a way that we always please Him. So whatever we eat, we first cook and offer to Krishna with love, for His pleasure. And Krishna doesn't eat meat, fish or eggs, so that's why we don't." Laura seemed satisfied with my simple explanation, but she had more questions, so we exchanged email addresses. Nayan and I also exchanged contact information. I returned to my seat and Nayan came by with a bag of goodies. He had revealed to me earlier that he was actually an aspiring devotee of Krishna and that he had ordered kanthi-mala (Tulasi neck beads). He asked if I would like some almonds, and I answered "Yes!" so he gathered up a bunch of snacks that were labeled "vegetarian" and dropped a bag of goodies in my lap with a big grin on his face.

The time for our plane to land approached. The cabin crew were asked to prepare for landing and take their seats. The pilot had to circle in the air for twenty minutes waiting for our landing strip to clear, but eventually we were able to descend and the landing turned out to be smooth. As we taxied into our parking place at the terminal, my phone rang. I was so glad to see who was calling! "Devi! Where are you?"

"We just now landed, Prabhuji! We had to circle for quite a while waiting for the opportunity to land, but now we're on the ground taxiing toward the terminal."

"Okay, I'm waiting outside. You can't use your phone in customs and immigration, so make sure you turn it off. And when you go to the pre-paid taxi counter, don't let them charge you more than 500 rupees. See if they'll let you pay with a credit card. If they won't, just come outside and I'll pay with cash at the outside counter."

"Okay, Prabhuji. I'll be out there as soon as I can."

The queue for holders of foreign passports was amazingly short, so I got through customs and immigration very quickly. I turned my phone back on and called my husband to tell him that I was already in the baggage claim. But there was a huge crowd and very few people had claimed their luggage so far. I was doubtful that my bag had even been loaded on the plane, because after all, I had not had a confirmed ticket. But to my pleasant surprise, after about thirty minutes of waiting, there it was. My tattered old well-used suitcase was scooting along the belt with its faded green ribbons tied to the handles. I tried to pick it up, but couldn't. I ran around to the other side of the carousel until I could find an opening next to a strong-looking man. There was no way I could pick up a fifty-pound suitcase. "Sir? Can you pick up my suitcase for me? It's coming right now. There it is!"

"Sure." The man lifted it off the carousel for me. I thanked him and pushed the button to release the collapsible handle, but the collapsible handle had somehow been broken in transit, so I couldn't wheel it properly. I dragged it as best I could toward my cart. I asked a young man standing next to me to load it onto the cart. He happily complied. I thanked him. Now I was ready to head to the pre-paid auto counter. By Krishna's grace, and the help of some airport employees, I found the counter. The man behind the counter explained to me that at that counter, they only accepted "cass" and that I needed to go outside.

"What? What does this word 'cass' mean?" I could not figure out what he was saying. Then another man spoke up.

"They only accept cash."

"Oh! CASH!" I called my husband.

"No problem, Devi. Just come outside. I have cash and we can get the taxi out here." So I wheeled my cart to the door and there was my dear husband whom I had not seen for a month. He was a welcome sight for my sore eyes! I was so happy to see him and he was happy to see me. We were both relieved that I was safe and sound and back in India where he could keep a closer eye on me.

Even though it had been a traumatizing experience for both of us that I missed my flight, I learned a heavy lesson from my big mistake. It should have been obvious to me that I was taking too big of a risk closing my eyes--after boarding had already started--without setting my alarm. That was a very, very stupid move on my part. But I got what I deserved for my big boo-boo. Nonetheless, I was blessed to be protected by Krishna throughout the entire ordeal. I also felt the protection of my husband even though he was far away, because we were able to keep in touch by email, and he coached me along. My husband is a very practical, responsible man who is always on time, has never missed a plane even though he has flown a lot, and has never missed a train, even though we travel by train all the time. He also seldom makes mistakes. So he pointed out to me that where I went wrong was to close my eyes without setting my alarm after boarding had already started. I agreed. He gave me some practical suggestions how I can make sure that doesn't ever happen again. I am keeping his good advice in the forefront of my mind for future trips.

What initially came as a surreal nightmare and a devastating shock to me turned out to be a good learning experience, full of valuable life lessons, and a totally positive blessing in disguise.