The following is the second half of a two part interview with Dr. Aditya Gait, a resident medical doctor and member of Ananda’s Kriya Yoga Community in the countryside outside of Pune, India. Dr. Aditya is also a Brahmachari member of the Ananda Renunciate Order.

Aditya and a fellow monk with Swami Kriyananda

Jaya: There are good hospitals in both Pune and in Lavasa, but what sort of medical facilities are in the neighborhood of Ananda? Are there clinics nearby?

Aditya: There are small clinics in Pirangut, about 17 kilometers away, but they are quite expensive for the villagers and not at all up to the mark. Few doctors are available and they often give incomplete treatment. Two government dispensaries are in the area where we are staying but the villagers aren’t happy with their service and, again, the medicines are expensive.

I’m getting my medicines from a company in Gujarat that was started by a group who is consciously keeping prices low. Their medicines are at par with any drug company in the world but at only around one tenth the cost. I’m also trying to keep my consultation fees affordable for the villagers. They are twenty rupees only.

Jaya: What sort of medical problems do you typically see in Watunde? What is the greatest need, locally?

Aditya: What you see mostly are the basic seasonal illnesses, asthma, and injuries. 60-70% of the ladies are deficient in iron and have anemia which leads to fatigue and pregnancy complications. Alcoholism is a problem but it takes time to gain people’s trust before it can be addressed. Malnutrition is not so common in the village but the tribal people who stay on the hilltop, some of them are malnourished.

In the long run, what will help most is better health education and reinforcement of things they already know but lack the initiative to do, such as better ways to cook food and how to grow healthier crops. They grow sugarcane as a cash crop but don’t grow spinach or other leafy, green vegetables. All of the villagers have cows but they don’t drink that milk. They sell it. We need to teach better hygiene also. The villagers know these things but are not putting them into practice.

Jaya: Who typically comes to you now for medical attention?

Aditya: The people who now come are from the local villages (Watunde, Borde and Kharawade) and from the tribal village on the hilltop. The local village population is around thirteen hundred but only three to four hundred are staying at any one time. On any given day, eight to ten are ill. Last year I had medical camps in two nearby villages and got a very good response.

I’m sure if we build a real clinic with local people involved, I can reach maybe ten to fifteen villages in the vicinity. Almost all the villagers now have to go to Pirangut and that can be expensive for them.

Jaya: Because you didn’t finish your residency, is there a problem with you operating a clinic and practicing medicine?

Aditya: I can serve as a General Practitioner but not as a Surgeon, but even as that, there are many surgical procedures I can do, especially in a life threatening situation or when in remote areas. When there is no one else to help, you have to do it. I do need a license to run a clinic and since I will also be the lab technician, I need a license for that too and in India, a special license is needed to run a chemist shop. Doctors don’t usually run chemist shops so I will need to explain the situation to see if they can give me that license. Those three things I need before I can run this clinic.

Jaya: Because you are not from this area, have you been well received?

Aditya: Yes. I had that doubt too at first, but the villagers are happy. They see me as an outsider but when they also see that I am here to help them and my prices are very competitive, it immediately breaks that barrier. Being from an ashram also helps because they feel we are service oriented.

Watunde Village

You have to be absolutely selfless when serving in this way. There has to be no expectation that people should respect you because you are a doctor. In one of my rural clinics, someone came up to me and asked, “Where is your certificate? Where are you from? Why are you here? How much do you charge?” He was trying to intimidate me but in the end he shook my hand.

I was prepared for such things because I know that I am not from this part of the country. If you are absorbed in giving, you won’t have these problems. If you have expectations, things may go well for awhile but when something bad happens you will feel discouraged. You need patience. It takes time to build something and it takes time to build trust, but I could feel from day one that this is the right thing to do.

I’m learning to speak Marathi now which I only understood before but could not speak. Hopefully, by the time the clinic starts, I’ll at least be able to converse with the patients.

Jaya: What comes next? What is your plan?

Aditya: If we can provide basic care and provide for some emergencies, I think that is what is needed now. With the container now here, setting it up is the next thing. Maybe in a few months we can have a lab for basic investigations and a place where people can come for urine and blood tests. I’d like a small procedure room and at the very least, a supply of medicines. I already have a basic surgical kit. Also, once we have a space, maybe visiting doctors can come.

Soon, we’ll run an electric wire from the community to the clinic and we are expecting solar panels from the USA. As you can see, we have a lot of space and there are no trees around the container so we can put up those panels to provide electricity for when the regular power goes out. A water tank and a composting toilet are also in the plan. Already we are planting a small garden.

Jaya: That’s pretty ambitious. How are you able to fund it all?

Aditya: Up to now, it has been through donations, mostly from devotees in Pune. We have sent out mail seeking help in whatever form someone wants to offer it and have had a few replies. One devotee from America contributed a lot of surgical instruments, exactly the thing I needed.

I have kept prices very low, almost negligible, because I first must build a trust relationship with the local villagers. It isn’t my intention to make the clinic a profit-making business but I would like to see it grow and be financially stable to better serve people. Perhaps one day we can put it on enough of a healthy footing to attract more doctors and devotees who are in the healing professions.

In Maharasthra, we have the most health related NGO’s in rural areas in India, so a lot of doctors are service oriented in this part of the country. Many doctors want to serve but they find it difficult to take that initial step. I’ve also met doctors who are very keen on moving to our community but I can understand why, with families, they cannot abruptly leave everything to come here. I have to get things started first.

Jaya: At the moment, what is your biggest need?

Aditya: Honestly, for now, I need money to get set up and started, to buy the medicines, and to bring in electricity, waterlines and utilities. Today we have one container, but in time and with peoples’ help, we could have a permanent building where specialists could sit. I don’t see why people someday would not come from Pirangut or even Lavasa to get treatment here because it would be holistic and nice.

(Watunde Village is located at the base of the big hill in the background of the photo above. See the same hill in the previous village photo. The Ananda community is 50 meters behind the photographer.)

Jaya: What additional community projects are you working on, other than the clinic?

Aditya:  A lot has happened in the last one and a half years. At the monastery right now, we are putting up solar panels so as to have electricity and, later on, for the clinic. Also, we are trying to get a solar pump ready to bring water up and are making a composting toilet and a shower house. We just finished our meditation space. Initially, I was working in the garden and was buying supplies in the city one day each week for the community kitchen but now others have taken over those tasks.

Jaya:  What does your family think of all this?

Aditya:  They would be very happy if I came back home because my father has a clinic and he would be interested in having me help. They think I am just serving the rural areas and say, “Why don’t you see patients in the rural area over here?” But my aim is to serve Master’s work more than anything else. To be a channel in whatever way I can is the reason I am at Ananda. My mom is happy as she knows I am doing something good but my poor father doesn’t understand it at all. I love them and pray for them. I know Master will take of our souls.

The famous blue container!

Jaya: What has been your greatest gain in this project?

Aditya: The immense satisfaction of serving: serving my guru, serving the local villagers, serving the ashram. Building a community and doing something for others to follow has brought me great satisfaction and contentment.

When Swamiji asked, “What do you think of a rural clinic?” I realized he didn’t want me to cut myself off from medicine. He was happy I had taken up this path but he also wanted me to serve. I’m happy to do so because I never disliked what I was doing before. It’s just that I like what I am doing now so much more. Swamiji asked me to do this thing and I know things will work out. This container seems so empty today but I have a strong belief that it is just the beginning for something much, much more.

Editor’s note: If you would like to contribute to the clinic project in Watunde Village, please write to us at our regular contact information. We can put you in touch with Dr. Aditya, explain his needs, and clarify the options available to you.

Aditya Gait is a member of Ananda Sangha helping to build a “Kriya Yoga Community” in the countryside outside of Pune, India.

He trained as a medical doctor before joining Ananda and is now beginning a medical clinic to serve the needs of local villagers and community members.

Aditya is a brahmachari member of the Ananda Renunciate Order and, in addition to his medical service, is actively engaged in the development of Ananda’s retreat and residential community.

The following is Part One of a two part interview conducted with Aditya in early July, 2010. He had recently purchased a shipping container from Mumbai and had placed it on a small parcel of land adjacent to our community with the intention of converting it into a small clinic.

In this first part of the interview, Aditya tells of his early interest in medicine and of his coming to Ananda. In the second part, he will speak of his plans for the clinic.

Jaya: For the past year, you have been working as a medical doctor with local villagers, traveling here and there to see patients. I see you have now bought a shipping container with plans to convert it into a small medical clinic. How is it going?

Aditya: Swamiji has asked me that exact same question, at least seven or eight times, since we first came to Pune. It’s practically his first question whenever he sees me.

I’ve been answering, “It’s going well,” but when he last came, I told him, “Swamiji, so many things are going on. I’m unable to focus all my attention on the clinic though I have been seeing patients.”

He said, “I understand, but it would be nice if you can do something with the clinic which at the same time does not take all your time.”

Jaya: Have you always wanted to be a doctor?

Aditya: Yes. I was always interested in general medicine but never in surgery.

After my internship, I applied for residency training at a hospital in New Delhi known for its program in community medicine. They told me, “Those seats are full, but we have one seat in rural surgery.”

It was a pilot program combining general surgery, orthopedics, obstetrics, and all of the surgical things needed by a rural doctor. I had never been particularly attracted to specializing in those subjects but when they put that tag “rural” in front of it, I was interested.

My sister is a psychiatrist and my father is a military physician and I thought, “I will be the surgeon,” and we could all serve together.

Jaya: What was it about rural medicine that attracted you?

Aditya: When in medical school in Pune, I was aiming to be an oncologist or a neurologist, but when I went for my internship in New Delhi, I saw that most of my patients had come from the rural areas. That made me ponder, “Why are so many people coming from the rural areas? Instead, we should be going there.”

When someone was ill, the whole family would have to come into the city, often causing major complications because of the delay. I soon realized what was required and decided to serve in the rural areas. That didn’t go down well with my family but I was very content inside because I knew that if I was to serve as a doctor, this was the way it had to be.

Jaya: Did you enjoy your service as a doctor as you had expected?

Aditya: Yes, but when I saw patients I would think, “Why is this happening to them?” I would see people with chronic illnesses which had no cure and I would ponder about why it was so. In pediatric surgery, I saw small babies being operated upon and wondered, “Why is this happening to them?” It was hard to understand. You know, such difficult things are equally bad news for a doctor as for a patient.

I thought about karma and why things happen, but I couldn’t explain this to my patients in a way that would help them. Very few were receptive and once they are physically well, patients don’t come back. I found that disappointing because I wanted to give them so much more. Some days I was happy and some days wasn’t when unable to save somebody. Things eventually came to a point where I couldn’t go on like that.

All the while, I was desperately asking God for help and I eventually came to realize I needed to learn higher things than what I was then studying. I believed in prayer but I just didn’t know how it worked. I believed also in miracles like we read about in the lives of saints and I thought it would be good to learn those things too. But, who do you learn it from?

It was then that I read Autobiography of a Yogi. It answered almost all my questions. I was very certain Yogananda had been with me before. When he spoke of reincarnation, I thought, “He has been my guru!” From then on, I was always questioning and asking, “What does he want from me?”

Jaya: Is that when you came to know about Ananda?

Aditya: I came to know of Ananda just before starting my residency, and wrote a letter to Swamiji, telling him I was a doctor, of my interest in serving people and that I wanted to learn Kriya Yoga. I asked him to please tell me what I can do. I left my phone number and email address but didn’t hear back. When his reply didn’t come, I thought, “Master wants me to continue in medicine.” I thought this because I got my residency seat at the hospital under very miraculous conditions, I must say.

My application was already five months late and the seat was available only because somebody else had become ill and had left it. I was told, “Be at the hospital at nine o’clock in the morning and the head of the department will interview you.”

The next day, on my way to the hospital, I was entering the Delhi Metro when a beggar called out to me. I had only ten minutes but I thought I could give him two, so I said, “What’s your problem?” I could see he had rashes all over his hands and he was blind. He said, “Can you please tell me where the President of India sits? I have to meet him.”

This was a surprising question but I could see he was completely stable and not insane. I said, “That’s a very unusual request. How are you going to meet him?”

The fellow said, “He told me I can come see him at any time,” and he pulled out of his pocket a picture. There was the President Mr. Kalam, with that beggar! He had met him in Lucknow and the President had told him to come see him if he had any problem.

I asked him what his problem was and he said he needed Rs.2500 because he had been ill and spent everything he had on the clinic and private hospitals. “I don’t have money. I have not eaten for two days and my family has not eaten, so today if he can give me some money, I can go back home.”

His request was so simple. He would ask the President to give him some money.

That was the ninth day of Ram Nomi, so everything was closed. I thought, “If I leave him like this he will definitely not reach anywhere. Because I’m educated and a doctor, maybe the guards would let me get near the President’s office.”

Only the day before I had been reading in Swamiji’s book, The Essence of the Bhagavad Gita, the passage where Krishna says to Arjuna, “Oh Arjuna, as long as you think you can plan this and manage that, I will watch. But the day you offer your life completely to Me, I will take complete charge of it.”

I was so thrilled when I read that line, and I was thinking how nice it would be if God takes all charge. So, I said to God, “I’m taking this course for You and I want to help this man for You. Because You have put him in front of me, You must take care of my interview. I’m going with him.”

So I went with the beggar, and it was a very long day. At the President’s office we had problems and didn’t meet Mr. Kalam. Then I took him to an NGO but they could not help. I took him to a charitable person who also could not help. In the end, I had to pay him what money I had. He needed Rs.2500 and I had only Rs.1600, so I gave him that much.

It was 3:30 in the afternoon when I left him, and by then I was wondering about that hospital interview I’d missed. I thought, “Let me go and check.”

I reached the hospital and knocked at that surgeon’s office but nobody answered. I peeped in and his secretary was sitting there. “Mam, is Dr. Khanduri there?” “Please wait,” she said.

I was sitting outside and eventually saw him coming along the corridor. I thought he might scold me as I stood to meet him.

I said, “Sir, I am Aditya. You asked me to come for the interview today.” “Oh my God!” he said, “I’m so sorry. I made you wait so long!” He hadn’t come to the hospital the whole day!

I didn’t want to tell him the whole story so I just said, “It’s fine, sir.”

He said, “I had to interview you. Anyway, you know what? You are the only person.” He asked for my mobile and called someone, “This is the only guy and he wants the seat.” I was through.

So the seat at the hospital was a precious gift and I didn’t want to leave it. I thought, “I should become a doctor. Maybe it’s not my good karma to meditate in this life,” but finally, things came to a point where I knew I wanted to heal people, but not in that way.

Jaya: Eventually, you decided to come to Ananda.

Aditya: Yes, I finished one month short of two years in the residency program and then I came to the ashram. Obviously, my friends and family were not happy with me. They said, “It’s just one more year,” but I knew I had to come.

Swamiji met me and said, “Do you have any questions?” I said, “No.” And he said, “Are you sure?” and I said “Yes.” And he said “Sure?” I thought, “There must be something,” and said, “Swamiji, I had this question a few days back when I was doing my residency. Everything was good. My teachers were good. My college was good. I was happy but I just felt it was incomplete so I came to seek God.” And he said, “Man’s highest responsibility is to find God and I think you have done the right thing by coming here.”

Ananda Community near Pune

I was so relieved, but the very next thing he said to me was, “What do you think of a rural clinic?” I had given up my stethoscope, my books, everything, but I said, “OK.”

So this blue container is the result of all those things. I want to fill it back up with books and a stethoscope.

Part 2 of this interview will appear next week.

Jaya Helin is a founding member of Ananda. In November 2008, he and his wife Sadhana Devi moved to Pune, India, to lead the development of Ananda’s new land there as a spiritual community.

My first assignment upon arrival in Pune was “to do the needful” regarding our newly purchased land and prepare the site by March 1st for our inauguration ceremony, known in India as a “Bhoomi Puja.” That date had been set months before, and plans were in motion for a hundred guests to arrive for a major weekend retreat. To get everything ready in time, we needed to get busy.

Our land is a one-hour drive outside the city of Pune, in Watunde Village. A group of us began to make the drive most mornings to start on various projects, using local village labor where needed. We cleared brush, smoothed roads and building sites, developed a preliminary water system, built a shade pavilion, fixed up the house that was already on the property and built a toilet/shower facility to serve visitors.

Most days found us in the nearby town of Pirangut, buying supplies and learning hard lessons in the art of business in India. Thank God for our friend Hari Sharma, a carpenter from Gurgaon, who moved to Pune with us. Without him, we stood little chance of negotiating fair prices. Doing business in a foreign land is an education, and I learned, “When going to school, you must pay tuition.”

While us guys were working on the land, others of our group were coordinating logistics and organizing parts of the Bhoomi Puja Celebration taking place within Pune. Most of the retreat activities were held within the city, and only a few hours of the weekend were scheduled to be on the land itself.

For some mysterious reason, everything we planned seemed to go wrong at one time or another, and we ended up scrambling until the last minute to plug the gaps.

The venues for some of the events had to be changed four times, the last time just one week before the retreat. We had reserved a major hall for Swami Kriyananda’s presentation months  ahead of time, only to be “bumped” a week before the event!

We had to scramble, finally reserving the original hall for a few hours in the evening instead of all day as planned.

The hall “secured,” we rented a pandal (big tent), and set it up on the courtyard of our apartment complex, booked a caterer, and completely rearranged the weekend’s schedule.

The monks [editor’s note: Ananda India has a monastery] rented buses to ferry retreat guests between hotels to our ever-changing venues and in the end, it all turned out beautifully. I suspect that to the guests it seemed like it was all planned that way.

Over 150 came to the dedication of our land on Sunday, March 1st. Most were ferried from Pune by bus, arriving early to tour the property and join in kirtan (devotional chanting) while they awaited Swami Kriyananda’s arrival. Fortunately, the day was not too hot.

An altar was set up under a large mango tree in the vicinity of where our future temple will be located. There we had leveled the ground, erected a shade tarp, and created a spot for the Vedic fire ceremony.

Swami Kriyananda arrived, and after a prayer and invocation to God and Ananda Gurus, led the crowd in recitation of the Gayatri Mantra (ancient Vedic prayer), while offering ghee (clarified butter) and rice into the fire before him. Many of the locals, who were invited to join us, at  spontaneously began to chant traditional mantras (invocations) associated with a Bhoomi Puja. I found it very touching.

Dharmadas Schuppe, one of the Yogacharyas (Spiritual Directors) of Ananda Sangha India, used a powda (small shovel – see photo) to turn a bit of earth, after which Swami Kriyananda, he and I mortared into place a brick to symbolize the creation of our new community and the temple we hope build one day.

Swami Kriyananda followed with a short discourse addressing the local villagers, which was translated into the local language of Marathi, explaining our hopes for the community, then ended with a final prayer and blessings to all. As usual, many came up to him for his blessings, which he kindly gave to all.

When it was all over, I admit to being tired, simply because so much effort had gone into preparing for the weekend. Underneath the physical tiredness, however, I felt greatly blessed to have been a part of something special. On the surface, this was but one of many other dedication ceremonies I have participated, but somehow I felt this one  to be extra special. It wasn’t just about starting a community in the little village of Watunde near Pune. I think something more was involved.

Whether this particular venture succeeds or fails seemed to me immaterial. Rather, larger currents of energy were at play in the dedication, putting into motion Paramhansa Yogananda’s vision for communities, in India and in the world that transcends Ananda and Pune.

We are planting seeds that will spring forth and bear fruit far into the future. I hope and pray that others be drawn to carry forward this vision.

Slideshow of the ongoing the community being built:

My wife Sadhana Devi’s first impression of India was of her ride from the Delhi airport to our ashram in the suburb of Gurgaon. This was before the new expressway was built, with the road still narrow, bumpy and chaotic. It was late at night, and I was escorting her through four lanes of interweaving bumper-to-bumper traffic moving at a snail’s pace.
“Traffic’s bad tonight,” I thought. After a mile or two of intense congestion we saw the approaching headlights of a car coming toward us in our center lane, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was going the “wrong” way. He had probably missed his exit and was going back by the shortest route. Traffic parted and flowed around him as he proceeded nonchalantly to his destination.That driver, marching to his own tune, was a great illustration to Sadhana Devi of the two sides of India. On the one hand, you have someone willing to go against the tide, unhindered by mere conventions and rules, doing whatever it takes to achieve his goal. Or, if you choose, she could have seen him as an example of someone so self-absorbed in his personal needs that he was totally oblivious to the needs of others and his impact upon them. Which was it? Maybe both. Or, maybe he was just a lousy driver.

When I first moved to Pune last October, I needed some way to get me around the city and decided, against the advice ofa few, to buy a motorcycle. I had owned two-wheelers before but that was many years ago, so I knew my skills would be rusty and not on par with those around me. Yet, the practicality of driving a motorbike outweighed my concerns and, to be honest, it seemed like a whole lot of fun to be zipping around town like the young kids. Yogananda said, “The mind follows the heart,” and I think this was a good example of that.

I bought a small 100cc Hero Honda, the most common model in India. You see millions of these on the road, so I figured they must be reliable. Brand new, it cost about $800 and I haven’t regretted it yet. It gets great mileage (100+/gallon), can be parked most anywhere and is peppy enough for my needs. That said, I must say that riding a motorcycle in Indian traffic is seriously dangerous, but it’s a great way to blend in and feel a part of the scene. It’s a terrific education too, so I thought I’d share a few observations and lessons.

1. Expect the unexpected

A driver in India should never allow himself to say, “I never thought he’d do that!” If it’s possible, expect it! Americans drive by the rules; Indians don’t. Just like the fellow going the wrong way didn’t invite undue concern, you can expect behavior of any and all kinds: indifference to traffic signals, turns from wrong lanes, passing on blind curves, murderous road conditions, buffalos/cows/camels/goats, and suicidal pedestrians. Just when you think you’ve seen it all, you’ll be surprised. In America, you can drive and have your mind elsewhere. Not here. You must be 100% alert at all times.

2. Indians are programmed to get ahead

I was riding with an Indian friend when he commented as a car passed us, “An Indian driver has to get ahead of the car in front of him. You see, we Indians are a competitive people and you see it in our driving. It’s our strength and our curse. Wherever we go in this world, we have to get ahead of the next fellow. It drives us to success but at the same time, it makes it difficult for us to cooperate with one another.”

When riding my bike, I inevitably find myself going faster and faster as I weave in and out of traffic, trying to get ahead of the next fellow just like everyone else. I get caught up in the competitive spirit and must constantly remind myself that there are at least a quarter million young men in Pune between the ages of 16 and 25 fully capable of winning motocross races in America. There is absolutely no way I should let myself get caught up in that. Slow down! Take it nice and easy! Relax and enjoy!

3. Space is measured differently here

In America, personal space between people is not the same as in India. Americans keep a greater physical distance between themselves and others and feel uncomfortable when someone “invades” their space. Here, people stand close and the same goes for cars. In America, clearance between vehicles is measured in feet. Here, it’s measured in inches. It’s a bit disconcerting to have someone pass you by at high speed with only inches to spare. In the West, this would elicit a nasty reaction but here, it’s normal. Maybe it’s because space in India is at a premium and the population is high. Highways marked for two lanes soon become three or four, with a total disregard for lanes. Cars squeeze into the tiniest of openings and you soon understand the utility of a motorcycle.

4. Know when to yield.

Indian culture is hierarchical. It’s the same for driving. You yield to tonnage, or else! The car yields to the truck or bus. The motorcycle yields to the car. The pedestrian yields to the bike. Everyone yields to the cow or buffalo. While driving on a two-lane road, a car coming in my direction will pass another and bear down on me in my lane. No problem. I’m expected to move to the far edge of my lane since I’m only driving a motorcycle. I understand that the on-coming cars will allow me enough space to slip by. Usually. The attitude is, “There’s enough space for all of us to get by, so why waste it?” This is why you’ll see cars passing on blind curves. Indians don’t waste things like Americans do, whether resources or space. Roads can usually accommodate three vehicles in a pinch, so what’s the problem. If there’s enough space for a third car to pass a second car passing a first one while still leaving room for me, I expect it.

5. Don’t wait for someone to be nice to you.

American drivers, by and large (Boston excepted), are polite. We are taught to yield to on-coming traffic, to defer to pedestrians, to give the right-of-way to those who possess it, to think in terms of the best interest of all. It’s so civilized by comparison and reflects a community spirit. Not so in India. Here, you never yield space if you can help it. You take it. To defer and yield will turn a ten-minute errand into an hour-long journey of frustration. If you leave a safe space between your car and the one ahead, it will be filled again and again. If you wait for someone to let you into traffic, you’ll be on the sidelines for a long time. It simply won’t happen and it can be dangerous. You have to ease in and force others to accommodate to you. But don’t feel bad, it’s expected. Life off the highway is much like this too.

6. Indians are great drivers.

Typically, one’s first reaction to traffic in India is, “These people are crazy! What terrible drivers.” Actually, I’ve come to see it as just the opposite. If you can drive in India, you can drive anywhere. You have to be a good driver simply to survive. We mistakenly equate ability with following rules. In that sense, Indians are terrible, but if we measure ability in terms of successfully navigating a ton of metal through impossible conditions, you gain a healthy regard for the Indian driver. He and she are among the best.

Unfortunately, also plying the highways are road warriors fresh from the village with absolutely no experience behind the wheel. By the time they become halfway competent, another million will have taken their place.

7. Merging—learn to flow.

Although I said Indians don’t drive by rules, there are “unspoken rules”. Traffic flows and you have to move with it, kind of like dancing. Once you get into the flow, you glide along in a natural way whereas the beginner is stiff and moves jerkily. That’s when you get into trouble. As for rearview mirrors and looking first, forget about it.

8. The horn is your friend.

Newcomers get a kick out of the signs on the back of trucks that say, “Horn Please.” But it’s true. Truckers appreciate you giving a honk before passing. Arati said that when she first learned to drive, her instructor began Lesson One with instructions on “How to use your horn.” Brakes can be done away with, along with mirrors and other unneeded accessories, but when your horn is on the blink, you have to fix it. Typically, when you are about to pass someone closely or on a blind curve you honk as a warning to anyone approaching and to the person you are passing. It’s a self-preservative courtesy. Americans, on the other hand, get all hot and bothered when someone honks at them because it’s considered aggressive.

9. Road hazards

In my opinion, this is the worst and most dangerous thing about driving here. The roads here haphazardly constructed and maintained. I just can’t, for the life of me, figure out why road crews invariably leave a mess behind themselves when doing repairs. The job is never taken to 100% completion. There is always a pile of bricks, blocks or debris left behind on the roadway. Last week I saw an unmarked and unprotected crater in a major intersection, about the size of a man-hole. I’m sure it’s still there, waiting for someone to fall in to be seriously injured or worse. Sometimes I’ll be driving along and “Wham!” I’ll hit a speed bump without warning. Awhile back, we saw a biker hit a water buffalo. The driver bounced off and hit the asphalt hard while the buffalo looked completely unfazed. I was driving along recently and skidded to a stop to avoid going into a trench that a crew of fellows were digging across the highway. No signs or flagmen. If a truck breaks down, it stops for repairs right in the middle of his lane instead of pulling over onto the shoulder. He’ll put in the roadway behind his truck a row of bricks or large rocks as a warning. When done, off he goes, leaving the rocks in the roadway to be hit by unwary motorcyclists at night.

10. Police

I’m always on the lookout for the police who work in teams to flag down drivers at intersections. You’ll go around a turn and six of them will jump out to signal for you to pull over. Don’t make eye contact and keep going if you can. If I can’t, that’s when I play “dumb foreigner.” Usually this will cost you about two hundred rupees as they will always manage to find something wrong with me or the vehicle. I see it as a “road tax.”

I pulled into a coffee shop last month and made the mistake of not getting far enough off the road and into the store’s private space. Within five minutes, while enjoying my latte and not paying attention, a police truck with five happy pirates absconded with my bike because I was illegally parked in a spot that was off limits for the day. If there was a sign to say this, I couldn’t find it. I came out to find my bike gone. Now what? The vegetable wallah next to where I had parked told me in sign language that the police had taken it, so I flagged down a rickshaw and asked him to help me out. He knew exactly where to go and off we oomed to a spot where the police trucks waited. I checked and sure enough, there was my bike with a whole bunch of other victims. The pirates had big grins on their faces as they saw a “gora” (white guy) approach. They knew they had hooked a fat one because I had few chips with which to bargain. Six hundred rupees it cost me that time. No paperwork of course. It must be a fun job for those guys.

The interesting thing about living here is that, after awhile, it all seems so very normal. We have the capacity to get used to just about anything. Last summer, upon returning to America, I noticed that I had picked up some Indian driving habits. I could tell because I noticed so many people honking at me. I was blithely cutting others off in traffic, nosing my way into their space, pulling in front and not yielding the right of way as I should. Actually, after living here, I’ve started to feel that Americans are rather “up tight” about a lot of things, rules for example, and let themselves be bothered by things too easily.

Sometime in 2009, Tata will start selling its new, one-lakh Nano automobile. It will be interesting to see what happens. If traffic is bad now, it’s going to be horrendous when the motorcyclists upgrade to cheap cars. You see whole families now—mom, dad and two kids—driving along on their scooters. With people moving into the middle class, there will be an explosion of car buying, just like there was in America many years ago. I can’t see how the roads will handle it, but I’m sure India will somehow muddle along and cope. It always does. This is a resilient country and the people find a way to navigate just about anything. Compared to everything else Indians face, fighting traffic is a minor bother. When the time comes, maybe even I will buy a Nano.

Much joy to everyone.

Jaya

Cecilia Patitucci

I would like to tell you something of the businesses we are establishing in India. This is an interview with Cecilia Patitucci, an Ananda member of many years from our center in Assisi, Italy.

She came to India as part of the first wave of Westerners with Swami Kriyananda in 2003-04, and has been part of Ananda India community ever since.

Cecilia is a person of great warmth, sophisticated sense of fashion, and a marvelous Italian charm, difficult to convey in print. Her story is fascinating.

Jaya:
You have started a clothing business in India. How did this come about?

Cecilia:
Swami Kriyananda asked me if I would start a business with “khadi,” a fabric handwoven with the “charkha,” the spinning wheel.

When you see a flag of India, in the center you see the charkha, a great symbol of Indian independence, and one of the tools of revolution used by Gandhi. It was through the silent revolution of the charkha that Gandhi was able to call the people of India back to their historic roots of hand-weaving fabrics rather than having them imported from England.

Cecilia’s Boutique

Khadi holds a big symbol in the hearts of Indians, but it is something that has been forgotten because khadi is now considered a poor fabric, reminding people of past times of poverty.

Swamiji had the idea of using khadi because he has good friends involved in the khadi movement.
I met these people and through them, I began to study.

The word “khadi” has the same roots as “kare,” which means “making.” Khadi is about making — “handmade.” I started studying these fabrics, especially cottons, but also silks, and was inspired to create a line of clothing called the “Ananda India Yoga Line.”

These would be very simple clothes inspired by the Indian dress you see on the street: a simple kurta, which is a shirt with very few buttons and simple trousers, westernized to be more easily worn. I created a line for men and for women, both in cotton and in silk, and started to promote these in Italy through our cooperative at Ananda Assisi where it was well received. Soon after, I began to learn about organic cotton.

When you enter into the khadi world, you not only meet people interested in helping weavers and spinners in the villages but also people interested in the environment.

Organic cottons are those that are grown without the use of pesticides and without the use of chemical fertilizers. I started to meet these kinds of people, and a new world opened up for me. I wanted to work with organic cottons in order to create a yoga collection that would be extremely contemporary.

Organic cotton is grown and dyed without chemicals. The white fabrics are the result of soaking in water, soaps and other natural elements and then exposing them to the sun. The cotton is grown in Madhya Pradesh, in central India, and the fabric is dyed in Gujarat, the land of Gandhi.

I wanted to use vegetable dyes, and learned how to use these in the organic cottons, but found that not every dye is good. Some colors burn the organic cotton, so I am still in the process of learning about this. We have presented these fabrics in Italy and they have been very well received.

Then another world popped up into my life. This was the world of “ahimsa” silk. Ahimsa silk is obtained without killing the worms inside the cocoons so that they can become butterflies. It is a silk traditionally grown for yogis because yogis use silk for its vibration, and ahimsa silk, meaning “non-violence,” is a pure vibration fabric.

Many Jains (a religious sect) cultivate ahimsa silk in India. I met a Jain man who produces this ahimsa silk in a very poor region of India called Jarkhand, a place in Bihar. It is called Jarkhand because 60% of their land is covered with forest and “jarkhand” means “land of the forest.” This land of Jarkhand has many, many trees where this friend of mine started a social work 15 years ago to gather poor women together to harvest silk cocoons.

If you help the village women, you help the trees, because the trees are needed by these women to make their living out of the silk cocoons. They are not boiled, these cocoons, or suffocated by a heating process. They allow the worm to develop naturally into a butterfly. This means you cannot reel a thread out of the cocoon as is normally done in silk production to produce a perfect, unbroken thread. You have to keep the cocoon intact so the thread will be a little thicker, not perfect, but it will have the vibrations of ahimsa.

This story or helping women, helping the trees, and helping the environment, inspired me to make a new product — ahimsa silk-covered cushions for meditation and ahimsa silk-covered cushions for the neck. These two products were marketed successfully in Italy.

I developed a fabric without color, using the color of the silk as it comes out of the cocoon, and for another product I used the blue color of indigo, discovered in India thousands of years ago. Indigo is called this in the West because it was coming from India and it became the first widely used blue dye in the world.

In yoga, blue is symbolic because it is the color of the sky and the color of Krishna, making it perfect for the meditation and yoga. Ananda India now has a business called “Anjali Khadi Clothing.” I gave the company the name“Anjali” because in Sanskrit anjali is the act of offering something to the altar, and this company is an offering to God. “Anjali Khadi Clothing of Ananda Sangha India” develops the different lines of products.

Ananda India Yoga Line is the khadi clothing made of silk and cotton. Lotus Bio is the product line made from organic cotton. The products for meditation using ahimsa silk are called Ahimsa.

Each of these products comes with a beautifully designed tag showing an open lotus and the symbol of Ananda Sangha. We include the story of the product, a history of the fabric and where it is from. Customers see that there are people from several religions working together — Jain people, Muslim people, Hindus all working together.

I also include with each product quotations from Gandhi and Yogananda, because Gandhi saw khadi as a symbol of simplicity, purity, sincerity, calmness, and of love. He wanted to create a symbol of these qualities for everybody through khadi. This is a fabric bridge of love and peace between East and West. A bridge of qualities, the essence of India, passes through the fabric and comes to the West.

Jaya:
It sounds like a great adventure. What have been your obstacles?

Cecilia:
It has been an adventure begun with enormous obstacles, continued with enormous obstacles, and still faces obstacles every hour.

The big thing has been the transformation of my person into the symbolism of these fabrics. The obstacles were many but they showed me how to expand my heart to face them.

I’ve had to do business with people who have a very different way of dealing with other people, a different way of dealing with work, different way of dealing with loyalty, sincerity, commitment, punctuality, and honesty.

All these things made my journey extremely difficult, but I discovered there was only one thing which could be transformed, and that was myself. I realized that just as it was so immensely difficult to have this fabric cleaned, cut the way I wanted, stitched as I wanted, or altered when it had been cut wrong, I understood that it was all just a symbol of what God is doing with each one of us.

I wanted my clothes to fit perfectly, so God wants us to perfectly fit our true nature. He has to cut us many times because we are never perfect the first time. Then He has to stitch us to make the perfect dress out of us. And the stitching is painful and it has to be done many times before becoming a perfect cloth. Then He has to clean us one, two, three times because this perfect fabric, cut and stitched, is full of spots. Then He has to iron us.

The process of making clothes out of fabric is simply a symbol of how we have to become something beautiful for God. Clean but simple, sincere, peaceful.

Jaya:
What have you learned that you didn’t anticipate?

Cecilia:
First of all, you learn about your own mind.

You learn how you thought you were in peace, but discover you were not. I thought I had reached a point of joy and inner peace because I was coming to India every year for two months, going to all the spots of pilgrimage with a big inner joy, doing my sadhana (spiritual practices) and meditation, and loving India to the tips of my fingers

And then one day I began to see how my mind was agitated, how calmness was not there at all, how upset I could become with other people.

Before, I thought I was the biggest lover of people in the world. I had always been able to get through any experience just with love. Now I began to see how peace was not in my heart, how I was attached to events happening in a certain way, and how I was completely dependent on external situations in order to be happy, peaceful, and joyful.

I was completely dependent on how other people behaved in order for me to love them.

I came to see that there was a big work to do in expanding my heart and calming my mind.

Jaya:
So, what did you do?

Cecilia:
I went deeper into meditation, especially becoming regular in the Aum Technique in order to hear the true sound of everything. I had to go back to Aum to get beyond the noise I was hearing every day in those noisy, burning factories with 47C, 50C degrees temperature, no fans working, all kinds of people coming, going, shouting.

I deepened my meditations because I realized that I was many times on the edge of madness, both from the craziness of the situation, of everyday fighting to have things done, and because of the incredible environment of heat.

The heat was impossible. The first time I came was in summer and it was 47 C (117 F) degrees. The external environment was extremely difficult and the internal environment began to burn my mind and my heart. I realized through this experience that I had a big job to do inside.

Jaya:
You mention the Aum Technique. What else did you do?

Cecilia:
Meditation, Kriya Yoga, the Aum technique, prayer, and never giving up.

At the beginning, when I came to India, around Swamiji there was an enormous flow of energy poring out of him. Enormous! There was a wave of Master (Paramhansa Yogananda) coming through him needed to break the ice, or maybe I should say “fire” in such a country as this.

Being with him meant having all this karma coming up for each of us and we couldn’t be indulgent. We could not take care of only ourselves because we had a job to do every day. I could not say “No.” Without affirmations and prayers I couldn’t make it. Everyday was a fight.

It was difficult just getting out of the door. Taxis were constantly late, one hour to an hour and a half, or not coming at all, with drivers not understanding English, and us not speaking their language and getting lost. So many tears and feelings of desperation! You can only make it if it occurs to you that there is only one thing worth it, to liberate yourself. There is only one purpose for which we are here — to get free.

I have given my life to the Kriya Yoga path and I have been able to contribute with money, so this path has been my only purpose and I never gave up. Through the money that has come through this business, we have been able to publish Swamiji’s Essence of the Bhagavad Gita. We were able to do this entirely from India without other money from elsewhere. We paid for all the printing. But it has not been easy.

I learned a big lesson. It was not me that worked. That was a lesson that Swamiji helped me to understand. “Cecilia, here there is a big lesson for you. Ego! You have to learn that it is not you who is doing all this. Master will take it all from you until you understand that it is not you who is doing. God is the Doer.”

My second lesson was when I was extremely, intensely challenged by the people I was meeting every day. It was a world of men, naturally. Not only were they thinking that women are inferior, but a blond, young, single foreigner woman is something completely strange to them. I was constantly alone. I learned that if I wanted to survive, I could not try to transform anyone. The only thing I could do was to transform myself.

But how?

By expanding my heart, so that I could love more. That doesn’t mean being stupid or naive, but loving more with wisdom, so I would not be affected by so many arrogant men, so very proud.

Jaya:
You feel that you had these troubles because you are a woman. Would it have been the same if you were a man?

Even Men Like Shopping With Cecilia!

Cecilia:
It is the same with foreign men, but being a woman is worse. There is a different way in India of dealing with precision, commitment, client service, and time: the crucial things when you produce something. I found myself with a mind extremely agitated, and a heart becoming dryer and dryer.

Jaya:
How did you deal with that?

Cecilia:
I have been praying. I have a very strong faith and I am a very stubborn person. It doesn’t occur to me to stop. Never. If Guru gave me something through Swamiji, I have to do it. Indeed, this has been my biggest blessing. No question.

Here you must learn to be detached. In the end, you understand that it is not those outward things that are important, but rather how your mind reacts to them. When Master throws to you, every day for three years, fifteen examples of non-punctuality or non-precision, maybe there is a lesson in that. It is my daily work to not identify with what I do. It is a high challenge, and I am still praying every day that my life can become sweeter and softer, more peaceful in my mind, and more loving in my heart.

Jaya:
What do you see as the future of the business?

Cecilia:
It is expanding. I want to reach more markets. Now I have one employee where before I was alone. I want to have even more people. I think it is worth it because I see that the organic world is waiting, especially in America where there is a huge, enormous market. I want to explore the production of more organic things.

I would like to start a line of organic cotton bedsheets, cotton bathrobes and towels. I see a beautiful future for the business, with a team.

Jaya:
How would you sum up your experience?

Cecilia:
My experience has been about making a connection with the deep reality of India. It is a reality of 750 million people living in 750 thousand villages, a reality where 75% of the population lives in an environment opposite of the big cities where we live. It is a reality of doing something connected with the soil of India, a soil being destroyed by pesticides and fertilizers, and a reality of farmers forced to take out loans they cannot repay. We have put our finger into the villages with khadi, organic cotton and silk. We are helping poor women have something sustainable by allowing them to harvest cocoons.

Ananda Ladies Beautiful In Cecilia’s Fashions

Ananda Sangha has a connection with the country of India through working with the fabrics produced by these three different realities: khadi from villages, organics without pesticides and fertilizers, and ahimsa silk, helping both the environment and the women of Jarkand.

Click here to purchase Ahimsa Silk products
Visit Cecilia’s website, Anjali Khadi 

The last weekend of September, Swami Kriyananda, with a dozen Ananda India members traveled to Pune and Mumbai, where Swamiji gave major discourses in each city, speaking to a combined audience of 800.

He also inspected 3 pieces of property that could possibly be purchased for the creation of an Ananda community in India.

For the last 3 years we have been trying, without success, to find land in the New Delhi area to establish an Ananda community, similar to what we have in America and Italy. We’ve investigated dozens of possibilities, but have always encountered roadblocks, usually in the form of extremely high prices.

A few months ago, our Ananda Solar team (an alternative energy business we are developing in India) began to investigate business opportunities in Pune. They came across land parcels that cost far less than in Delhi. This sparked our interest.

Pune, in addition to being a favored location for our solar company and a place where land might be available, is also a place where we met high quality students on our teaching tours. Pune is central to all the major cities we visit, and is close also to Mumbai where we have our most dynamic meditation groups.

For these reasons, Swami Kriyananda became interested in Pune and wanted to see the available land. While there, he also wanted to give a public lecture, both in Pune and in neighboring Mumbai. This would give him an opportunity to judge the temperament of the city and give energy to local devotees, magnetizing them for whatever project might develop.

All of us at the ashram in Gurgaon had to scramble in the few weeks available to arrange all the details. We were fortunate to find venues on short notice, arrange the advertising, notify everyone in our database of Swamiji’s coming, and make travel and housing arrangements for the dozen of us who accompanied him on the trip. It all worked out beautifully in the end.

Swamiji spoke to 250 people in Pune on Thursday night, and another 550 on Sunday night at a beautiful auditorium in Mumbai. We were able to reserve it a couple of weeks before because of an unexpected cancellation. We followed the Pune lecture with 2 how-to-meditate workshops, to which 35 people came. Next weekend we go back to Mumbai for similar follow-up workshops.

In both cities, Swami Kriyananda spoke powerfully, inspiring appreciative audiences with Yogananda’s teachings, and encouraging them to help create a World Brotherhood Community.

People were very touched by his message. In Mumbai, he spoke for over 2 hours, even though he felt somewhat ill beforehand. I recommend you listen to his talk posted on the Ananda website. His entire lecture is going to be broadcast on Indian television.

On Friday, Swamiji and a group went to see available land. Of the 3 parcels he was shown, he liked a 50+ acre parcel in the countryside outside of Pune, in the direction of Mumbai.

At this point it is bare land and very expensive, with a total price of 2 million dollars. However, it is in an area that is most likely to appreciate considerably in the future. If we hope to purchase it, we must raise a considerable down payment within the next month or two.

You will probably be hearing more about it soon, because we’ll need help from our extended spiritual family to make it happen. In the meantime, a committee is working on proposals to show the prospective investors.

Since Ananda’s founding in India, this is the closest we’ve come toward actually purchasing property for a community. There is still a long way to go, especially because of the large sums needed, but whether we succeed with this particular proposal or not, we will keep trying.

If the land purchase goes through, some of us in Gurgaon will move to Pune to create an ashram as a first step toward community. We would create a teaching center there to act as a beachhead for our efforts, and maybe even do something more in Mumbai. Even if this deal falls through, there are other opportunities in the area.

If we purchase the property, we will then need an additional 2 million dollars to do the required infrastructural development, and to begin construction on a few initial buildings. As you can see, it will be some time before we can actually move onto whatever property we buy.

Our local supporters in Pune and Mumbai are very excited about the possibility of Ananda expanding our work in that part of India. Swami Kriyananda is very keen on us doing something soon, so it’s our hope that doors will open for us in Pune and Mumbai. If they do, we will maintain our presence in Delhi and Gurgaon but begin to focus our growth in this new direction. Let’s see what happens!

Read Part 1

Badrinath is quiet at 4:00 am, the rushing waters of the Alaknanda the only sound to break the silence. A few of my fellow pilgrims and I rose early to take a traditional morning bath at the temple hot spring. There to the right of the bridge and from a lighted pavillion by the river’s edge, steam rose in the morning chill. That must be the place, the Tapta Kund, where hot water gushes from a natural spring to fill bathing tanks for both men and women.

The men’s tank is about 4 x 5 meters and about 1.5 meters deep. Shishir and I found a spot for our clothes and dipped our feet into the water. Yeow! It was burning hot!

I tried again but couldn’t keep my foot in for more than five seconds. A dozen others were at the kund, all at the edge with cups for dipping and pouring water over themselves. I regretted my lack of a cup and squatted at water’s edge to use my hands instead. Off to my left came a splash as a sadhu jumped into the pool, rubbing himself happily in the steaming water, seemingly oblivious to the heat. “Well,” I thought, “that’s what sadhus do.” A few moments later, taking his queue perhaps from the sadhu, Shishir jumped in too.

Dang! Now what was I to do? I had come this far, so turning back was out of the question. I took the plunge. Wow, it was hot! Hotter than any bath I’ve ever taken. I dunked myself three times and quickly hauled myself out without delay, but then jumped in again for good measure.

It was hot enough to be painful, but not so hot as to cause injury. In other words, it just right for tapasya (spiritual austerity), and the temperature had the side benefit of preventing the tank from becoming overly crowded. I felt a wonderful, tingling glow afterward and a deep sense of contentment. Truly, the bath was purifying and a blessing. Thank you Shishir for leading the way.

By the time we had dressed and made our way to the temple, the others had arrived. We left our shoes with a friendly vendor and went in for the morning worship of Lord Badrinarayan. It’s only in the morning that the image can be seen uncovered. During the ceremony, the Nawal (chief priest) washes the image, spreads sandalwood paste onto it, performs an arati (devotional ceremony) and dresses it in garlands and fabric, leaving only the face visible.

The paste is said to “cool” Lord Badrinarayan from the heat generated by his yoga meditation. Offerings from the audience are collected and placed before him, later to be redistributed back as prasad (blessed food). Everyone receives something, whether a sweet or a piece of the flower garlands offered to the image, a representation of Lord Vishnu.

The morning worship was a treat, but as a Westerner brought up outside the Hindu tradition, I tended to approach the ceremony as a detached observer more than as a participant.

I couldn’t help but remark mentally upon the attentive faces in the crowd, the colorful temple decorations, the head priest’s costume, the sounds of the bells, the hard floor and the drone of the chants. All these wonderfully new impressions were mentally stored, sifted and sorted during the ceremony, with the unfortunate result that I felt little divine presence.

The Nawal, who I later found to be a sweet, joyful man, was so stern and lacking in devotion during the ceremony that I wasn’t drawn in. I could sense that those who could attune themselves inwardly, received much more. I resolved to return at a time when I could meditate and be alone with the image, but sadly our schedule didn’t allow it.

The remainder of our first day was spent in the village of Mana, 2 kilometers north of Badrinath. This is where Vyasa’s (the author of the Bhagavad Gita) and Ganesha’s (Hindu deity) caves are. The trail to them is known as the Stairway to Heaven. It is also the place of the Sarawati River and other spots associated with Indian lore. Sadhana Devi (Jaya’s wife: editor’s note) and I could feel the effects of elevation on our breathing as we trekked up the pathways. I was reminded of backpacking in my youth at high elevations in the Sierras. Go at a pace you can sustain and don’t stop—just like the spiritual path!

Each in the group explored the area on their own. Some walked the trails to higher elevations, others spent time in the caves, and some returned to Badrinath. I chose to meditate at the spot where the Saraswati and Alaknanda rivers meet, then crossed over the river to make my way to Badrinath, following a trail on the opposite side of the Alaknanda.

It was a beautiful walk through fields cultivated by Tibetan women weeding, hoeing, and carrying their great loads of grass. The air was warm and clear, and all around, mountains framed the valley floor. Badrinath and Mana are nestled in a Himalayan valley, one-half kilometer wide with steep slopes on either side. Nilkanth, a high Himalayan peak, snow-capped and well over 20,000 feet can be seen from time to time. Since I had the trail mostly to myself, with only an occasional villager passing to and from the fields, I stopped frequently to meditate on the rock walls bordering the terraced fields. Walk, meditate, walk, meditate, until I found myself once again at the temple.

Our second day was reserved for visits to Brahmarishi Swami Rishidev Ji Maharaj Hathyogi, also known as Baksawale Baba, and to other babas (holy men) in the vicinity.

Baksawale Baba lives in a small kutir (hut) up a side valley from town, far enough away to dissuade casual visitors. He is a devotee of Babaji, and is known for having a metal box into which he reportedly sequesters himself in a state of samadhi (union with God) during the snowy winter months, astrally (in a disembodied state) traveling with his guru while his body remains protected from the insects, mice and other small animals that might disturb it. Such a thing, if true, is extraordinary and sparks a good measure of curiosity. Mahavir had made prior arrangements to make sure our visit was welcomed, and so we headed up the mountainside to see him.

We had planned to hike up in 2 groups—fast walkers and slow walkers—with the latter leaving early so we would all arrive at the same time. Daya, Keshava (tour leaders from Ananda India) and I designated ourselves as “fast walkers,” and caught the others at the base of the mountain before they had even started on the steep part of the climb.

The result was that Daya, Mahavir and I made it to the kutir a half hour before most of the others. Courtesy demanded that we wait for the group, but since we were there and the door was open, we went in. Two young women from Germany were outside affixing a new tarp to the roof of the kutir, while two others were inside cutting vegetables for Baba’s lunch.

We pronamed and introduced ourselves, telling of our trip to Badrinath and of Ananda. His kutir was very small and had space only for half a dozen to sit comfortably. There, against one wall was his metal box, about four feet high. It looked to be made of stainless steel or aluminum, guessing the latter because someone had to carry it all the way up the mountainside.

I asked permission to sit, and Baba invited me inside, communicating through gestures and a small chalkboard because he observes silence. He proceeded to show Daya and I his collection of photographs and letters received from previous visitors and seemed much pleased when we recognized faces from Ananda communities and related to him a few details about this person or that. When other pilgrims began to arrive, we moved to a pandal (tent) that had been set up adjacent to the kutir. At Baba’s request, we began chanting, which he enjoyed. He then instructed us to chant Aum 11 times, and followed that with a brief period of meditation.

All this time, he communicated through short messages on his chalkboard in Hindi and English, but after meditation he began to use his voice, saying he was commanded to do so by Babaji. The German women were surprised and said it was the most he had spoken to anyone in many years.

He told us of his life, the spiritual path, his respect for Swami Kriyananda, and of many other things, most of which I cannot remember clearly. He used to be a professor at a university in Delhi for 18 years, married with 2 children. At the age of 28, his wife died and he was plunged into a period of deep grief, which ultimately lead him to renounce his worldly life and take vows of sannyas (renunciate).

Thus began a period of seclusion, meditation and tapasya (austerities) until 2003, when he was in a tent during a snowstorm on the Gangotri glacier, high above Gomukh (high Himalaya). There, he said, he “died.” It was unclear to me whether he meant “physically dead” or whether he meant he was in a superconscious state.

Whatever the case, he awoke to find his head in the lap of a radiant being, a person 7 feet tall with golden skin and golden hair. This, he said, was Babaji who had come to rescue his disciple. Baksawale spoke little of what happened next, other than to say he was directed to go to Badrinath to continue his meditation until November of this year, after which he will go, as directed by Babaji, to Tibet to continue his austerities in complete isolation for three more years. After that, he will return and travel to Germany, as instructed by Babaji.

Here are a few things I remember him saying. He can remember clearly his last 3 lives. 3 lifetimes ago, he was a very poor man but very generous. I assumed that lifetime was spent as an Indian but I am unsure. 2 lifetimes ago, he was born as an Englishman, and it was because of this past association with the West that he is being drawn back to Europe in this lifetime. There, he said, disciples await him.

The conversation veered in other directions at that point and he said nothing of his immediate past life. Babaji, he said, is 2,500 years old, and omnipresent. In Tibet, Babaji has two disciples, each over 200 years old. When Baksawale travels to Tibet later this year, he doesn’t know exactly where he is to go, but trusts he will be guided by Babaji. He emphasized more than once that we are the Atman (soul), not this body. He expressed great respect for Swami Kriyananda and commended Swamiji’s service to his guru and Babaji. I asked him if he would like to send a message back to Swamiji with our group, and he said that he wanted Swamiji to know that he would look after the other students of Swamiji planning to visit him in October from Italy.

People ask me, “What did you think of him? Is it all true?” To that I can only say, “I’m not qualified to judge.”

We understand life through the filter of our own intuition and experience, and Baksawale’s life is outside my realm. Some, out of habitual skepticism, will reject anything hinting at the supernatural, while others tend to accept all claims unquestioningly. My tendency is to neither accept nor reject, but to allow for all possibilities. As the Bible says, “The tree is known by the fruit it bears.” By that measure, I liked Baksawale Baba and felt an attraction to him because of the calm stillness in his eyes, the way he held his body, his smile, and because of the devotion he expressed when speaking of Babaji. He seemed sincere.

When visiting those with spiritual power, there is a tendency to look for personal gain in the form of blessings, uplift, or personal benefit. We want to receive to ourselves rather than give, limiting our capacity to have blessings flow through us. While listening to Baksawale Baba, I felt a strong impulse to give him whatever good wishes I could in response to an intuitive perception I felt quite clearly.

When he told of his plans to go to Germany in 2011, my thought was, “Yes! He’ll be very popular with the Europeans. They will be attracted and drawn to him, perhaps more so than Americans.” There is something about Europeans that resonates. I could feel it in the 4 women who were serving him. Following close on the heels of that thought was a remembrance of how Master prayed to Babaji before embarking to America for assurance that he would not become lost in the materialism of the West. That was my sincere prayer for Baksawale Baba. Because of my warm feelings for him, I hope he uses the next 3 years to inure himself against the tendency of Indian swamis who go to the West and become celebrities. As they say about India, “There are lots of gurus, but very few disciples.”

In the early afternoon, most made their way down the mountainside to visit 2 other holy men, both living in the same general vicinity. I gave them my pronams (traditional Hindu gesture of greeting and respect), and went down the mountain to be by myself and meditate. I met with the rest of my group later in the afternoon for an appointment with the head priest of the temple, the man I described earlier as being very cold during the morning puja.

What a surprise to find him warm and joyful that afternoon! It was like night and day. He shared stories, told of his life, the history of the temple and, toward the end, brought out a picture of Babaji (I think), drawn many years ago by a prior temple priest. No one was exactly sure of the picture’s provenance.

The next morning, it was time to say goodbye to Badrinath. We loaded up the cars and made the reverse trip down the mountain to Rishikesh, stopping overnight at Rudraprayag and then at Vashista Guha the next day to meditate in the cave where Swami Purushottamananda lived for forty years.

I had my best meditation of the whole trip there, sitting in the silence on the hard rock floor for well over an hour, absorbing the experiences of the days before. Close by is the cave Swami Kriyananda inhabited for a month when still with SRF. We stopped at Swami Shankarananda’s Kriya Yoga temple, the Shivananda ashram, and had time to wander about Rishikesh the next day and visit Anandamoyi Ma’s ashram in Hardwar before catching the evening train back to Delhi, arriving home after midnight.

Our pilgrimage to Badrinath was a wonderful experience that I’m still integrating. I mentally return, again and again, to things that happened on the journey, finding new inspiration and lessons as the days pass. Spending time on a spiritual adventure with other devotees builds lifetime bonds, and I certainly felt that to be the case for me and Sadhana Devi with our fellow pilgrims.

The dedication and commitment I saw in them, in the other pilgrims along the road, and in the sadhus we met in Badrinath all inspired me to meditate deeper and longer. Ultimately, outward pilgrimage is but a symbol of the journey each of us takes within, strengthening our resolve to tread the long and winding road to Self-realization.

Editor’s Note: Ananda sponsors yearly pilgrimages to the holy places in India, sanctified by the Yoga Masters of our path. To learn more, click here.