Traffic Cow
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"Kwality House"
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11/9/05 - Wednesday
Ramesh S. Balsekar, retired banker and enlightened Hindu sage of the Advaita Vedanta school, occupies a fourth-floor walkup apartment, sumptuous by Indian standards, with views of the shining but locally smelly Arabian Sea. His brother, son and daughter-in-law appear to occupy units on lower floors.
Ramesh, author of several books on the nisarga or natural approach to enlightenment (his guru lineage includes Ramana Maharshi and the great rishi-slash-cigarette-vendor, Nisargadatta Maharaj) is easily Googlable. One of his most comprehensive and early works derives its title from guru Ramana's frequent admonition with regard to the spiritual quest: "Your head is already in the mouth of the tiger. There is no escape."
Despite a large adjoining drawing room, devotees are packed into a more intimate study for the darshan of the Master and his satsang. Balsekar enters quickly and quietly, taking a comfortable corner chair with footrest. All other 17 seats are occupied by the Foam and an international smorgasbord of sadhus:
A gregarious, young, thoroughly Westernized Mumbaikar devotee, probably of Kshatriya caste given his outgoing personality and obviously high degree of education;
two Marathi-speaking businessmen, one corporate, the other a more skeptical entrepreneur (businessmen are initially attracted by the Master's curious combination of spiritual attainment and banking experience);
Anna, a young and positively radiant Portuguese of Russian descent;
a quiet young Muscovite, Ivan, obviously beatified;
Washifa, a rotund Moroccan woman of extremely strong intellect;
Peter, a very sensitive and cerebrally tentative Scandanavian with an explosion of curly yellow hair and a pure white, translucent complexion;
Gita, a quintessentially beautiful, kohl-eyed Mumbaikar seeking a solution to the ethical dilemmas of new motherhood;
George, a permanent British fixture, one of Ramesh's continuing Mumbai disciples;
Elke, a middle-aged (50+) Teutonic disciple with tilak and Indian attire, who needs, demands and receives a little more than her fair share of attention from the guru;
Poruz, a heavily-accented local who cannot accept any premise before exhausting every angle of discussion; he listens intently to the Master, always touching his chin or lip while absorbing the answer;
Luke, a wide-eyed, pure, somewhat saintly Irish yoga teacher, now practicing his craft in Scotland;
Eric, an affable, 60-ish Scot in t-shirt, shorts, flipflops and overflowing notebook;
one each, British and American woman, over 55; the Brit sits quietly, the American also except for playing the recorder during bhajan at the close of each satsang;
and a young male of indeterminate Western heritage with guitar who lacks perfect pitch for tuning the instrument but sings Vedic hymns in a clear English tenor and with great feeling.
The room is warm, but a marine zephyr off the Arabian Sea wicks the perspiration away. An ubiquitous Indian hooded crow perches on the ledge of the open window, as if intending to participate.
Today Ramesh emphasizes two distinct, interconnected and critical points of his conceptual matrix of spiritual progress:
(1) Nobody ever DOES anything;
(2) therefore nobody is to BLAME for anything.
While Buddhist and Hindu scriptures focus on desire as the source of all suffering, Ramesh (and, to a lesser extent, his antecedents) suggests that the deeper root of a troubled mind and spirit is our false sense of "doership". We only THINK that we act and accomplish; simple introspection and our current understanding of cosmic and quantum mechanical law (esp. Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle) show that we can't even predict our next thought, let alone produce any consequence by operation of the ego's free will. Since space and time are relative concepts or phenomena, what we perceive as consequences of desire and will are merely happenings in Consciousness, unrelated to our plans and preparations. Some theorists of the New Physics even contend, in harmony with the Hindu doctrine of Maya, that we are all manifestations in a grand hologram.
As Ramesh explains more pointedly, "The human ego can choose absolutely anything it wants; and that freedom is of absolutely no practical use in daily living." More simply, we are free to intend what we will; however, we have no control whatsoever on outcomes, events or so-called "achievements". Thus enlightenment is "only" the total, complete and permanent internalized acceptance of the inevitable serial arrival of pleasure and pain. This also means that one cannot "get" enlightenment by pursuing it; it will happen -- or not -- like everything else: as a function of God's plan and cosmic law. Stephen Hawking, probably the most brilliant physicist of the late 20th Century, puts it another way: "If there is a God, He must be off creating other universes, because this one operates perfectly well on its own."
So, like marriages, samadhi or awakening is not an achievement, it's a gift of God's grace. However, one can change one's own CONDITIONING and attitude to make way for it -- the two attributes over which the ego does enjoy some manageability.
After satsang, feeling suddenly safer in the cosmic chaos that is Mumbai, a long walk south from the guru's apartment is in order. Without any operation of ego on the part of the Foam, an awesome pizza parlor is discovered along the strand.
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Ubiquitous Sugar Cane Juice Stand
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11/10/05 - Thursday
The Foam is late to satsang again, as the guru's apartment is hard to find for cartographically challenged Mumbai cabbies; the street is obscure (near Kemp's Corner, Breach Candy [old Raj yacht club] and the Mahalaxmi Temple); to further obfuscate discovery, residential buildings have association names, not numbers.
The guru begins with a hypothetical:
There are 3 people in a Mumbai taxi on a sweltering September day. One is a shoe salesman, another a women's rights attorney and the third an enlightened sage. At a stoplight, several beggars surround the cab, urgently requesting alms. One of the taxi passengers reacts angrily, shooing away the mendicants; another is clearly frightened by their insistent pleadings; the other reacts tolerantly and compassionately, casually handing over a few coins. Question: Which reaction is that of the enlightened sage?
Unexpected answer: any one of the three. Just because one has received the gift of awakening or total acceptance, the ego does not die. Preferences, aversions, fight-or-flight reactions remain; the difference is that the sage DOES NOT PURSUE them; anger does not become resentment, fear does not become anxiety. She (the sage) realizes that her life and all phenomenal manifestation are reflections of God (AKA the Unified Field, the Source, Consciousness). She does not become INVOLVED with happenings, whether internal or external; she merely observes them.
Ramesh: "Do you want to escape suffering? There is only one way -- become the spectator of your life." Note: Ramesh makes a very clear distinction between pain (in the moment and inescapable) and suffering (that which disturbs your equanimity or peace of mind). Though the body feels and reacts to pain as it always did, the ego neither shrinks from the pain nor becomes involved, thus making pain far more bearable than if it were resisted. Suffering, on the other hand, can be permanently eliminated.
Another long walk before retiring to the hotel for a heat-of-the-day nap. Mumbai weather in early November is 85F-95F during the day (humidity ranges from 35%-70%), nights about 10F cooler. Dehydration occurs quickly; the Foam finds himself staggering drunkenly; perhaps the heavy smog concentration contributes to the condition.
A stroll along Dadabhai Nauroji toward Bombay University and Elfinstone College leaves a trail of disappointed hawkers and touts, except for the optics vendor; decent sunglasses and reading glasses for Rs. 30 per pair (about 67 cents). So why are they $15 each at Walgreens? It's a chain of markups that usually starts in China. An Indian businessman explains, "When I go to China to buy 30,000 electrical switches, the Chinese do not quote me a price. Instead, they ask what my cost has to be, then design the product to fit. I can add a huge markup, yet Home Depot still sees my price as a bargain."
After the stroll, a sojourn at the Cyber Cafe around the corner from the hotel for an email fix. Connection speeds vary but are acceptably fast, especially considering the 67 cents hourly access charge (vs. Kinko's at $18.00 per hour). For most of the Foam's stay in India, the internet is the way to make and change travel reservations, at least until one figures out how to use Indian phone cards. Even then, many airlines have no reservation phone centers in India. Exceptions include American and British Air.
Prepaid cell phone cards sell for as little as Rs. 10 (about $.20); Indian telcom exec on CSNBC India: "Workers making very low wages can still afford so spend Rs. 300 per month [about $7] on cell calls, but can't spend it all at one go, because income is received and spent daily."
The Cyber Cafe is mostly packed with middle class kids and entry-level white-collar workers on their lunch breaks. Gaming and surfing are the rage. The owner of the Cafe, being Muslim, posts a sign: "Absolutely no porn site or CD viewing."
Later the awesome pizza parlor beckons again. The relatively high-priced tourist joint is slightly less than spotless, but the food is excellent. Today it's caesar salad and spaghetti bolognese; the sauce is made with lamb. Maybe not to die for, but certainly worthy of an out-of-body experience. The name of the place does not remain in consciousness, but it's on the north side of Veer Nariman, just a short walk west of the Churchgate rail station.
It doesn't seem right to spend another evening in the hotel room, despite the enormous amusement afforded by Bollywood movies and American-style commercials in Marathi. Inquiries are made and a call placed to the office of the South Mumbai Intergroup of Alcoholics Anonymous. Indeed, there is a meeting tonight, reportedly at 7PM, on the first floor of Holy Name High School at the Holy Name complex on Convent Street in the Colaba district. Another long walk, this time from the Fort area south along Mahatma Gandhi Road, past the stock exchange, High Court and a plethora of Raj-era, vainglorious Victorian structures, most in grievous disrepair.
At night, Mumbai must be described as exotically spooky. On the unlit side streets, one unexpectedly encounters nearly motionless human silhouettes, enjoying the cooler night air with a Pepsi or cigarette.
Holy Name High School is found with some difficulty. Since the meeting is still an hour away, the unmistakable sounds of a Roman Catholic Mass draw one to the cathedral, where the blades of a hundred electric fans make worship bearable for parishioners. A colorful altar is Indian-influenced, but the usual cast of divines is presented in traditional Western style. Based on a side alcove sculpture of a tonsured monk holding a baby, the order appears to be Benedictine, but another alcove holds a life-sized, possibly wax rendering of a nun/saint in black European habit. Further research is required; thus endeth the Mass.
It's now seven o'clock, yet the only light in the low-rise high school is on the fourth floor. The elevator is not in service, the halls are forebodingly dark, and it's a long climb only to find an evening Bible study group of teenagers. The group sends the Foam back to the ground floor (not the first, which is equal to the second in Western countries).
More bewildered wandering, then a timely rescue by Jagdish Gummala, a 20-year-old alumnus of the high school who returns to the campus area for Mass every evening. He inquires of the watchman (and the watchman's buddies, all squatting on the terrace, playing poker) and identifies the correct room, but the meeting is at 7:30PM, not 7:00PM.
Jagdish, an extremely earnest and honest Elfinstone College sophomore, remains to keep the Foam company until the meeting starts. Dad is a taxi driver; Jagdish has an older sister, mentally disabled, and a younger one now in the 12th standard at the high school. Things are tough right now, so Jagdish has been vainly looking for a job for months. Without a degree, there is no employment for him in Mumbai. When offered tide-over money by the cynical Foam, who assumes a handout pitch is unfolding, Jagdish sternly demurs, saying that his father has warned him to hold out for work and avoid begging or borrowing. The Foam is sheepish and impressed, vowing internally to investigate the machinations of a US student visa, but promising openly only a letter of reference to prospective Mumbai employers. As another meeting-seeker shows up, Jagdish respectfully departs.
Mukesh is a repatriated Indian of 28, educated at the University of Wisconsin in Milwaukee. He had trouble reassimilating himself on his voluntary return to India and his aging parents. Now he and some friends are running a fledgling talent management agency providing Indian talent to the UK and UK talent to India.
The meeting finally begins with a total of 5 male attendees, and turns out to be a convocation of Narcotics Anonymous rather than AA. Sharing is offered in English, except for a diminutive laborer who tells his long story entirely in Marathi; the Foam nods throughout with a grave expression of understanding.
All Indian attendees had crawled away from several years of very destructive cannabis abuse and now express relief at finding a new way of life based on simple spiritual principles. Some discussion ensues regarding the difference between an alcoholic and an addict. The Foam offers the standard definition learned in AA meetings in the US, much to the amusement of the 4 Mumbaikars present: an alcoholic will help you drink you last dollar; an addict will steal it, then help you look for it.
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