Dawn of a New Tomorrow

Come to me, my love

A dawn announces a new tomorrow,

Break off your fetters of pain and sorrow,

Wipe the tears from your searing eyes,

Dawn clears to-day with a swipe,

Come to me,

Come to me, my love,

The sun burns out,

Plunges in the arms of the sea to die,

The mountain lifts on her toes to hug the sky,

The repudiate lover holds on helplessly,

As dawn covers her cries cruelly,

Come to me, my love,

Let us spread our wings and fly

Anita Bacha




Pressed against his body,

His breath smouldering her neck,

She felt his flower growing,




Then melting like sweet honey,

Wetting her wedding sari,

Leaving a broad stain,

And a sweet smell;

Souvenir of a first caress

In a hotel elevator .

Anita Bacha

Writer’s note: The honeysuckle is a sweet smelling flower that grows in bush in many parts of the world. The pink honeysuckle that we find in Japan is the symbol of the bond of love between husband and wife. It also symbolizes devotion, fidelity and generosity.



 On 02.01.2009, we reached the Chatrapati Shivaja International Airport in Mumbai at 2 in the morning. Anil, my adorable son had readily offered to accompany me to New Delhi where, in my official capacity as Director of the Central Authority for Intercountry Adoption, I was attending and participating in a World Congress on the theme: ‘Giving Children a Voice: The Transforming Role Of the Family in a Global Society’. The Congress, organized by the Service and Research Foundation of Asia on Family and Culture (SERFAC) was holding its sessions at the India Islamic Cultural Centre in Lodi Road from 03.01 to 07.01.2009.  As the only flight from Mauritius to Delhi operated by Air Mauritius was scheduled on 05.01.2009, my secretary had booked my air ticket on January 01 so that I could arrive in time for the Opening of the Congress on the third. Obviously, I had no choice but to fly from Mauritius on New Year’s Day leaving behind my family and above all, my grand-children who had arrived from Norway on the eve.

From Mumbai, we had to catch the Air India Flight to Delhi at 04.45 am. Due to a gross misunderstanding, I thought that we had to board the flight at the Domestic Airport. Hence, exhausted and half-asleep, we boarded the shuttle bus from the International to go to the Domestic Airport. Anil, as usual, was of great help lifting the heavy luggage, pushing the trolley and mostly, cheering me up with a kind word, a charming smile or a silly joke. In the bus, I sort of picked up my depleting energy. The nostalgic film songs, rendered by Lataji and Mukeshji in old Indian movies and which the bus driver was playing on his cassette were a breath of fresh air in the heavily polluted atmosphere of the urban city. The bus stopped to drop passengers at the Jet Airways terminal and then sluggishly moved on to the Air India terminal. We alighted and picked up our luggage. I looked at my watch; we had approximately one hour to check in. We walked leisurely into the departure building and looked for the Air India counter.

To our surprise, all the Air India counters were closed. Was there any announcement on the departure boards? Alas no! The Air India Flight which we had booked was not posted on any of them. Anil was at a lost. It then dawned upon him to check his e-ticket. I could read the disappointment on his face as he gasped that the flight was leaving from Terminal Two of the International and not of the Domestic Airport! I immediately grasped the enormity of my blunder. Indian Airlines and not Air India operated domestic flights. That same soft-spoken youngster could really metamorphose into an appalling being when he was furious! He was raging with anger, running here and there, up and down, to find out how to go back to the International Airport to catch the flight within one hour. The shuttle had left for the International Airport and was expected in forty-five minutes. I was too tired, too upset and too confused to put in a word.  Finally, he followed the advice of an airport officer and decided to take a cab to return to the International Airport. However, Fate was playing against us. We did not have any local currency. Nevertheless, we did not lose hope; Anil took the lift to the second floor of the building to change some dollars while I waited for him in the lounge.  I stood quietly behind the trolley where we had placed our suitcases; in the tray below the bar-handle I noticed my purse and I knew that my lap-top too was there. Flung over and above the luggage, my winter coat and Anil’s jacket were also on the trolley.

Sometime after, my son shouted for me and asked me to follow him with the trolley. We hurriedly reached outside the Terminal Building and there, in the airport compound, several cabs were waiting and the drivers rushed to us saying ‘Taxi! Taxi!’ Anil talked to one of the drivers and rushed towards his cab. I literally ran, pushing the trolley with the weight of my body. Then suddenly I stopped as I had reached a slope and I could not keep the trolley under my control. I asked Anil to take the trolley from me. While he was doing so, I instinctively and hastily got hold of my purse and my coat. The next moment, two or three men were helping the driver to load the luggage in the car booth. I went round, opened the door and sat inside the car. My son came in turn, followed by the driver. The driver started the engine when an Airport Security Officer knocked on his window and asked where we were going. He wrote the information obtained in his schedule pad and also the plate number of the taxi and our name. ‘For security reasons!’ he flung at us as we drove off.

It took a long time to reach our destination. The cab driver was going round and round in interminable circles as the local drivers often do when the passengers are foreigners to make money out of their vulnerability. Finally, we reached the airport. Anil briefly uttered:

 ‘No time for trolley! Pull your suitcase!’

 I alighted, rushed behind the car, took my suitcase from the driver and pulling it behind me, hurried up the ramp to Gate B, the entrance to the Air India Departure Hall. In the meantime, Anil had settled with the driver and collected his luggage. Soon he joined me inside the building. He stopped and looked at me quizzically. His face had turned white.

 ‘Where is your lap-top?’ he asked.

 I then realized that my lap-top, my Prema Sai was not hanging in the strap bag over my right shoulder!

‘I don’t know!’ I replied as my world came to a still. I was petrified! I had lost my precious lap-top!

Prema Sai was the name I gave to my new lap-top. I fell in love with Prema Sai when it caught my eye in one of the big computer stores of London last August. I refused categorically to look at other beautiful, ultra modern and high-tech computers. I made up my mind at first sight. I bought my lap-top and brought it proudly to Mauritius. Ever since, day and night, I was composing… I was writing…Now, it was gone! How? Where? When?  Neither I nor my son had the faintest idea. My mind turned to my guru Sri Sathya Sai Baba, the Living God and Miracle Maker. I appealed to Him.

‘Baba! My Prema Sai is lost, Baba!’ I cried in my heart as I wiped my tears.

My inner voice, the voice of the indweller Sai then told me:

“The cab driver has bolted away with your lap-top!”

 In turn, I repeated it to my son who replied that it was impossible unless I took the lap-top to the car and left it behind. But I didn’t. The last time I saw my lap-top, as far as I could remember, it was in the tray at the top of the trolley. Nevertheless I insisted that the driver had furtively snatched the lap-top under our nose. To put a stop to our argument, Anil boldly said:

 ‘Well, it’s gone! Do not grief! It’s a material loss!’

We joined the queue to check in. My heart was heavy with pain. Unpredictably, a fellow passenger told us that the flight was delayed and would depart at 08h.00. Non- believers would state that Air India Flights were always delayed, but I knew that it was a divine intervention. Sai Baba was opening a door for me; I was not leaving without Prema Sai. My inner voice made itself heard again:

“Go to the police! There is a police post nearby”.

 Anil would not listen to reason. It would be a total waste of time, he shrieked. Calm and unruffled, I felt that I should listen to the voice of the God within at all cost. I left the luggage with him and went to look for a policeman. I walked swiftly to the far end of the building. I saw a young man in uniform. He was an army officer. He was walking briskly in the opposite direction. I called out:

 ‘Excuse me!’

 He stopped abruptly, turned to look at me and said:


 I ran up to him. He was my savior! An angel disguised as an army officer or was it Sai Baba himself?

In a few words, I told him how I had lost my portable computer and that I wanted to report the matter to a police station. He replied that there was one outside the building, opposite the Arrival Lounge and that I should go there.

 ‘Should we check in first?’ I asked.

 ‘Come!’ he said ‘I will talk to an air-port officer. You can check in, take your boarding pass and go to the police station. You will be allowed in when you come back!’

He did as he said. So we both checked in. We collected our boarding pass and went outside the building to look for the station. A few yards away, MUMBAI POLICE STATION was written in broad letters on a board in front of a small cubicle.

A few police officers, some in uniform and others in civil clothes were sitting at a table on the pavement bordering the road, outside the station. I related my sad story to them. One guy who was seemingly a High Grade Officer asked:

‘Did you note down the plate number of the taxi?’

To which I replied in the negative but added promptly that a Security Officer at the Domestic Airport did. He also jotted down our name, I added with hope. The Police Officer then advised us to take a three-wheeler and to go there to report the matter. He added mockingly:

‘These days you don’t stand a chance in Bombay, ma’am! Your lap-top is gone!’

 I thanked him and left with my son. We had no problem to find an auto rickshaw. There were plenty of them and the drivers were avidly looking for clients. We asked the driver to take us to the Domestic Airport, to wait for us there and then to bring us back to the International Airport.

When we reached our destination, Anil alighted from the auto rickshaw and went to look for the Security Officer. Somehow the driver of the auto rickshaw understood that we were looking for a cab driver and the plate number of his car. Soon he was put into the picture and he started to follow my son as a spirit guide. The Security Officer was found and also the number of the car. However, the cab driver was not there nor was he expected for the day. He had left for home, his friends, the other drivers told us. In my heart, I knew that he had the lap-top, hence the reason he had stopped to work and had gone back to his house. The ‘buddhi’ (intelligence) is a precious mental faculty which we must know how to use, I told myself. Recalling in a flash a passage in the Bhagavath Gita where Lord Krishna says that we can speak an untruth when it is meant to save dharma (righteousness), I astutely told the drivers that I had left my lap-top in the cab of the chauffeur who drove us to the International Airport. One of them immediately phoned the cab driver in question. He did have the lap-top and was willing to bring it back on condition that we pay him a ‘bakshis’ (a stipend). I did not answer. My mind was with the Lord and I thanked him profusely.

 The Principal Security Officer arrived on the scene soon after and asked us to wait for the cab driver at his office. It was safer for us to wait there, he politely added. We waited patiently for half an hour. The driver then showed up waving the strap bag containing the lap-top jubilantly. He was accompanied by several other drivers. He asked me to check whether everything was there. I did. Prema Sai, the battery charger, my pen and my Pashmina were all there, intact. I thanked the Principal Security Officer and the cab driver. I proceeded to leave the premises followed by Anil when the driver came up to me in an aggressive manner.

 ‘You have to give me a bakshis!’ he said and added ‘One Lakh!’

I stared at him and pulled myself together.

‘You stole my lap-top and you dare ask me for a bakshis!’ I retorted to the dumbfounded guy. ‘I had to lie to get it back. I did not, at any time, leave my lap-top in your car. You stole it from my trolley. As a woman of principle, I refuse to give you one single cent!’

 These words which I believed Sai Baba spoke through me closed the chapter.

We returned to the International Airport, thanked the rickshaw driver with a generous bakshis and paved our way to the Maharani Business Lounge. We were booked on the International Flight to Hong-Kong which was transiting at the Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi, our final destination.

This thrilling adventure from the start to the end reminds me of the story of Sai Baba the Saint of Shirdi as told by him. The story starts when Shirdi Sai Baba and other young men got lost in a dense forest whilst they were discussing about spiritual philosophy and the need for an aspirant to have a spiritual teacher or guru. When the rest of them refused the guidance of an illiterate woodsman to find their way out of the forest, Shirdi Baba accepted the latter as his guide and he found his way out. The dense forest represents the illusory material world where man is lost. To find his wayout and to self-realization, if and when he is ready he will find a Guru who will guide his every step. The Guru is the voice within. The unbreakable link between the guru and his pupil is devotion, the power of divine love.

Anita Bacha

Lady In Red

It was the first night of celebrations of Navaratri also called Durga Pooja at the temple. This popular Hindu festival is celebrated every year over nine nights for the worshipping of the divine mother Durga. A statue of the goddess clad in a bright red saree, an auspicious color that also symbolizes the victory of good over evil is adorned. The priest, who was conducting the prayers in Sanskrit, now and then stopped to explain the meaning of the prayers to the devout assembly of people, mostly women. He emphasized on the need for devotees to be of service to others, specially the old, the infirm, the sick and the poor, as a precursor to prayers during the period of fast, to win the heart of the Divine Mother and to receive Her Blessings and Grace. One of the simplest ways of doing ‘seva’ (service), he candidly explained, was ‘to help a ‘Dadi’ to cross the road’. ‘Dadi’ is a Hindi word meaning either a grandmother or an old woman.

I am an astute listener at ‘satsang’ (spiritual gathering), avid to learn more about religion, spirituality, saints, gods and goddess.  Amazingly on that night, when I heard the sermon of the priest, an amusing thought came to my mind and I turned to my pet friend, who was sitting cross-legged next to me. I whispered in her ear

‘Dadi is at the steering wheel!’

 Appreciative of the joke, she giggled like a little girl. Both of us are fortunate grandmothers but, very young at heart; moreover, we both drive our private Benz.

The next morning I drove to town to buy vegetables. At one point of time, I left the car in the parking bay and crossed the road to the market place. Later, when I was returning to my car with two heavy baskets of vegetables, I stopped at the pedestrian crossing; I looked left, then right and left again. The road was clear but the little man at the robot was still wearing his red suit. Instead of proceeding on my way, I hesitated and decided to wait for him to change to green. All of a sudden, an unknown lady came from behind me in a rush. She got hold of my right elbow. She pushed and virtually dragged me across the road. Taken by surprise, my only reaction was to walk aided by her to the other side of the road.

She then let go of my elbow and said

‘These days motorists are very reckless. Old people are frightened to cross the road!’

I hardly had time to utter a word, she had disappeared! I only had a glimpse of her red attire. Deep in my heart I knew that it was none other than the divine mother in human form.

What a lesson in humility to learn from the Goddess Durga, the lady in red.

Anita Bacha


 Devotional Singing

Be a Song!

I virtually rushed to Devotional Group Singing at the Sai Centre that Thursday. On my way, I found it hard to switch my mind from the application of article 42 of the Convention on The Rights of Children, which at work I had to consider in an adoption case, to the more stress-free devotional singing.

As everything happens according to the Sankalpa (the Will of the Lord), the main bhajan singers had not turned up. They are the singers who attend bhajan training and they lead the devotional songs at the Sai Centre. Others, mostly working women that included me, sing in chorus. The ‘Bhajan Convener’ and the musicians arrived; a list of devotional songs was hastily drawn and handed over to the Convener. He looked at the list.

He turned to me and asked me to sing a song as he knew that I sang in chorus and that I had a good voice. For an unknown reason, I added the name of a song ‘Baba awo mere kirtan mein!’ and my name on the list and gave it back to him. Sankalpa!  Sankalpa! Things just happen and we have no control over them!

I sang all the songs in chorus and lo! When ,at the top of my voice, I was leading  the fifth line ‘Antar Jyoti Jagado ’( let my inner light awake!) of the song, I was pleasantly surprised to see ,before my bemused eyes, the altar of  Sai Baba suddenly illumined as someone at the back of the bhajan hall switched on the electricity. I thanked Baba profusely in my heart for what I considered was a Divine message.

Before I left the bhajan hall, I went up to the bhajan convener to pay my respects and to thank him. He asked me whether I was conversant in ‘Sanskrit’ to which I meekly replied ‘No!’He then pointed out to me that in the bhajan, instead of’ ‘darsaa’ (eclipse, light) I said ’darshan’ (divine presence) which was wrong. I apologized. I pointed out to him that I learnt’ bhajans’ after long years of singing in chorus and never from a ‘Guru’. A working woman and a mother of four, I could not attend bhajan training.

Though I did appreciate the pertinent remark of the convener as I realized it was an invitation to join bhajan training, I felt a little pain in the region of the heart.

Late at night, I opened my mail box and Sankalpa! I found the above Baba’s message posted in a Sai Forum and on the spur of the moment, a balm was applied on my heart by the invisible hand of the Divine.

‘What is the difference between the singer and the song? Singer is conscious of the people listening to him. Singer is conscious of the previous singer. He is also thoughtful of the next singer. The singer aims to be number one for that bhajan session. He is just an ordinary singer. But a listener who joins in chorus, singing in joy, not thinking of the singer at all, thinks of the song. He becomes the song himself. That is Divine. Be a song and not a singer!’ Sri Sathya Sai Baba

 Since that memorable day when asked I refuse to sing as a leading singer. However, I continue to sing devotional songs for the Lord in chorus now that I am aware I am His song.

Anita Bacha

Flute Player


  Flute Player!

 In the lake of her heart

 Your melancholic music

 Floats in rapture

 Her dancing eyes

 Her laughing eyes



 Crying for more

Anita Bacha