Contents
  1. Holy Hell: A Memoir of Faith, Devotion, and Pure Madness
  2. Holy hell amritanandamayi pdf writer
  3. Holy hell amritanandamayi pdf writer | ojcgrbt
  4. Visudha Narakam

Read "Holy Hell A Memoir of Faith, Devotion, and Pure Madness" by Gail Tredwell Because she became fluent in the Malayalam language and had continual. 2. nov holy hell book in malayalam holy hell book read online balu amritanandamayi holy hell malayalam pdf free download holy hell: a memoir of. holy hell in malayalam pdf. Sorry, nothing found. Featured Posts. On My Way Home · God Is Within Us All · When Hugs Become a Religious Experience.

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Holy Hell Malayalam Pdf

Read Holy Hell by Gail Tredwell for free with a 30 day free trial. Read unlimited* books and audiobooks on the web, iPad, iPhone and Android. Visudha Narakam is the Malayalam translation of the 'Holy Hell: A Memoir of Faith, Devotion and Pure Madness' penned by Gail Tredwell, aka Gayatrai. To ask other readers questions about Holy Hell, please sign up. . book was when I watched an interview of Gail Tredwell on one of the Malayalam channels.

Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Other editions. Enlarge cover. Error rating book. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem? Details if other: Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. Preview — Holy Hell by Gail Tredwell. Holy Hell: Amma, universally known as "The Hugging Saint," went through a two-decade transformation from a simple fisherman's daughter to an international wonder worshiped by millions.

In the afternoon, we went out for a stroll, to have some alone time and the freedom to talk privately. We headed out, my sister in her blue jeans and me in my bright orange sari. I always managed to turn heads whenever I went out in public.

In India, it was because of my white skin. In the West, it was because I wore a sari. So I was more or less used to attracting negative attention. I wasn't quite sure how Robyn felt, but she didn't show any discomfort, if there was any. So, how's life? Are you still happy living in the ashram? Robyn looked at me with one eyebrow raised and said, Well, you look like shit if you want my opinion.

Breaking down, I confessed. Well, actually I'm not all right. I'm not at all happy. I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. At the same time, I don't know how I can leave. People do leave unhappy marriages, you know. They have to start life over and find themselves again.

So what? It's nothing you aren't capable of doing. You would be just fine. Of course, you aren't married, but you get my drift. Oh, Robyn, it's not that simple. I have poured my entire heart and soul into this organization for twenty years. It's much stronger and more complex than any marriage.

I just don't know—how can I leave? It would create so much devastation. With a stern look on her face, Robyn cut me off.

Just ask yourself this, are you happy? Can you not think of yourself for once? They'll survive. Life will go on without you. But will you survive? Remember the saying—nobody is indispensable. But I don't know what I would do. Where would I go?

How would I survive? I don't have any money, or a career. I feel ill at the thought of staying, but even more so about leaving. I had to sit down. The mere discussion of this topic was exhausting. Robyn took a deep breath, let out a sigh, and placed her hand on mine. You know, I have never liked Amma and this whole guru thing. What do you get out of this life? Searching for a suitable answer, for myself as much as for Robyn, I said, But there is such a spiritual atmosphere.

How can I isolate myself from that? That's pure projection, she scoffed. People feel what they hope and desire to feel. Spirituality is everywhere. You don't have to suffer and sacrifice your entire life away like this. Look at you, you're miserable and lost. What's so spiritual about your state?

Robyn, I hear what you're saying, and I know you are coming from a place of love and concern. I just don't think I'm ready. Can we change the subject? I don't have the strength to talk or even think about this anymore.

We never discussed the topic again. The rest of our visit was spent enjoying our time together and talking about her life. The next morning we parted ways. She returned to Bremen, and I continued with the tour, but now with even more confusion and doubt about my life in the ashram. Her words of advice and encouragement, although hard to accept, became like drops of water on the seeds of change that were already sprouting inside me after talking to Tara.

My first day as a free woman outside the ashram is almost over. I get up from the couch and go to my bedroom where I curl up once more in my ball-like position, but this time with the added solace of a warm and cozy bed. I feel relieved to know that Amma and her entourage will be heading back to India in the morning.

I can't wait to hear that they are on their way. I feel certain that those few thousand miles between us will alleviate some of the pressure I am feeling. I strongly object to the fact that Balu, Amma's head swami, is staying back with the intention of finding me. No way in hell is this going to happen. I am escaping from him, too. I feel I should get a message to Amma and the ashram and tell them they should quit searching for me.

But there is nothing I can do at this hour. I have to sit tight and trust that I will find out more in the morning from Tara, my Paris correspondent. My dry and burning eyes are pleading with me to go to sleep. My body is starting to surrender to the pleasing comfort of the soft mattress and the sweet-smelling blanket snuggled against my skin.

I can't fight any longer, nor do I feel a need to. I decide to say goodnight to the first day of my new life. After twenty years of sleep deprivation, I go out like a light. The following morning greets me with a slight sense of relief and calm.

I can't say what the weather outside is doing.

My only world is the one I am living inside the house. I can hear the occasional car drive by, and I wonder who is inside the car and what kind of life that person leads. Is he married and off to work?

Is it a mother driving her children to school? Are these people happy, depressed, or somewhere in between? What is life like on the outside?

I am free now to create my own world and find out for myself. That thought is equally exciting and nerve-wracking. Thankfully, the phone starts to ring. I pray that this is Tara, pray she is bringing me the good news that everyone has headed to the airport. I wait with the impatience of a child eager for a candy bar, and it feels like an eternity before the phone completes its set of rings.

First set of rings… silence. Second set of rings… silence. When the phone starts ringing again, I quickly pick up. Gayatri, I have some good news and some bad news. They're all leaving for the airport in a couple of hours, but Balu is still planning on staying back. My mum said she wasn't sure but thinks he will probably leave on Thursday, so it would be just two more days. Hearing this news is good. But it also stirs thoughts of the devastation that is going to occur in India once Amma returns without me.

I know the Indian girls will take it really hard, for I am like a big sister to them, and this breaks my heart. There are nearly two hundred girls there now, and I love and care for them so much.

Tara, I need to get a message to the ashram before they leave for the airport. I'm hoping it will put their minds at ease so they'll stop trying to track me down. I am also hoping it will encourage them all to head home. In a perplexed voice, she replies, But nobody knows I'm in communication with you.

It's probably best that I stay undercover for now. Yeah, you're right. I'll have my sister do it.

Holy Hell: A Memoir of Faith, Devotion, and Pure Madness

Tara, can you call Robyn so I can dictate a message to her? Then she can call the San Ramon ashram and pass it on. I want everybody to know that I am safe and that my head is on my shoulders, but my decision is firm.

It took me several years to reach this decision, but it is one hundred percent sure. It is the most painful and scary thing I have done. I am not leaving for worldly life, but to pursue my spiritual life in a more peaceful and loving environment. I am sorry to have caused so much pain to people, but I had to come to terms with reality and truth. I want to pause here and turn the clock back twenty-one years. I wish to take you back to an era of innocence, hopes, and dreams, to a time when I was an impressionable, fun-loving, free-spirited young woman at the tender age of nineteen.

This also happens to be the time when I first fell in love—with God. Hurry up, yelled Franco as Sylvie and I scrambled along the train platform. By no means was this an easy task, for there were hundreds of people bumping into one another and running every which way. Travelers say chaos is one of the charming characteristics of India.

But I suspect that this is something they tell themselves in order to survive. Early on I learned not to resist, just to go with the flow, otherwise your life will become pure hell.

India is not a country with which you can ever have a mediocre relationship. You must love it or run for your life. Eventually we found our carriage and allowed the pressure of the crowd to line us up in front of a door.

Pushing and shoving is an accepted way of life in India. A queue is a rare phenomenon. The population has developed this manner of conduct into quite a fine art. Nobody pushes with their hands. They use their whole bodies, and this makes the contact somehow less personal, and honestly nobody thinks about it twice. I watched my friends disappear into the train, and for a split second I panicked. Then miraculously I found myself standing before a door.

Without delay I grabbed onto the clammy railing, and with one gigantic heave, propelled myself forward, yanking my bag free from the bodies it was wedged between down below. As I made my way through the carriage, I chose to ignore the unabashed stares and eventually found the right compartment. It was a second-class sleeper and would be our home for the next three days. In the late seventies second-class meant no air conditioning, no seat padding, and no door to your individual compartment.

The right side of the carriage was lined vertically with additional benches.

This arrangement guaranteed a complete lack of privacy for the occupants and a constant stream of people shuffling up and down the narrow corridor to the bathrooms. I flung my bag onto the corner of the top bunk where it would be safe from roaming hands. Excited, I sat down by the window to watch the flurry of activity transpiring outside. Women carried baskets of food in one hand, dragged a child along with the other, and somehow rested an infant securely on one of their maternal hips. Men loaded with suitcases and rolls of bedding hurried by.

The more affluent folk carried nothing. Trailing closely at their heels with the most graceful gait, porters dressed in bright red jackets balanced stacks of luggage ever so elegantly on their heads.

Most women were gaily clad in vibrant colors, and every facet of the rainbow was whizzing before my eyes. Children selling peanuts, roasted chickpeas, and other oddities hurried through the train making frantic, final pleas, trying to convince everyone to download from them. The whistle blew, and I could see the uniformed station agent wave his green flag, so I knew our departure was imminent.

The commotion on the platform began to ease. People became stationary with their gaze glued to the train windows. Yes the character assassination also happened to me when spoke up online on what I thought was a private closed members group expressing some doubts and concerns, at the beginning of An email was circulated within a month of me speaking up, which I found out about via a friend, between the senior Australian organisers and a renunciate from the ashram, saying I was mentally ill.

Inferring I was suffering from psychotic episodes. This inference of mental illness has been used time and again to attack those who complain or leave them. An attempt was made to haul me up before the main Swamini, the one who sits behind Amma onstage, for "discipline". Then when I would not comply the slanderous email was circulated amongst my friends in the organisation, including a man who had been my partner, and I was verbally bad-mouthed, after having been screamed at by this renunciate who told me she would "tell everyone about me".

Amma sucks people in the west into her cult under the guise that she is this great humanitarian who radiates love. Yet the longer you stay in her org the more apparent it becomes to you that this is NOT all about love. Some of those who defend her and then go and attack others online, write bad reviews etc are so deluded that they possibly will never escape her clutches.

Holy hell amritanandamayi pdf writer

Then there are the cynical ones who are connected to her inner circle, who are possibly getting benefits for themselves by being in this position.

I noted that a couple who have attacked Gail in these reviews also have the same online names they used last year to attack her on a couple of online discussion groups, when she was interviewed by Rolling Stone magazine prior to the book publication. I think the readers should also keep in mind that it is highly likely those who wrote the bad reviews have not even read the book, but are now parroting what they have been told to say about it by the ashram.

I know that the word has gone out to the local satsang groups across the world now that they should not download this book. You will also see on other sites that sell this book that the very same negative reviews as posted on this site are also on the others, by the same authors. One of the reasons also why so many have NOT spoken up against this cult is because of the real fear they live under.

For those in India a fear of actual physical harm. And for those in the west who still have family in the cult, the threat of turning family members against them, or of bad things actually happening to those family members living in India in her ashram.

The fear that they will be slandered and bad mouthed, that their employers will be sent nasty things about them. That other cult members will phone them up and abuse them. The reason why other senior members have left in the past and not spoken up. Many have just wanted to sever all ties and start a new life, never speaking out lest trouble be caused for them in that new life. Gail is to be applauded in her courage for speaking out. To have the integrity to acknowledge the role she played in bringing this woman to the west and to help make her famous.

She did this knowing her privacy would be invaded and her life turned upside down, but felt that she could no longer live with herself unless she made amends. I was lucky in that I had no other family members in this cult. I was a very strong minded individual who would not allow myself to be frightened by these people. Complained and threatened with legal action after I was slandered.

Still continue to speak out whenever I can. Reply to this post 14 of 18 people think this post adds to the discussion. Do you?

Holy hell amritanandamayi pdf writer | ojcgrbt

They will do anything to discredit those who tell the truth. At one point, they scoured the Internet and found something I had written or maybe it was a petition I had signed to legalize medical marijuana.

They took this and spun it to call me a "drug addict" who couldn't be trusted. It's interesting how they use the same exact tactics on everyone. I guess the good thing is that through the way they loaded this site review page with similar tactics and smears, they are showing the whole world the lengths that they go to in order to try and shut their escapees up.

Kerala has gone into verbal overdrive with shrill accusations from both sides flying across the media and the internet. As with all such cases, there is very little rational analysis of the book since the emotional barometer is near the breaking point. This is why I decided to read the book, to find out for myself what the hell!

Visudha Narakam

I do not believe in god as a concrete entity, but only as a human concept: a valid concept, but a concept all the same. So for all practical purposes, I am an atheist. So my loyalties are firmly fixed on one side of the debate. Just so that you know. That said, I do not mind somebody constructing an ashram and attracting devotees. Good luck to them, I say.

The people who flock to these gods on earth are mostly educated people gifted with rational minds to think things out. The fact they do not do so means that deep down, they want to believe — it is a strong spiritual need.

As long it is fulfilled by anything, and gives them happiness, why should I bother? While reading this book, however, I was adamant that my prejudices should not inform my view. Whether I agree with the author or not, the review should be impartial, analysing the book on its own merits.

Well, onto the book.

The Story Thousands of Westerners came to India in the seventies. I still remember seeing a lot of white men and women, dressed in what could be termed rags, walking around with backpacks.

Amma treated her as personal property, working her to death and verbally and physically abusing her whenever the mood for a tantrum came upon her. At this time, Gail was footloose in India without a penny to her name: no contact with her family in Australia hints of some serious problem back there, though not elaborated : and also, she had undergo a hysterectomy to remove a massive tumour from her uterus.

It is easy to see her being preyed upon. Well, all of us know the history of Mata Amritanandamayi. The ashram grew and expanded at tremendous speed, becoming the multimillion dollar corporate behemoth it is today. Gail got elevated to the position of manager, and was accompanying Amma constantly on her trips.

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