About Sudha

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

417w9grc0fl-_sy346_51yrhcek2ql-_sy346_61a-gwraa6l-_sy346_518hxphbsel-_sy346_

Sudha means purity in Hindi.

Sudha means honey in Indonesian.

Gather thee rosebuds while thee may.

Amazon Kindle Books by Sudha Hamilton Click Here

CopyMW

Disciple

The sunlight filtered across the room, as he sat on the new blue couch. It was a two seater, covered with some nylon fabric; scratchy and uncomfortable. He looked up at the high ceiling, freshly painted but obviously aged, with its ornate cornices cracking in places. The walls were painted eggshell blue and the carpet was a deep cobalt. It was known as the ‘blue room’ at the Centre. Looking over at the receptionist’s desk, and at the ‘Ma’ sitting there, he became aware of how the blue of the room contrasted with her orange attire. He wondered if that had been a deliberate decision, whether it was by design. She lifted her head and made eye contact with him, serious with not a hint of a smile; her chilly blue eyes seemed to look through him. She had been one of the Master’s mediums back in Pune.

Her blue eyes were framed by dark lustrous locks that flowed to her shoulders and beyond. She was beautiful in an unapproachable way, inhabiting a rarefied air of some other dimension. All the Centre’s receptionists had some particular quality, each one beautiful in their own way. He supposed that is why they had been chosen. It was like each Ma was imbued with a meditative flavour; and meeting the outsiders, as their first point of reference, was their purpose. Having been one of ‘His’ mediums, she would bring that spark of the divine to every first encounter. Her luminous white skin attracted him immensely, he fantasised about being with her, but he was far in the outer fringes of the community.

More

Essays on Ancient History

It is challenging to arrange this collection of essays in a consistent timeline, as so many events overlap between the cultures and regions. This is an occidental or classical look at ancient history, very much in line with most tertiary studies offered at Western universities.  The essays seek to throw some light on what we think we know about events and identities from the scrolls and codices remaining from ancient times.

Historiography endeavours to decipher and test the veracity of textual and epigraphic evidence, which may report on the unfolding of events from antiquity. There is also archaeological evidence which can provide broader timelines and pointers, as to where events occurred.  It is fascinating to learn things about our beginnings and how their influences still remain in our languages, political systems and human relations.

Questions like why did the Roman Empire discard centuries of polytheistic belief to suddenly put its weight behind an obscure Jewish cult, which became Christianity, loom large in history. The shift to monotheism appears to have been a universal cultural development in this part of the world.

Figures like Alexander the Great, Augustus and Yahweh have made mega sized footprints on our development as human beings. It is stimulating to ponder on their motivations and in the latter case their very existence.

I hope you enjoy these modest attempts at understanding just a few of the strands of ancient history’s tapestry.

Robert Hamilton

More

Midas Word 

Being Bob

Bob brushed his black T-shirt clad shoulders of their dandruff. He looked longingly at Gwen, as she sat opposite him in the ladies lounge of their local. Her tight ACDC “Blow Up Your Video” Tour of 87 T-shirt balefully tried to cover her breasts. Absently trailing his finger with the severed stump into his glass of Bundy and Coke he attempted to make polite conversation.

“Bloody hot of late, don’t you reckon?”

“Weather these days, Bob, is all over the place.”

This was their third date, after meeting through a mutual friend who bred Bull Terriers. Both were unaccustomed to intimate attention since Malcolm Fraser had been prime minister. Something was stirring within Bob; blood was flowing to places long dormant. Gwen coveted her port and lemonade, despite the ice having long melted.

Bob’s hand reached out and Gwen instinctively ducked and looked uncomprehendingly at her beau.

“It was a bug love, a big blowie or March fly; didn’t want you to get stung.”

She took his still outstretched hand in her own, as the flinching left her face. Bob’s lips appeared for the first time out from beneath his bushy beard in a smile of sorts. He thought to himself, “I am in here my lad.”

More

Advertisements
Be the first to start a conversation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s