"I hope my journey of discovery will not only enchant, entertain and  enthral you and in reading what I have achieved, I believe you will find the latent spark within yourself that when fanned into a passionate fire will enable you not only to be all you can be… but more."

The story of how an elderly English woman

and a dynamic American man changed the life of

a traditional Indian Hindu girl forever.
 

Introduction

A sense of astonishment washed over me rippling into an unfamiliar prickly sensation that shuddered over my flesh, forcing my eyes wide and my back straight. I was eleven years old, and the pall-bearers were bringing a coffin into my home … the coffin of my beloved mother.

The long cold container, bereft of any sentiment, was swathed in a purple velvet drape. I’d never seen a purple coffin before. Actually I’d never seen a coffin before, but somehow I just knew they weren’t normally purple. Once inside our home the casket that held my mother’s lifeless body was slowly opened. Colour collided with my young grief-stricken psyche once more … the colour of red … the colour that nearly thirty years later was to impact me once more in a pivotal and profoundly positive turning point in my life.

Prior to my mother’s funeral, according to Hindu tradition, the woman who had been the centre of my world was dressed for her journey to the afterlife. Although in life my father had forbidden my mother to wear red, in death she was dressed in a red sari, adorned with red lipstick, and even her toes had been painted with red nail polish. She was the most breathtaking vision I had ever seen. In the first ‘eighteen’ of my life I learned that in the Hindu faith a woman is considered fortunate to die in wedlock, and hence she is dressed as a bride for her funeral service. If, conversely, a wife becomes a widow in life then she is considered by some a bad omen and dressed as a widow for her final journey.

During the second ‘eighteen’ of my life I had the tragic misfortune to experience this harsh custom first hand. It is, however, my third ‘eighteen’ I want to focus on for it was in my third ‘eighteen’ that the colour red reasserted itself at a seminar in the presence of a man who was to contribute in changing my world forever.

There would be few who have not heard of the remarkable Anthony (Tony) Robbins, a man whose ‘Unleash the Power Within’ program has transformed countless lives around the world. It was therefore overwhelmingly ironic, or perhaps overpoweringly karmic, for me to learn that the man who has achieved so much for so many was unable to assist his own wife with a debilitating phobia … and to deal with the issue he turned to an Indian Guru. Even before I was consciously aware of these facts there was an undeniable, irrefutable and intense impact beginning to weave into an inexorable web of connectedness.

I was eighteen years old when I married the true love of my life. I was married for eighteen years. During both of those ‘eighteens’ I had, for all intents and purposes, been very much alone despite the large family network I was a part of. Only in the third ‘eighteen’, when I first set foot in the Tony Robbins seminar and was hit once again by the colour red … red, red, red, red-covered chairs everywhere, did my metamorphosis take place. For the first time I realised I am not alone, I am strong, and my experiences, my journey and the lessons I’ve learned along my path are able to positively influence souls from every socio-economic group, faith, and hemisphere. Here is the story of how that happened with uplifting and inspirational messages, ideas and affirmations that even in this increasingly spiritual world you may not have heard (at least from this perspective) before.

Chapter One

‘Forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of future.’
Christian D. Larsen

There was no more burning desire in my young mind than to spend every moment of every day with my beautiful, wise and gracious mother. I would find any reason to be close to her, to feel the warmth of her aura caress me with ageless wonder and timeless love. The moment I opened my eyes in the morning I would rush to her side so she could tenderly brush my long ebony hair, and last thing at night I would often sneak into her bed to sleep curled up by her feet. Even when she wasn’t physically by my side thoughts of my mother filled both my mind and spirit. She was more than my creator; she was my world, my everything.

I realise now how hard my mother worked to provide for us all, but looking up at her through the eyes of an adoring child all I remember seeing is smiles. Something inside me knew that if Mum was smiling everyone was happy and all was well in the world. Despite this, as is the case in so many families, I was aware that Mum constantly worried about money. I used to overhear conversations between my parents, the elder brothers and sisters, and the relations who would regularly visit, about how tight things were. Somehow, though, I knew we would always get by because everyone spoke about how talented my father was, making things from leather in Africa from where he generated a great deal of business. Although I had no memory of the Dark Continent my siblings and I were all born in Nairobi (Kenya), apart from my youngest brother who was born after we moved to England. Of course my family originated in India, where my father had inherited a great deal of land in the Umbhel region. Electing to pass on the responsibility of caring for the land to his youngest brother, my father left our homeland to pursue his dreams. Nonetheless my uncle has kept the title deeds in my father’s name so, according to tradition, the land will eventually be inherited by my eleven brothers and sisters and me.

Burning with a brightness that was almost dazzling, my father had grand dreams for success in a brave new world, a passion I am proud to say I now carry with me in my own pursuit of fantastic dreams. I know beyond any doubt that if you set your heart unwaveringly on achieving something it will be achievable, even if perhaps not in ways you might have at first suspected. Despite having all that I needed within me, the discovery of this undeniable truth first began to reveal itself to me at the very first Tony Robbins seminar I attended, although the dawning realisation hadn’t fully hit home initially. Gradually I came to understand that although I had dreams I had always put other people’s feelings and desires ahead of my own, perhaps as a result of my upbringing. Lessons learned as an impressionable child, watching my mother sacrifice anything for the good of others, seemed indelibly burned into my psychological behavioural patterns, and in turn I understand now this attitude stems from the ancient traditions of my people.

It is an Asian tradition for the boy’s family to ask for a dowry of any value they like from the family of a bride-to-be. In India wives can still be tormented, tortured or burned alive if their families do not give what is asked for. A girl’s family will go to extraordinary lengths to secure a dowry as it is believed to be bad luck for a girl to remain single; many will start saving from the moment a female child is born. It is perhaps little wonder in light of this that I adopted such a servile attitude from such a young age. Images of my mother carrying shopping home in a box on her shoulder up a long and hilly road were impossible to exorcise even had I wanted to, and as a child I saw no reason to want to. Besides, I had already decided I was not going to get married. I planned to stay with my mum forever; I was never going to leave her and that was an end of the matter.

Before I was even in double-digits I had formulated what I considered to be a brilliantly clever strategy. First of all I would get myself a car, so Mum would never have to carry a box on her shoulder again. It was more than just the box you see; to me it often seemed as if the weight of the world was carried upon her shoulder in that box. It was puzzling why Dad’s brilliant ideas and business talent weren’t making enough for Mum and us to have our own car, but that wasn’t the issue. The issue was how was I going to help my mum?

Almost as early as I can remember I began going to work after school and during the holidays, helping Mum with her cleaning jobs. She looked so pretty in her white and lilac overalls that part of my heart weighed heavily seeing her empty other people’s office ashtrays and garbage bins, sweeping and mopping large nursery classrooms and kitchens, and cleaning toilets. There was an upside though. As we walked to and from our jobs Mum would plunge my hand in hers inside her deep coat pockets and there I felt we were bonded for eternity and safe from all harm. Even though the work was physically hard I helped with a smile on my lips and a song in my heart, not because of the filthy manual labour, but because I knew how my actions were helping my mum. At the end of each week I was rewarded with a few pence, which seemed like a king’s ransom to me. Quick as a cricket and light as a feather I would skip to the shop to buy a bar of chocolate.

‘Eat it quickly, Pushpa,’ my mum would whisper. ‘Eat it before we get home or your brothers and sisters will cry for one as well.’

Knowing this special chocolate bar was such a special privilege made me feel especially appreciated. Those years were magical for me.

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