When the shadows come back to light

The world of Osho has gone through a few crises over the last decades, but the one unfolding right now reaches deeper than any other.

Within less than two months, snowballing at increasing speed, accusations of sexual abuses against senior and respected members of the Osho community are made public almost daily. Women are coming forward and telling their stories of being raped in Osho’s communes when they were children or young teenagers. The whole story is all over social media, and journalists ready to have another go at Osho will have the ease of their lives collecting information; they will undoubtedly decry him and his work once again.

Before I continue, allow me a few words about myself. I arrived in Pune in January 1993, 3 years after Osho left his body. I never met him alive, and I was never in “Pune One” or on “the Ranch”, where kids were around. When I arrived in Pune, there were no children in the Commune and teenagers were only allowed in for 2 hours a day. I indeed found it strange, but I accepted the explanation that “meditation isn’t for children.” With hindsight, I understand that if kids were not allowed, it was because of the abuses of the past which were carefully put under the carpet. I remember Osho’s remarks on monasteries not allowing women. “What kind of people are afraid to see women?” he commented “are they monsters or what?” Today I see that Osho’s Commune in the ’90s did not allow children into their premises because too many of them had been abused sexually in the ’80s. In Osho’s own garden, monsters were still around, and ghastly shadows had never been faced. I certainly felt uncomfortable with the “dirty old men” in the Commune who seemed to jump on young women as soon as they entered the gate. Unfortunately, many of those are still around.

A respected sannyasin who has been with Osho since the early ’80s told me a while ago, “Nirav, I only give workshops so I can get young women into my bed.”

I certainly noticed how therapists, famous bodyworkers, people with a name misused their fame and power to get sex. But all in all, Pune 2, as it was then called, was a safe and thriving place where I had the best time of my life for over ten years.

I am often asked if I ever regret having missed Osho physically. The answer is no. I have always been aware that true spiritual seekers are a rare species and that being around a master won’t help you wake up if waking up is not what you are after.

Back to here and now. Two months ago, I was informed that a well-known physiotherapist was asked to leave a prominent Osho Center where he was resident, because of alleged “repeated sexual misconduct”. Not only that, but from all the places in the world where he could have gone to try and resettle, he chose the little village in Corfu where I live.

I inquired deeper and soon found out that there was probably more at play here than met the eye- and for him to be asked to leave his home of residence, something serious must have happened. I became convinced that a major cover-up was taking place. I privately informed the local community because I feared for the safety of the hundreds of vulnerable young women who come here. My warning was met with, “Thanks for informing us, we will keep an eye on him, but there is no need to stir things.”

I remember the wrenching feeling in my belly. I knew that all kinds of institutions had the old habit of protecting repeated predatory sexual behaviour. Was that same old dirty game happening around Osho also? How deep was the rabbit hole?

Two days later, a young woman who lives in this village accused a well-known musician of raping her here five years back. That was the very first public exposure and the first tsunami in this community. The ripples of that first and courageous exposure went deep and large, and a few weeks later, other women started to speak and relate their stories of abuse.

As I write today, more and more Osho Sannyasins are being accused of rape and sexual abuse when they were with Osho in the ’80s. Under pressure, most of them are admitting their crimes and are trying to apologize.        Many more confessed that they had “relationships”, some of them for months or even years, with 12 or 13 old year girls, but feel that it was okay because those were willing relationships. It seems that some old folks will need more time to review what is “normal”. Consensual sex with a minor is never consensual. NEVER! It isn’t sex either- it is rape with a minor. And so, having a relationship with a 12-year-old when you are in your 30’s doesn’t make it okay. On the contrary.

I have spent the most significant chunk of my life looking inside, trying to uncover my shadows, and before writing this piece, I wanted to find out why I am getting so involved in this happening right now. I planned to end this article with something like, “this isn’t about them only; it is about you and me too!” I took time to reflect on the darker sides of my personality, to look at how I have at times been emotionally abusive in intimate relationships; I discovered that indeed on a deeper level of my psyche, I too have hated women for holding power over me and that a deep-seated urge to take revenge in passive-aggressive ways is there in the background. I feel grateful that I have come across the work on time and largely succeeded to live a life where I keep those shadows in front of me instead of letting them run the show from the depths of my unconscious. Fortunately, I never raped anyone, I never had sex with an underage woman, and I never had the slightest drive to experiment with any of that- and all in all, this unfolding had nothing to do with me!

So, where does this leave us?

The scandal in the world of Osho that is slowly coming to the surface today has been buried for over 40 years. What we see as I write those words is only the very tip of the iceberg. There are a few reasons for that. Firstly, only one in about eight children who is sexually abused reports it. Secondly, only very rarely does someone abuse children sexually only once. Finally, there are many reasons why victims do not come forward, and there is plenty of literature about it. Still, when it took 40 years for the first victim to gather the courage to speak up and name one perpetrator, how many more crimes did this one-person commit? How many more children were abused? And how many more pedophiles managed to get away?

You do not need a PhD in mathematics to understand the enormity we are dealing with here.

Not all, but many of the people with Osho during the old days had at least one toe in the pot. Some were predators themselves, some saw but looked the other way, some knew but chose to stay silent. Most are accomplices in different degrees, and many are shaking right now.

In the village where I live, where one of its resident has recently been accused (and he has publicly admitted) of raping and deflowering a woman in Osho’s Commune when she was 12 years old, the impatience and discomfort with what is happening now are tangible. Dozens of Osho sannyasins have chosen to retire here, and the majority stands behind their old buddy; they can’t wait to get to “business as usual” and feel it is time for those stories to disappear. Enough is enough.

“I am done listening to more of that,” said someone the other day. “I worked so hard at the Ranch, and I wasn’t around children. I had no idea this was happening; I am in total shock,” said another, and then to add, “well, we all knew, but, well, it was accepted.”

Another friend living here told me recently, “When I worked on the Ranch, I remember hearing therapists having sex in the next room. I always knew something was wrong, but I never said anything.”

Or, as I heard yesterday, “I know many of them who had teeny girlfriends, sometimes even younger. They are my friends, and I will always stand by them. It was a different time. It was okay then. I don’t even read those reports. Past is past. I don’t want to hear about it anymore”.

It appears that those who were vital in keeping the lid on decades of sexual abuse within the Osho community now feel that a few weeks of airtime is enough.

Why does it seem so difficult for Sannyasins to acknowledge and recognize the criminal activities happening in their own garden?

Why so much resistance to open up their own can of worms?

To the question of why I am getting so involved, I reply that “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

I can’t stay silent.

As I mentioned above, I was not present in Pune 1 nor on the Ranch when most of those crimes happened, but I have been involved with Osho Sannyasins for the last 28 years. I know that all isn’t black or white and that there are many nuances to this story (which mainstream journalists will undoubtedly bypass). I was in three long-term relationships with women who became Osho disciple before reaching their teens. Although all of them carry their share of trauma from those days, they are all beautiful women living a deep and balanced life. I never felt that they had anything to envy from the repressed Christian conditioning I grew up with. Many of them still carry deep gratitude for Osho and remember their childhood as a beautiful and extraordinary time. Yes, most of them were sexually overexposed. Most of them did suffer from feeling abandoned in the Osho’s Boarding school. Many feel that they started their sex life far too early, often with men too old. One of them had a direct experience with one of those predators (who was later tortured and murdered, apparently by angry parents). She was 9 when he tried to abuse her. Still, she luckily had a strong sense of healthy boundaries at her young age and found the strength necessary to stand her ground and keep him at arm’s length.

But not all children and young teenagers had that strength, and not all were that lucky. As people started to speak up, this friend just found out that this man who tried to abuse her when she was 9 had violently raped (and deflowered) another 13-year-old girl in Pune 1.

Another woman who was raped by the headmaster of an Osho School when she was 11 related publicly on social media recently: “Today, many of us face issues of anxiety, addiction, mental illnesses, behavioural disorders, shut down, isolation, we’ve had some who have tried to commit suicide and some who have been institutionalised. We are still facing your actions everyday. And if it wasn’t for the bond we have with each other over the years, many of us might not be here.”

I do have a personal connection with Osho, which I will not discuss here. All I can say is that my identity as an Osho sannyasin has been shaken to the roots, to the point where I don’t know my name anymore. There are people and groups I have associated with for years, primarily out of habit and need to belong, and with whom I do NOT want to be associated any longer. I am facing my loss, my disillusion, another night of the soul. I welcome these pains and sorrows with an open heart. I have gone through a few dark nights in the past, and I always came out the other side more alive and more awake.

I hope that this exposing goes all the way, and I urge everyone to support the courageous steps taken by the victims.

This unfolding can have different outcomes. I am not Madame Soleil, but if the cover-up continues or if Osho was involved, it could well be the ultimate downfall of Osho’s legacy.

I hope that this rabbit hole will be followed until its very bottom. Until every child abuser in this community has been exposed and made accountable. Until every enabler has been made answerable. Until the King himself stands naked.

Then, and only then, may Osho have achieved in just a few decades what the Christian church hasn’t started to tackle in 2000 years.

Nirav

Meeting Ramesh Balsekar, part 3

I had never understood what laid at the root of the thought process, and experimenting with all sorts of meditation techniques had never solved the conundrum. Ramesh’s investigation however, seemed to bring the misunderstanding to its knees without effort, again and again.

Letting love flow with Kira brought the understanding to a whole new level. Never in my life had I been involved in such an intimate encounter while being so completely absent, and never would another experience make it so clear that there is no personal entity doing anything- not even making love.

The light coming in through the golden curtains had suddenly dimmed and there was a change in the air. I noticed how the cawing of the craws had intensified.

We had made love all afternoon and the sun was now setting. Or so it seemed!

In reality, the sun was where it always had been, unmoving, neither rising nor setting anywhere. In reality, there had been no one in this room doing anything. But, although there is no I and no you, no sunset and no lovemaking, words need to be used and I’ll keep doing my best to try and describe a flavor that essentially can’t be described.

There had been moments of silence and stillness this afternoon, moments of untamed passion also; all of which was seen as a flow, as life running its course in the most perfect way, unhindered.

The room became dark and Kira turned on a soft little bed light. The energy was shifting. We sat on the bed, entangled into each other still, looking into each other’s eyes. There was so much beauty and magic in this so ordinary moment; such an ease and letting go. We stayed there for what seemed an eternity, relishing the now and the unknown, the rootedness and the freefall, the being together and the being alone. We were in the hands of something so vast, so indescribable, yet so simple.

Life was being lived. And there was no one here to care.

“Nirav, I am hungry!”

I winced lightly, surprised to hear Kira’s voice after such a long time. Her eyes were shinning, and she was smiling, mischievously waiting for my response.

“Oh, you are hungry? I also could eat something. What time is it?”

I was still high and not in tune with my stomach, but surely we had not eaten for a long time and Kira’s words triggered a desire for food.

“What are the options? Should we go out?” I continued, noticing a clock on the table that showed nearly Eight.  

Kira agreed, while at the same time she pulled me closer to her. She transpired a sweet yet intense fragrance that seemed to enter my pores and blend with my own chemistry. I immediately got turned on again. I felt the passion between us just hanging here, on hold, ready to spark at any little trigger. Interfering with the flow didn’t cross my mind, and in that moment the idea would have seemed ridiculous. There was no one here, no Nirav and no Kira. We were both instruments through which existence was playing its song- and listening to it was pure delight.

I noticed my desire for food again when Kira asked “So should we finally go out and eat something?” The clock showed now 22.40 and I starred at it for a few seconds, somehow trying to make sense of what had happened. Time seemed to have stopped, or at least slowed down significantly. Seemed. Because in reality time never moved, never slowed or speeded up. Time was the stable, unchanging background where this cosmic play was taking place.

We both stood up and got dressed. I was not used to eat dinner so late, and I wondered where we would find something open- but then I remembered that I was in Mumbai.

Kira put on a pink dress and in just a few seconds she looked like a shiny star ready to hit the outside world. I had no spare clothe anymore, and I put on the white shirt I had travelled with…yesterday. Yes, it was only yesterday that I had taken that train from Pune to visit Ramesh Balsekar. I pondered once again about the passing of time and the magic that keeps happening when life is allowed to flow.

Not much was discussed, and it was tacitly understood that I was following Kira; she was familiar with Mumbai after all and she obviously had something in mind.

It was 11 pm and we were both ready. I looked at my little backpack wondering if I should take it or leave it here. It seemed likely that I would be back after dinner for a second night at Kira’s and a last morning with Ramesh, but to my surprise I watched my hands put the toothbrush in the little front pocket and grab the backpack – leaving nothing behind.

We made our way through the large marble corridor to the main door, put on our shoes and walked out. It felt good to be in the open. I quickly made the math’s, or to use words more accurately: It was perceived that a part of this body mind quickly did some calculations according to a programming and a cosmic law I had no idea about. Yes, we had spent almost twelve hours in Kira’s room! We had shared Kira’s last orange sometimes mid-afternoon, and that was it. I felt my stomach rumbling, and I was ready to eat.

Kira lead the way and took my hand. The air was cool and I could feel a slight breeze moving through my hair. I felt free, in the flow, and in deep surrender to the magic of existence.

“I know a great little Kebab restaurant, it’s in a busy part of Colaba and they are open all night. It’s not very far but we need to take a taxi. How does it sound?” Kira seemed excited and ready for the night.

“Sounds good” I replied, gently squeezing her hand.

She gave me a large beaming smile and we speeded up nearly dancing, until we hailed a passing cab.

The ride took about twenty minutes through the now empty streets of Mumbai. I was glued on my window watching the street lights and the arcades now filled with people sleeping on makeshift beds, often just a piece of cardboard directly on the pavement, alone, in groups or families with children. Here and then we passed by open restaurants, but all in all most of the shutters were down.

I have always loved those fleeting moments of the Indian nights, especially in big cities, when the poorest people occupy the best part of the roadside and make it home during the darkest hours. I always wondered how they survive the noise, the cold, the fumes, the mosquitoes, the insecurities and the adversities. Most of them are far below the poverty line and only eat unsubstantial food once a day; they usually rest their head on a bag or piece of cloth containing all they own.

Looking at the homeless was always a strong and humbling experience, one that inevitably brought life into new perspectives. Contrasts have always shaken my inner world, my inner walls and beliefs. Contrasts have always helped me see beyond the veil, always pushed doors, always been instrumental in waking up to reality. Seeing the unmoving in the midst of wild dancing or passionate sex, seeing the hollow instrument in someone personally involved in mental and emotional gesticulations, seeing the silence in the midst of the hurricane, contrast is what makes the light of the earth shine above its shadows; contrast is what lies at the heart of painting; contrast is at the core of the human experience.

I caught myself reflecting on perennial questions. One of my mind’s favorite query was whether those people slept more soundly than the fat and affluent folks living in luxurious apartments above; whether they were perhaps more contented, fulfilled, at peace with themselves than I was.

Obviously existence didn’t care if there was wealth or poverty, suffering or pleasure. Existence was running through infinite numbers of organisms and insouciantly creating infinite numbers of combinations- in fact it seemed like existence was enjoying playing with all possible arrangements and blending them in the most inconceivable ways.

Kira squeezed my left hand softly and took me out of my reverie.

“Let’s stop here” she said leaning forward, “yes that will be perfect”. Our driver slowed down and the taxi came to a halt.

“Life is so simple” Kira said as we stepped down onto the street. I looked at her. She was glowing with light, ease, and presence. Although I had no way to know for sure and in fact didn’t care and never asked, I suspected that we both viewed the unfolding of life through the same lenses- those of consciousness itself. We took each other’s shoulders, smiling, and we walked along towards what looked like a covered night market. Strangely enough I didn’t feel tired. I felt kind of excited to what was to come.

“Today is Saturday” Kira explained “and there is a night market here where we can have a stroll and get something to eat”

I had forgotten what day of the week it was, and really I could not care less. For an Indian market it was pleasantly spacious and empty, and peeping at Kira’s watch I realized it was already midnight. “Ah, the sense of time” I thought. I didn’t feel hungry anymore and I noticed some thoughts of going back to Pune tonight slowly surface in my mind.

Kira must have picked up on these because she abruptly said “I also don’t feel like eating anymore. What about we sit in that chai shop over there and have a drink? You know that Ramesh talks every day, including Sunday, and if you want to see him again tomorrow you are welcome to stay with me tonight.”

I loved Kira’s way. She was both direct and gentle. She knew what she wanted, and she gave space. We had spent a tender, passionate afternoon, making love inhibited and deeply connected; we certainly had taken a quantum leap into intimacy. Our hearts seemed to be beating closer together, there was a pull to breathe as one, and the hormones were clearly doing strange things to keep us together. I felt horny again. I wanted to come closer, to enter her, to melt and merge. I wanted to feel all those subtle feelings that only deep sexual connection revealed with such intensity.

I felt Kira’s fingers delicately stroking my hair. I simultaneously sensed the tingling, the softening and the hardening of different body parts. I clenched her shoulder lightly. It was astonishing how much passion was running through us. Never before had I noticed with such clarity how attraction was chemically induced- it was physical, all of it! There was nothing I could do about it, and it had nothing to do with “me”. Not only that, but there was no “me” in the way I always believed there was. At this point using words feels edgy.

Ramesh’s investigation was obviously running its course still, destroying on its way all my ideas of who I thought I was.

And the main, foremost and core belief that suddenly vanished in the light of awareness, was the idea of a personal doer, a “me” who does actions, thinks thoughts, and feels.

The little open air café was half empty and we sat at a table near the back. I ordered a chai without sugar, and Kira a coffee.  

I realized that being out on the streets of a big city at midnight wasn’t part of my routine anymore, and I could feel my system surprised, on alert almost, checking out the atmosphere that was so foreign. At the same time there was a sense of wonder and excitement; a certain anticipation at what could be coming next. To be honest, in that very moment when the waiter appeared with his dark blue apron and an ancient looking wooden tray with our two cups on top, I had no idea where I would be spending the rest of the night- although going back with Kira looked most likely. I thought about it for a moment, and I imagined how we would probably share her little bed and feel like squeezing even tighter together.    

Kira was sipping her coffee and I was sipping my chai. It was delicious, with a perfect blend of ginger, cinnamon and cardamom- and a subtle aftertaste of clove and nutmeg that I had almost missed at first.

Between the words that we exchanged, there were gaps of silence. Between the actions that we seemed to initiate, there was an immense yet so ordinary sense of hanging there. Between the thoughts that appeared, floated around and were, because of habit, perceived as mine, there was a vast unmoving space in which everything unfolded.

There was no reason not to accept Kira’s invitation to spend another night here, no reason to disrupt the flow of energy, no reason not to seat with Ramesh another morning. Since I had arrived in Mumbai yesterday, existence had showered me with more blessings that I could expect, had answered my burning question, had gifted me with a swift understanding of Ramesh’s basic concept, and had even allowed a beautiful and unexpected romance with Kira to unfold.

“What about leaving all this behind and take the next bus to Pune? I would be there at sunrise!” That was a voice in my head; it was uncalled, inconvenient, obviously none of my doing and there was clearly not much I could do to silence it. At the same time, I noticed seemingly contradictory feelings surfacing inside- annoyance at the idea of leaving now, and excitement. There was an impulse to fight that thought, to ignore and dismiss it. And at the same time there was a welcoming here, a yes to whatever life was bringing, a yes to the unknown. I was here because existence had conspired to bring me here, first with that little book catching my attention by the pool, then by meeting Kira and letting life flow. Who was I to now resist another call from the beyond? What if this Mumbai adventure had suddenly run its course, just like that, while sipping a well-blended masala chai on a late night market?

I shook my head and looked into Kira’s eyes. She seemed very happy and chilled here, and I wondered for a moment if she had noticed what was going on in my head. I relaxed, delighting in the ease and kindness she radiated.

Our cups were now empty and two boys were busy racking the chairs and pushing the tables together. We had been sitting here for longer than it seemed, not talking much, and the whole market was preparing to go to sleep.

“Should we pay and go?” Kira asked “I am getting tired, we can get a cab and go back home.”

Going back home sounded great. I was not sure how much sleep we would get if we spent the night together, but I had nothing to do, and spending the night in the bus to Pune meant no sleep either.

“Okay, yes, I am ready to go”, I said pulling a note from my pocket to pay the bill. “But before, let me toss a coin one more time.”

Kira looked surprised and sat back on her chair. “I am curious what you want to toss a coin for” she said, “and considering that last night you did the exact opposite of what the coin suggested, I don’t so much see the point”. “But here is one rupee”, she said amused as she pulled a coin out of her little purse.

“Well” I said, “I have the same question as yesterday: should I come with you or go back to Pune now?”

“I see” she said laughing. “Are you really thinking of going to Pune now, in the middle of the night, while we are having such a magical time?”

“Well, that thought has been around nagging me, don’t ask me why, I have no idea. I just want to see what the coin has to say.”

I didn’t think that I had more insight into coin tossing than Kira did, but it had worked for me and it was my device after all, not Kira’s. She never mentioned ever asking Ramesh about making decisions, and I was quite sure that he never had suggested for her to toss coins. Especially not in the middle of the night while she was having a beautiful romantic affair with a French man, and that everything seemed to be flowing perfectly well.

“Head I come with you. Tail I go to Pune. “I said confidently as if I had been in the coin-tossing business forever. I felt a little tingling in my belly. “What if it says Go to Pune?” I thought, immediately relaxing as I realized that I could still dismiss the coin and do what I wanted. I was free after all, wasn’t I?

I shook the coin between my rounded palms, and let it fall in the middle of the table.

Our four eyes moved towards the center simultaneously and our foreheads gently met. Tail was up!

I could hear the chirping of night birds and the falling of surrounding shutters. The night was taking a new turn.

Kira and I moved our heads back up and looked into each other eyes.

“I am going to Pune now “I said, hardly believing the words that came through my mouth. “You mentioned that there are busses running all night long from the bus terminal. It will be a different kind of adventure and I will reach in the morning. And we stay in touch. I may be back soon, or we meet by the pool…who knows?”

Kira didn’t respond. She just sat there, looking at me with her familiar love and presence, but I could feel her disappointment – she probably was as astonished as I was.

I guess I could have stood up and said “Let’s go, I come with you”, as it had happened last night. But instead I stood up and took her in my arms for a last hug. I walked with her to the end of the street, flagged down two taxis and waited for hers to move away. I sat at the back of mine and ordered the driver to bring me to the bus terminal. It was a short drive through the night. It was now 1.30 and my Mumbai adventure had just come to an end. Just like that. With the toss of a coin.

I had spent two days and one night here. I had shared with Kira an exceptional depth of intimacy, and I had met Ramesh twice. But what I really took with me from Mumbai is the understanding Ramesh was pointing to, the seeing that existence is an unfolding and that there is no one doing anything. Nirav was merely a complex organism through which the universal life force functioned. He had no existence of his own. No one had.

The inquiry transmitted by Ramesh had worked from the very start- and it would keep operating for years, day in and day out, like an undercurrent, and consistently destroy one by one the assumptions of who I am.

As I sat in the sleepy bus en route to Pune, I started to sense the implications of what had happened. There were thoughts floating, there was a field of feelings, emotions and physical sensations, but all was experienced as insignificant remnants. There was a seeing that all was perfect as it was, that leaving Mumbai now was what had to happen; there was no guilt in having left Kira rather abruptly in the middle of the night, no regret in having ended a seemingly potent love affair. There was a new and wonderful lightness of just being with what is- of letting life flow.

The bus ride took four and half hours and it is just after sunrise that I pushed the door of my apartment in Koregaon Park.

Kira visited Pune a few weeks later, and we had a gorgeous day by the pool playing around like children. We went out for dinner but the romance seemed to have run its course. We are still friends to this day. 

I never explored Mumbai again, but visited Ramesh’s apartment one last time a few years later on my way to the airport. However, he was recovering from a fall that day, and we didn’t meet. My gratitude for Ramesh and his teaching is timeless.

Meeting Ramesh Balsekar, part 2

Kira was renting a room long-term in a large house owned by an elegant upper middle class woman named Laxmi. She happened to be around as we arrived and Kira introduced me as a friend of Ramesh who would stay overnight on her couch.

Kira had warned me already that Laxmi was fine with visitors, but it was wise to be sensitive and reassuring, especially when visitors were male. We were in India after all.

Kira’s room had an unusually thick dark green carpet on the floor. It was colorful, exotic, and very charming. The bathroom was outside in the corridor. On one corner near the door was a small single bed, neatly covered with a bunch of colorful pillows and a blue bedspread. At the back, under a small window, was a couch. It looked good enough for a night and Kira asked me if I would be fine on it. “Certainly” I answered. It had been a long day and I was ready to lay horizontal and go to sleep.

A large clock above the door showed 11 pm and we both made ourselves ready for bed. “I usually walk to a little bakery nearby for breakfast before going to Ramesh” said Kira, “we can go together if you like, but let’s talk about all that in the morning. Sweet dreams”.

Kira turned off the light and silence filled the room.

I was finally in my own space, in that limbo just before sleep. I felt unusually awake. I noticed the investigation taking place inside still. Not just one event, but dozens that had happened during the course of the day came back to my memory with the underlying aim, or so it seemed, to be seen for what they were. It was a truly unusual and fascinating survey of the essential nature of every happening, small or big, inner or outer, from the world of thoughts, emotions, and the body.

An opening of my eyelids, a turn of my head, a feeling under my skin, in my stomach or my bladder, a thought in my mind, a smell entering my nostrils, the sound of a car far away behind the house, any small thing and I was there, present, seeing the chain of events that was constantly triggered, and that in turn triggered something else. Nothing, absolutely nothing was my doing. It was all so clear. As clear as the night was dark. I was not the doer.

Kira had fallen asleep already; I could hear her breathing change and deepen. I saw my mind wondering where she was right now, and it was somehow astounding to see without any doubt that in this moment at least the doer in her was no more. And soon the same would befall on me. Behind those reflections taking place inside, there was a clarity that the dream state Kira was obviously entering wasn’t essentially different from the space I was in right now. Yes, I seemed awake. Yes, I seemed to be doing the thinking, and the contemplating, and the observing, and the seeing. But really, was a single speck of that process up to me? Was I able to stop the thinking? Or to change its course in any way?

In normal circumstances I would have said that Yes, I have the choice to turn around and go to sleep; that Yes, I have the choice to keep thinking, or sit on my bed, or read a book, or even get up.

But Ramesh had entered my life, even so briefly, and those common assumptions I had blindly believed for so long didn’t stand the slightest investigating.

There was no doer. Never had been. Never will be.

When I opened my eyes again, light had entered the room from the little window above my head, and a dim yet luminous glow was gently piercing through the golden curtains. Kira’s bed was empty. The clock showed ten past Eight.

I sat on my pillow and looked around. It had been a deep and relaxing night. In Pune I was used to wake up at 5.30 no matter what so I could be on time for the Osho Dynamic Meditation, my favorite way to start the day. Waking up after eight is not something I ever remember.

The door opened and Kira walked in with her hair wrapped in a towel above her head, wearing an orange Sarong around her body. She looked stunning and I immediately felt the physical attraction and chemistry between us. I sensed my body respond to her presence, to what I smelt and saw and felt. I could feel my morning erection refusing to subside.

“Good morning Nirav. How did you sleep? You had such a peaceful look on your face, I didn’t want to wake you up. I went out quietly not long ago, and I had a shower.”

She came over and sat next to me. She had obviously washed her long hair, the towel was wet. Her eyes were sparkling and radiated a lighthearted depth. She smiled. I smiled back, starring into her in my own unique and intense way. In a society were looking into someone’s eyes more than two seconds is considered offensive, my stare occasionally drew some unpleasant remarks. But Kira didn’t seem to mind, on the contrary. She moved closer.

It was such a delicious space to be in. The delight wasn’t so much in Kira’s beauty, nor in the romantic flavor this room actually had, nor in the excitement of this spontaneous happening. No, the delight was in the simple seeing that I was not the doer of any of this and that whatever was unfolding here was doing so according to a cosmic law I had no control about.

The delight was in living every moment one after the next, going through the sequence of actions as if they were my actions- yet being aware and convinced without a doubt that they were not my actions but mere happenings. The universal energy, consciousness, cosmic law or whatever we call it was working its way through this complex body-mind-organism called Nirav.

What I remember of this time in Mumbai is not so much what happened on the outside, but what happened inside; how it impacted me then, how it came about, and what remained with me until today.

Meeting Ramesh was a meeting with myself of possibly the most profound significance so far. The consequences were instant and life-changing. Oh, yes, I certainly came back from the high spaces I was then, when the investigation was running easily by itself and the result was constant clear awareness. But something of that transmission has remained untouched, as if the investigation was taking place in the background. When you see truth even for a moment only, even through the quick lifting of a veil, nothing can ever be the same again.

From my side it was obvious that if Kira opened up in that direction, I could move closer to her and follow the energetic flow; we would probably end up making love and spend the whole day in bed. On the other hand, we could get up now, have breakfast and go to Ramesh. Between those two options were a myriad of others, none of them I cared entertaining.

“So, Nirav, should we go and have breakfast?”

“Oh, yes, give me 10 minutes and I’ll be ready” I replied. Her question had somehow taken me by surprise- not the one I had most expected. We looked into each other eyes for a long moment. No word was exchanged, which seemed to increase the sensations taking place at other levels. I could feel my heart beating, and hers too. She pursed her lips in an intriguing way which could mean so many things- but it felt like an acknowledgement and honoring of the energy we shared in this moment. 

Was she considering the other option? Was she torn inside? What about her commitment to her boyfriend?

I wondered if the attraction I felt for her was mutual, a thought I dismissed as soon as it appeared. Yes, it was mutual. Or maybe it was not. Who cared?

I stood up, stretched my body and made my way to the bathroom. Kira handed me a fresh towel and told me to use whatever I needed there. Indeed, I had a toothbrush, a spare shirt and an underwear in my little bag but that was about it.

As my body moved along, I could see the motions driven by a force beyond my will. I could see that this unfolding had nothing to do with me or Kira’s doing. This was all happening according to a cosmic law. A law I obviously could never understand.

We soon were both ready to go out. Kira was wearing a red dress and had wrapped a saffron shawl around her shoulders. She radiated a light, an ease and a unique mixture of grace and exuberance.

I was looking forward to a little stroll in the cool of the morning.

We walked to the bakery hand in hand. I relished the unspoken romance that was transpiring between us, and the let go that came as a byproduct of the understanding. When life was being lived, when actions and reactions were out of my control, when I was only an instrument through which some universal force was doing its thing, what was there to worry about? Yesterday Ramesh had pointed the effects of the understanding: the disappearing of a massive load of guilt and shame for oneself, or hatred, jealousy, envy and malice towards any “other”.

Indeed, I could feel all those out of my system right now, and I was relinquishing the lightness of being it brought about.

“French Café” was a buzzling place. We walked in and ordered croissants, cappuccinos, a fruit salad and a masala omelet.

We sat in the shade at a little table outside. I was hungry and happy to be here.

Next to us was a couple of businessmen involved in a heated discussion, half in Marathi half in English as is common in India among educated people. Behind Kira, a few young students finishing their tea and parathas were heartily laughing. In the alley between the tables, a pretty lady dressed in a deep blue sari was softly but passionately talking on her mobile phone while walking up and down, and I wondered who was on the other end- her mum maybe? her boyfriend?

Looking at strangers speak and interact with each other was fascinating. Each one of them was evidently heartily believing that they were the doer in this morning play. From the outside where I sat, it was obvious that they were all instruments played by the same universal life force that was moving everything, including the trees and the insects. Including this organism called Nirav, right now absorbed in this seeing.

The two businessmen stood up, smiled at each other, exchanged a few polite sentences, shook hands, grabbed their bags, and walked out. Such apparently simple and ordinary meetings between people suddenly looked mindboggling, hilarious, and essentially insane. The deeds that I believed were mine didn’t stand the light of my own investigation more than a few seconds and the consequences had been a complete shift in consciousness. But now the process continued while watching people move, talk, interact with their surroundings and each other. A dog came to our table, waiving his tail. A few leaves were swirling here and then, apparently under the influence of a light morning breeze. An ant walked across our table, stopped, turned around, stopped again, and continued until she disappeared under a pile of paper napkins. I was there, silent, feeling so many feelings and noticing so many things, inside and outside, looking at Kira who seemed to be enjoying this quiet space. We were being lived. We were essentially robots. We were functioning according to our unique design and a law beyond our understanding. The ant, the students, the leaves, me. Watching life unfolding was fun and easy, I thought, and everything seemed to be happening perfectly.

How could we have it so wrong for so long on such a global scale? How could such a simple shift and simple seeing seem so complicated? How could I have been on the spiritual path for most of my life, meditating hours a day for the last 15 years, spending so much time and money in the deepest inquiry work available…and not see such a simple thing with absolute certainty? How was that possible?

I was looking at the scene in the little café, a scene that was in constant movement. I felt centered and quiet, at ease. Kira was looking around too, and I wondered if she was busy with the same inquiring as I was. Our eyes met. A smile responded to a smile.

The waiter appeared with a plastic tray full of colorful dishes. Our breakfast. I could feel my taste buds opening up in anticipation and my stomach getting in tune.

It was all there. The fruit salad was generous, with large pieces of papaya and pineapple overflowing. The cappuccinos had cute foamy designs on top. Kira put the fruit bowl in the middle, looked at the cappuccinos and gave me the one with a white heart. She laughed and took the one with a flower.

It was all so amazing to suddenly experience myself for what I truly was: a robot. All those actions were being seen as unfolding, not as being done by me, nor anyone. The waiter moved to the next table.

A sense of freedom was being experienced in a totally new way; a lightness of being.

I wasn’t sure about it, but it felt like I acted as I would have the day before, that from the outside I looked “normal”. I slept, woke up, walked, ate as if nothing had happened. I ordered my breakfast, talked to the waiter, went to the bathroom, asked sensible questions and had discussions, as if nothing had happened.

Yet, something had happened. And apart from Kira who may have suspected something, I was alone with my transmutation. Had I entered Ramesh’s flat as a 41-year-old caterpillar and come out as a butterfly?

It certainly felt so.

We ate our breakfast with delight, having small talks and watching life go by.

“We are right on time” said Kira.

“On time for what?” I asked

“For Ramesh’s meeting!” she replied laughing. “We are about 15 minutes’ walk to his place, and we have almost another hour. Should we order more croissants?”

She was funny and easy. I felt comfortable and I loved that we didn’t need to over talk things; we were definitely in tune.

I didn’t feel like another croissant, but a small cappuccino, yes, maybe.

I remembered that yesterday at this time I was sitting in the train. It felt so bizarre, as if time had taken a quantum leap forward. Or was it backward? Or was it a full stop, even so brief? 

I noticed with surprise that sitting at Ramesh’s feet again sounded sweet and lovely, but there was no excitement. Yes, I could happily go. But I could also not go. I felt in a kind of unusual neutral gear, going through the motions certainly, but neutral.

The shift that had unexpectedly taken place inside felt complete, for now at least. I was enjoying myself tremendously. I was at peace, present, awake. I also enjoyed a feeling of delight and of looking forward to what the next move might be. Anything was an opportunity to test again and again, in the mirror of awareness, what Ramesh had delivered. A thought form appearing in my mind, a grumbling in my belly, a dog passing by, a sound, a moment of silence… But surprisingly, the most obvious realization that life was being lived came about through action, not by silently sitting with closed eyes. Hence, being in Kira’s company since yesterday, sitting in busy cafes full of people and hanging out in Mumbai’s marketplace had made the understanding crystal clear.

The mini awakenings I had in the past had all happened in action, even those which came about after long periods of sitting.

I remember being about 5 years old and laying one evening on the green sofa. My parents were busy discussing the day and my little brother was sleeping in his cradle. Suddenly, out of the blue, watching the scene and listening to their talk, I saw the absurdity of it all. I saw that there wasn’t anyone there. I saw people being lived the way the air was being blown out of the hairdryer. They were so involved, believing without a doubt that they were someone doing something; they were arguing as if their ideas were theirs. It was so absurd. That incident is the oldest I remember where I saw with certainty what I was again seeing now. That day the seeker was born.

More recently and many years later, after days of inquiry in a group process called “satori”, where we sit from morning till evening in front of a partner using Koans such as “Tell me who is in?”, it was during a dance meditation in the afternoon of the 7th day that I had my first Satori in a long time. Just like that. While dancing.

More such experiences would occur in the coming years, and all would take place either while dancing, while sitting in the busy German Bakery in Pune, or while buying spices in an overcrowded Market in Bangkok.

All those experiences had never lasted more than a couple of weeks at a time, but they had been important on my journey from here to here. They were reminders that life was more than what I took it to be.

What I was experiencing right now as I sat in “French Café” with Kira had the very same flavor. It was a space I knew well, one that always had appeared and disappeared without my understanding.

Never had I been able to do something about the lifting of the veil.

But here, Ramesh’s investigation was running, and that investigating seemed to bring forth complete clarity.

I finished my omelet and sipped my second cappuccino with delight.

“So Nirav, what are your plans for today? Should we get ready and slowly go to Ramesh? Or do you have some other idea?”

I liked the way Kira talked, the way she asked questions. The sound of her voice felt soothing. I took a moment before answering. I was investigating so many things all at once. I could see thoughts in my mind appearing in spite of me. I could feel how Kira’s questions came out of her.

It seemed that remembering Ramesh, his transmission and his offering was linked to the space I was in.

“I don’t have any plans” I said, “but yes, let’s go to Ramesh and see what happens. I can go back to Pune this afternoon. Or maybe I can spend one more night at your place if it’s Okay with you.”

Kira smiled and assured me that I was most welcome to stay on.

The walk to Ramesh’s building was easy, just a few blocks away in this very spacious and green part of the city. The ocean was just a couple of kilometers away at the most, I could feel it.

“Do you recognize the area?” asked Kira, “here on the left is Laxmi’s house, and 200 meters ahead that way is Ramesh’s building. It’s all very close, we made a loop.”

Kira exulted such a joy and spontaneity. She was smiling.

We arrived right on time at the gate, where exactly 24 hours ago Abdul had dropped me. I was in a very different place inside this morning, much more settled and at peace. Although I could sense the investigation running its course in the background, it seemed like it was doing its things without causing any tension and without my doing- not unlike the beating of my heart or the millions of actions taking place inside my every cell and organs in the middle of the night.

I felt my eyes open, outside and inside. Seeing was happening. I squeezed in the lift with a few already familiar faces, and up we went. I sat on a little cushion at the back of Ramesh’s living room while Kira found a place on a comfy looking chair by the window.

While it was beautiful and heartwarming to be sitting here, I didn’t feel the excitement I was feeling yesterday. Neither did I have a question.

The only question burning inside had been answered with three words. Not only that, my tossing the coin last night in Colaba had dispelled any doubts I had about Ramesh’s seriousness about it. Indeed, when life was unfolding according to a cosmic law and not according to a me/Nirav that in fact didn’t exist, when everything was already in the can, questions about decisions making were as important as the way a dirty two rupees’ coin falls.

A young couple just arriving from Australia took the front seats, and were greeted by Ramesh. I closed my eyes soaking in the energy and Ramesh ‘s words. He reiterated that what he was proposing was a concept only, and he went on to answer the questions in his own unique way. Interestingly, I felt in neutral gear still, without excitement, without goal, without much passion either. I was just sitting on the cushion the way I was sitting in the café for breakfast or in my bed this morning. Letting life flow.

I wondered if Ramesh had done the job in just one sitting, if there was anything more for me to “get”, if I could just go home and see what happened next.

It was a beautiful, deep and touching gathering, I was happy I came, but I also sensed that it may well be my last visit. On the way out I bought a couple more books, including “Confusion No More”, met Kira by the shoe shelves and walked with her to the South Indian restaurant across the road. There we took our same seats as yesterday and were soon surrounded by Ramesh’s friends. This was the hanging out spot after the meeting, a great and sweet little place to connect in a more casual setting. I always loved those contrasts, the market place after the satsang, the ordinary street restaurant after the so special meeting with a sage. I loved to see that whatever was happening with me didn’t suddenly vanish with my first movement.

I was still high, I noticed; or rather, still in.

My masala dosa arrived with a cup of coffee. It was only noon, I was not that hungry, and I figured out that this would get me going until the evening. I sensed inside a longing to move, to take an afternoon bus to Pune and be home this evening. I sensed a longing to be by myself and integrate what had happened. There was a distinct looking forward to travel alone through the streets of Mumbai, through the crowded station and let life take me wherever. I also felt Kira next to me, and although I didn’t look at her right now, I could sense her beaming smile. Her presence was powerful. What about spending more time together?

Here I was again, with my many thoughts and the different options, and I suddenly remembered the coin. I must have laughed out loud because Kira looked at me curious “All good Nirav?”

“Yes, all is very good” I answered, smiling. Indeed, all was unfolding perfectly, those thoughts were arising as part of the perfect unfolding, and there was no need to toss anything.

I took a breath of relief while noticing how it too, was part of the perfection.

We were sharing the table with Meera, a friend of Kira. Meera had her own graphic design business here in Mumbai and she had rarely missed a morning at Ramesh since she first heard of him about four months ago. She was a beautiful, well-educated and intelligent young woman; it was interesting to hear her describe how Ramesh had, or rather was, slowly transforming her attitude towards life. I realized that everyone’s inner world was unique and basically unfathomable to anyone else, no matter how carefully we listen and try to understand the other.

I shared with Kira what was happening and that I felt like going to Pune now. I could always come back anytime soon if I wanted, I said. I could feel Kira’s disappointment- she obviously liked me. And I liked her too.

I asked Kira how she felt, and if she had other options in mind. We could go and explore a few different places, she explained, there was plenty of markets and sights and even beaches and parks in Mumbai.

I didn’t look convinced, and neither did she. We had a delightful exploring day yesterday, but really, hanging out and sightseeing didn’t excite any of us.

“What about we go to my room and have a cuddle” she said bluntly.

It was a straightforward question; one I certainly hadn’t anticipated.

I leaned back inside for a moment.

I repeated the question, just to make sure that I heard rightly, or maybe just to win time and slowly wind down out of the shock space I probably was in. “A cuddle? In your room?”

She wasn’t smiling anymore. I felt her attentive and free-floating in this crazy ordinary unfolding neither of us had anything to do with. She was staring at me, deliciously here and now, and her unwavering presence was giving me goosebumps. Amazing how mindful awareness turns me on, I thought.

I figured out that Kira’s question had probably surprised her as much as it had surprised me. There was nothing to analyze, nothing good or bad about it. It was the line existence had chosen for her to say. Period. The next move was probably mine, although it didn’t have to be. I could keep quiet, order another coffee, or maybe walk away. I could say Yes, I could say No, I could say anything in between or beyond. What did I know? Who was I after all?

“I follow you. Let’s go”, is what came out of my mouth. It was a strange thing to say, I thought, but who cared?

We paid the bill, greeted the few friends still sitting, and walked off towards Laxmi’s house. There was excitement in the air, a cool alert presence also. We walked slowly and in silence, somehow relinquishing the free-floating space we were in. I felt that something extraordinary was going to happen, that existence was about to reveal some secret and gently push me through a door I had never dreamed of opening.

As soon as we entered her room, the attraction between us took over and we let go into it. Oh yes, there were probably other forces at play, thought-forms about our respective partners and the commitments we had with them. As far as I was concerned, I was in easy waters since I had agreed with my girlfriend about having other lovers when we were away from each other, and it was Kira who had initiated the move by inviting me to her room for a cuddle.

Although other scenarios could have taken hold of us, what happened was seen as my destiny and there was no guilt and no concerns about it. Lovemaking was seen as a happening, an unfolding of actions, reactions and responses.

Kira was certainly gorgeous and sexually uninhibited, and the passion that roared between our two bodies was fueled by a chemistry let unchained. But most remarkable was the underlying quality of presence, let go and acceptance that filled the room. Never had making love been such an outright ridiculous description of what was happening. Making love with Kira was all but “making”, all but “doing”.

Not unlike the mini satoris I had had in the past while dancing, where the dancer had for a moment disappeared and only the dance had remained, lovemaking was happening all by itself.

Soft Goa grooves were playing over Kira’s little speakers, the sunlight was filtering through the golden curtains above the sofa where I had spent the night, the air was rich and balmy.

The investigation was running in the background, steadily, in spite of a me I couldn’t find anymore.

I certainly had enjoyed an exceptionally deep and abundant love life during the last 15 years in Pune; I had explored my sexuality from all possible corners, been in dozens of intense workshops dealing with sex, breath, energy, trauma, bodywork, creativity and what not! I even became a certified tantra master, and “loveplaying” as I preferred to call it, was an integral part of my daily life -my favorite hobby and meditation. I was obviously not everyone’s match, but my freedom, passion, playfulness, depth and presence were a rare blend of essential qualities in a lover, and I did feel blessed.

Being more present, more aware, more in and more down as I moved through sex had been my practice of many years, and I had become proficient at it. But what took place that afternoon in Mumbai was beyond any experience I ever had. For hours our bodies merged, came together, separated and melted into each other again. Breathing went from shallow to smooth, from slow to deep and wild. Our bodies moved from the bed to the floor to the sofa; they rested and fired up again. At some point Kira fell asleep, started to snore lightly, woke up, snuggled up in my arms, skidded along our sticky blended juices and slid down my legs.

I could feel her long blond hair caressing my lower belly, I could feel my naked balls hanging there, I could feel so many delicious and erotic feelings. But again, although they were certainly enjoyed, the core of the delight wasn’t so much in the sensations themselves, as it was in the absolute Seeing that all was happening by itself. In that moment there was no Kira and no Nirav, no one doing anything. There was simply presence, the understanding that consciousness was doing its thing through those two body-mind organisms according to their programming and a cosmic law no one would ever understand.

I had spent most of my life without realizing how much was happening inside this body-mind. From the constant beating of my heart to relentless breathing, there were billions of vital actions required every single moment without which Nirav would cease to exist. It was only quite recently that I had discovered how thoughts too, emerged and departed in spite of me. Not only didn’t I have a choice as what kind of thoughts do appear in my mind, but stopping or changing them seemed an impossible ordeal.

Meeting Ramesh Balsekar , part 1

In 2007 I was still in Pune. My golden years at the Osho Ashram were slowly history. The place was changing fast, turning into a more sterile, expensive and very controlled resort where more and more friends were being banned. But there I was still, living a few months a year, hanging out by the pool, meeting friends, dancing and meditating. Every day I would take my painting bag in and settle on a flat marble spot in the midst of plants behind the Buddha hall, and paint trees. The place that was so throbbing with life for so many years was still beautiful in more than one way.

One day during lunchtime, as I walked around the rather busy swimming pool carefully stepping between and over people, my eyes fell on a towel laying there by itself; on it was a lady’s bag, a pair of sunglasses, and…  a little book. I can’t remember the sequence of thoughts going through my mind nor the order in which they appeared, but that little book caught my attention. Almost 15 years have passed since that moment, but I still see the white towel and the way it was positioned, the green sandals neatly placed next to it, the sunrays shining through the leaves and onto the marble tiles; I still feel the atmosphere around the pool, I still sense those 3 girls on the left busy chitchatting and that swami further along meditating with his eyes closed; I still see myself, bare feet, bending in spite of me towards the little book. I still remember the glossy blue and purple cover, and just two words as a title. “WHO CARES!?” by Ramesh S. Balsekar.

I had heard of Ramesh and I knew that he lived in Mumbai giving talks every day in his flat, but I had never paid much attention. Since I had discovered Osho and his teachings and his incredibly juicy commune, my life was filled with groups, therapy, meditation, bodywork, creativity, women, parties and what not. Certainly I had never felt the need to go and look somewhere else for another Guru.

Let me zoom back and narrow the focus to what was happening inside me in that moment. There was a definite sense of inescapability, of having stumbled upon something far bigger than my will and far more mysterious than anything I could try and make sense of. My eyes falling upon that little book was like falling into an abyss I knew nothing about but had no way to avoid. I could feel the resistance; I could feel the excitement too.

Ramesh had just entered my life. By the pool of Osho’s commune. Just like that.

As I left the book where it was and made my way to the changing room, I felt profoundly shaken and confused. I wondered who was the woman with the green sandals who had just unsettled me with two simple words on a book cover. WHO CARES!?

Four days later at 5.35, I was sitting in the Deccan Queen Express train to Mumbai. I had taken a little backpack with me and was hoping to make it on time to Ramesh’s flat where at 10.30 every morning he talks to a small gathering of seekers.

I had finally met Kira, the owner of the little book by the pool, and she had generously shared her fervent passion for Ramesh’s teaching. She had been sitting with him for a year, she said, and it had changed her life. She only came to Pune once in a while to chill out by the pool and meet friends, and she was back in Mumbai already. Mumbai sounded like hell to me, and unlike the Pune Commune you were on your own there, having to stay at expensive hotels in the middle of a polluted Megapolis with nothing much to do during the day. Yes, Ramesh spoke every single morning, but for many of his devotees, especially the western ones, that was the sole reason of living there.

In contrast, my life in Pune usually started at six am with the dynamic meditation and ended around midnight after the party. In between was a full and rich and juicy regimen of more meditations, group settings, friends and lovers, plenty of dance and silence and … even pool time.

What was I doing in this train, with no other plan than sit with an unknown Guru for a couple hours?

Kira had done everything possible to get me to come to Mumbai; she had even mentioned a spare bed in her room that I could have if I wanted to stay. Apparently it was a great little den just 5 minutes’ walk from Ramesh’s flat. She had also mentioned that I would be allowed to sit right in front of Ramesh on my first visit, as was the custom; I could ask any question and it was an opportunity I should not miss, she had insisted.

I indeed had a burning question, at least I thought so, and it was about making decisions- but we’ll get to this later.

The train was on time, smoothly rolling through the Deccan plateau and descending towards Mumbai. The sun had risen already and the sky in this early February was slowly absorbing the shades of red and orange into a warm, rich and thick atmosphere so characteristic of India.

Mumbai’s Central is one of the oldest station in India, and my train reached right on schedule, something that had never happened in my many years on Indian Railways. I remember shrugging my head a few times in amazement before getting down and swiftly finding my way to the taxi stand. The station was packed, but there was a sense of ease and order in the chaos. I could feel existence conspiring to bring me to Ramesh.

I was hoping to get a smooth ride and be dropped right in front of Ramesh’s residence before everybody walks up to his flat and sits in his living room. I was on time. I jumped into the first taxi I saw; the driver, an elegant tall Muslim in a white robe, apparently knew the area and I instantly trusted him and didn’t bother bargaining the price. I felt unusually relaxed and in the flow.

I didn’t know much about Ramesh, except that he was a disciple of Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj and had had a long career as the director of Bank of India; he was now 90 and still talking every day to small gatherings in his living room, people as diverse as Mumbai businessmen, seasoned meditators who had spent decades with other masters such as Osho, or Leonard Cohen who regularly came all the way from California to sit with his Guru for a couple of weeks.

Abdul confidently stopped his car. “We arrived Sir, 106 rupees Sir”.  It seemed such a cheap ride and I had not encountered a taxi using his meter and actually charging what it indicated in a long time. I told Abdul to keep the change, thanked him for his beautiful drive and made my way towards a small gathering of about 20 people waiting a few meters away.

There was Kira! She had immediately spotted me as I came out of the taxi and was walking towards me with a beaming smile. “Good morning Nirav, I knew you would make it. Come, you are right on time. The door will open in just 5 minutes and we can walk up. Try and sit in front, I can push you a little if you are shy…” She laughed and gave me a hearty hug. She was a little exuberant, but sweet and very caring. I wondered if she had a crush on me and was planning to get me to her little place after the meeting, I wasn’t sure, but I felt it would be fine with me if that was the case.

The door suddenly opened. Kira took me by the hand, pulled me into the lift, and up we went until it jolted to a halt outside Ramesh’s apartment. Kira pointed to the shoe shelf where I placed my little bag pack and my shoes, and we entered a large bright room furnished with ornately carved tables covered with photographs of Ramesh and his family, vases of flowers and a beautiful bronze carriage clock. On the walls were pictures of Nisargadatta and Ramana, and quotes by Ramesh carved on wooden plaques. “All there is is Consciousness and Consciousness is all there is” declared one. “It is not an action; it is a happening” said another.

On the other side of the room was a hammock, where a woman was swinging with such a look of delight on her face. Behind, across the window, stunning views onto the Arabian Sea. Below, the sounds of horns and temples and people- daily life in Mumbai!

I took a seat on a cushion in the middle of the living room, next to Kira.  My heart was beating strong. I was about to meet Ramesh.

A frail but powerful looking little man dressed in a white kurta pajama entered, his hands together in Namaste. He looked around acknowledging everyone as old friends and took a seat in a rocking chair at a corner of the room.

Ramesh Balsekar had an unpretentious air of calm authority and a spellbinding presence. He closed his eyes.

We were about 25 people in the living room, someone on a chair, a few on the sofa, a young woman was lying on a mat, and most of us were sitting on cushions, all different in size, colors and materials. An incense was burning. The window was open. Soft Indian music was playing. I had no idea what I was doing here nor what had pulled me here really and I probably entered a no mind space.

I was sitting there in the middle of the room, with my question secretly stored somewhere in my mind. The atmosphere was unlike what I was used to in Osho’s Ashram in Pune. Unlike anything I knew. It was certainly alive, exotic, throbbing.

I looked around. Everyone seemed so peaceful, at home with Ramesh. I could feel Kira’s warm and subtle scent on my left. I turned my head and looked at her. Her eyes were closed. She looked beautiful.

The music stopped and Ramesh opened his eyes.

“Good morning. Are there new people here today? Someone here for the first time who would like to sit in front and ask a question?”

Indeed, two rows ahead of me, right at Ramesh’s feet were two unoccupied cushions.

There was a moment of silence, and then a lady stood up behind me and proceeded to the front.

“Good, good”, said Ramesh, “anybody else wants to come?”

I could feel my heart beating stronger. I could also feel Kira next to me; I didn’t know her that well, but from what I sensed she was well able to nudge me or even say out loud “Yes, here is my friend Nirav, his first time, and he has an important question, he is just a little shy!”

But no, Kira didn’t nudge me in the ribs, and no she didn’t open her mouth. Instead there was a long silence. A silence I suddenly interrupted by unexpectedly standing up, and in spite of me, or so it seemed, I walked the two steps to the front and sat at the right of the lady.

“Very good” said Ramesh. “What is your name?” he asked, addressing me.

I told him my name, that I was French, and that I had been living at Osho’s Commune in Pune since many years. I told him that I had by chance stumbled upon one of his book and met Kira by the swimming pool in Pune last weekend, and that it had affected me and triggered a sequence of events that brought me here. I had taken the first train this morning but had no idea what I was doing here. I added that I felt nervous and happy and that indeed I had a question.”

Ramesh listened carefully. He asked me to repeat my name, and made sure he understood every word I said. I felt showered by an immense presence and lightheartedness. I felt fully seen and received as I am.

As I sat there at his feet, wondering what this was all about, I could feel my heart opening. I felt a definite melting and dissolving. Was it grace? Was it love?

I must have disappeared for a moment, because Ramesh was now speaking to Helena, the lady next to me – and I had missed her question. Ramesh was talking, developing his concept, slowly, with intensity and a delightful confidence. I was enthralled; his every word resonated with a deep knowing inside and I could sense my whole system relaxing, elated to hear what I knew so well but had never seen explained this clearly.

Ramesh talked, basically summarizing his concept and going through the essential points. It was all very simple after all.

The basic concept of Ramesh’s teaching is that “All there is, is Consciousness; all actions are happenings – the functioning of the Primal Energy and not the doing by anyone. Events happen, deeds are done, but there is no individual doer thereof.”

“What is the Ultimate Understanding?” Ramesh asked, and answered it by saying, “That there is no one to understand anything.”

As I sat there motionless, like a sponge, absorbing a concept so far out yet too straightforward and minimal for me to grasp, I sensed my ideas about the ways I lived my spiritual life run around like a lion in a cage; I sensed a whole lot of confusion around what seeking is about. For 20 years I had spent hours every day meditating in some way or other; I had loved and enjoyed my life with Osho tremendously, I had gone deep into my psyche, experienced a space beyond it and had had a fair amount of spiritual experiences, satori and mini awakenings. I had come to the conclusion that those experiences where glimpses of enlightenment, like seeing through the window of my mind into the full sky. I was convinced that if I was living identified with this body mind, what I had experienced was the beyond unaltered. I certainly had noticed that those experiences never lasted more than a few moments, a few days at the most, that they always happened uncalled for and in unexpected places, and that trying to create a situation for them to re-appear was a sure way to disillusion and suffering.

As those thought were running through my mind, Ramesh continued speaking to Helena, who right at that moment asked him about meditation practices.

“What you are trying to find is what you already are. Enlightenment is total emptiness of mind. There is nothing you can do to get it. Any effort you make can only be an obstruction to it”, said Ramesh.

He went on to suggest a simple investigation one could do if inclined, so that an intellectual concept about non-doership becomes the personal truth.

“Take a few minutes in the evening” he said, “look back at your day and investigate one action that you are convinced is your action. Dissect that action thoroughly and honestly, look into how it started and find out if you really did it”. “And every single action thereafter that you investigate, you will come to the same conclusion. Some happening over which I had no control led to an action. How can I call it my action?”

That was certainly a puzzling proposition, but one that directly entered my system and found a place in my heart. Right here on the cushion at Ramesh’s feet. Of course I didn’t know it then, but what I just heard Ramesh describe would become my main practice and for years afterwards that specific investigation would run inside like an undercurrent- and every single time it showed the same result: I was not the doer of any action, not even that one. Actions happen through this body mind organism. There is no doer whatsoever. Until one day I realized that the understanding had settled without any doubt and that the inquiry had dropped by itself.

But back on the cushion in Ramesh ‘s living room. I certainly had entered a space where making sense of time wasn’t easy; it seemed that at least an hour had passed, maybe much more, and that this morning session was soon going to end. And Ramesh was still speaking, elaborating his concept while answering Helena’s questions. I was certainly in awe listening to Ramesh and sitting close to him on my cushion. I caught myself wondering if he had forgotten me and if there would be anytime left this morning for me and my burning question. I sensed that he was coming to a conclusion, and I felt my heart beating stronger again. My turn was obviously going to come.

Just then Ramesh stopped, looked at his watch and said “well that was a long morning”, and then turning to me, he asked “So, Nirav, do you still have a question after this? If you do, please ask”.

I was taken by surprise. Indeed, although he had been addressing Helena for almost two hours, he had unmistakably been talking to me. I felt that he had done it on purpose, almost mischievously. There had been a direct transmission. Obviously I had been showered with all there is to know and all I needed to hear in this moment, and there was nothing more to expect, nothing more to ask. I realized that I had opened myself entirely, in spite of me. I was ready. Ready for this. Like a fruit falls or a flower blooms just when it does.

“Well Ramesh, thank you for all you just shared, but I am not sure I have a question anymore”, I said.

Ramesh laughed and added “Indeed, indeed. I saw you drinking the teaching. I actually was talking to you”.

I didn’t want to miss any chance though. I came here with a question after all, and it had been burning since a while; so I continued shyly, feeling slightly awkward “I had a question about making decisions” I said, “Once I take a decision I never look back and move forward with it freely, but my problem is when I am faced with different choices and have to decide, I can go into tremendous confusion.”

I felt instant relief letting this one out of my system.

Ramesh nodded his head, looked deep into my eyes, and said “Making decisions? I see. Just toss a coin!”

He then looked around the room, acknowledging everyone and closed his eyes.

I closed mine also.

Toss a coin?

Ramesh sung with us a couple songs from the Vedas, greeted everyone again and retired to his quarters with a beaming smile on his face. In the corridor, 20 books or so signed with his name were available. I put “Confusion no more” and “Let life flow” in my bag, found my shoes and walked down the stairs. 

What a morning, I thought! Immediately seeing that the thought had arisen out of the blue from a place and at a time completely remote from my will…well …not my thought after all!

Kira was following me closely. Our hands and eyes met, some thinking arouse in my mind, her mouth opened and a few words came out of it. I could see that nothing at all happening here was mine, nor hers.

“Let’s go and eat something” she said.

“Okay, good idea I am hungry” I replied.

I noticed my rumbling stomach and the feeling of hunger inside. I noticed how all those sensations had nothing to do with my will, nor had the subsequent thought of eating something.

There was no effort of analyzing, no particular mind exercise. There was simply a seeing taking place in the midst of thoughts, feelings and actions. The impact of seeing that I wasn’t the Doer was an extreme shift inside, and certainly, at that time at least, I could make no sense of it.

A few minutes later I was sitting in a little restaurant across the road with Kira on my right and a few people from the Ramesh’s gathering around the table. Kira seemed to know everyone.

I ordered a masala dosa and a coffee. I was immersed in the now like I had not been in a long time, and Ramesh’s invitation to investigate what I called my actions and my thoughts was running already, in spite of me. And the conclusion was every single time crystal clear. 

It was good to eat. I had woken up early this morning in Pune and I had not had any breakfast.

Kira was very present and cheerful, and she offered to show me a few places in Mumbai this afternoon. She wasn’t pushy but she made herself available.

I was going with the flow, ready to catch a bus or train back to Pune in the evening if my Mumbai adventure felt complete, but I was also open to take on Kira’s invitation to stay with her and visit Ramesh again tomorrow morning. 

Since we mysteriously connected by the swimming pool a few days ago, our journey had continued to magically unfold- and I was not about to prevent it. How could I?

What happened during the next two weeks was a sequence of events, an unfolding of feelings, thoughts and actions that produced what I can only refer to as the unfolding of life. On the outside nothing had changed. Thoughts were appearing, actions were being taken, food was being ordered and eaten, decisions were being made…life was being lived. But inside, since that first morning in Ramesh’s living room, nothing was the same anymore.

That simple investigation Ramesh had suggested Helena to do for a few minutes every evening had found a place inside my system and was running even in my sleep it seemed. It had taken me by surprise and it was happening in spite of me.

There was no effort from my side in meditating or analyzing or understanding. There was an effortless seeing taking place, as if a veil had lifted.

Nothing was still. Everything was in constant movement, inside and outside. Every cell in my body but also everything on the outside was going somewhere and doing something. Existence looked like a cosmic chaos going by laws beyond comprehension and creating an ever-fluctuating extraordinary magnificence.

“I need to use the bathroom” said Kira, “and then we can either go straight to Colaba for a walk, or we can first pass by my room if you want to leave your bag and have a shower. What do you think?”

“Yes, let’s go straight to Colaba for a walk, my bag is small and I can take it with me.” I replied.

Kira gave me a smile of approbation, put her purse around her shoulder and made her way to the bathroom, greeting a couple sitting on a table behind us. The waiter looked at me. I made a sign for him to bring the bill. He immediately walked over. A few words came out of my mouth to which he relied “Yes Sir”. He then moved away. I assumed he was fetching the bill.

As all those movements happened, I could clearly see that a sensation in Kira’s bladder must have urged her to the bathroom, and that every word she had spoken had appeared in spite of her. I could clearly see that a physical feeling of needing a walk and fresh air had prompted my answer.

The waiter appeared with the bill. My left hand retrieved some notes from my pocket. The money was given to him. His head nodded sideways. Excitement was happening at a table nearby. A taxi came to a sudden halt on the opposite side of the road and tires screeched lightly. Kira’s body came out of the bathroom. I noticed a smile on her face. A few sentences were exchanged between us which stimulated my hand to reach hers. Our two hands meeting sparked a new set of feelings and thoughts, and that in turn caused our bodies to stand up and walk out of the restaurant.

Thousands of thought forms, feelings and sensations, actions and deeds ceaselessly shaped every moment, one after the next, without a gap in between…

It was astonishing to witness such a rich, complex and essentially unfathomable unfolding of which this body/mind organism called Nirav was part of. It was a relief to suddenly be able to see the scene from a distance, see the moves without being overly involved.

Understanding and seeing without a doubt that actions are happenings and not something done by someone, is what actually contributes to and helps us in discovering the state of equanimity and peace which we most ardently seek.

As Ramesh puts it, “A simple examination of one’s personal experience will reveal that what usually disrupts the peace and harmony in life is a thought about something we think we – or someone else – should or shouldn’t have done. Hence, a massive load of guilt and shame for oneself, or hatred and malice for the other, is perpetuated. Without a lot of arduous effort – work, discipline, sacrifice, sadhana – without outside assistance, but simply by investigating one’s own experience, it is possible to get relief from this bondage.”

Indeed, and as bizarre as it seemed, that investigation was right now effortlessly taking place like an undercurrent, and seeing was naturally occurring. It was all so simple. So startlingly simple.

The space I was in that morning and during the days that followed was similar to the mini awakenings I had experienced many times in the course of my life, particularly in Pune after intense inquiry groups like Satori, a 7 days’ process where we use Koans like “Who is in?”, “What is love?” or “What is freedom?” to peel the layers of personally and reach a place beyond the bondage of identification. I had participated in many such inquiry practices and loved those glimpses of the beyond, that sometimes lasted a moment, sometimes a few days, but always disappeared.

I also had had those glimpses outside structures especially designed to provoke them; and yes those glimpses had occasionally appeared out of the blue in places as unexpected as a coffee shop in a busy market or the underground subway of a big city.

I was not sure at that point if those previous experiences and what was happening now outside Ramesh’s flat was the same or not, but one thing was essentially different. In the past, no matter the circumstances, I had never had any clue how I got there. I had never understood the process. I had never been able to come back to that space by myself. Those moments out of the ultimate bondage appeared and disappeared outside my understanding.

Today it was clear and obvious that the investigation Ramesh had suggested worked. And it worked instantly.

The afternoon unfolded as if nothing had happened. Kira and I had a beautiful smooth connection, and moving around Mumbai was fun. I had flown into Mumbai many times in the last 20 years, but it was always to head straight to Pune where I had my life. Mumbai was new and exciting.

I had a longing to see the sea and breathe some fresh air, and Kira took me to Colaba, one of the peninsula at the southern tip of Mumbai. We got a taxi to drop us at Gateway of India, a tall arch built in the 1920s. We then strolled along the promenade pass high-end fashion boutiques and walked into the iconic Taj Mahal Palace hotel; we sat in its colonial sea-facing lounge where we had a tea, a rest, and a lengthy use of their amazing bathrooms. As the sun started setting and the sky turned red we went for another walk along the see front. It was such a delight to watch the birds and smell the ocean.

Kira was a great guide, and she enjoyed showing me around. She suggested we go to the Causeway, an area walking distance away, lined with decades-old cafes, hip modern restaurants and outdoor stalls selling handcrafted souvenirs.

I said “Yes sure”, and off we went.

The Causeway was flooded by locals and foreigners alike, and it was as wild and busy and colorful as any Indian market. But there was a distinct unique flavor I was not used to, something mellow. When I asked Kira about it she simply said “Yes, this is Mumbai, I love it”. We laughed. We were enjoying the flow, the energy, the delight of being.

I wasn’t very talkative, and strangely enough we didn’t discuss what had transpired this morning at Ramesh’s nor what was happening now.

I had met Kira for an hour at the most in Pune, and then for another three minutes this morning before entering Ramesh’s flat. We didn’t know each other really and it was awesome to meet now, in that space, without any reference to a past. Something major had happened to me with Ramesh, and I had no idea if Kira was aware of it, if she also was in this same space; or maybe she always was there, or maybe she had never had a glimpse of it. I looked at her. We smiled. I had no idea and I didn’t care.

The way she moved, the way she talked, the smile on her face and the delicate scent she secreted…I seemed to like it all. There was a definite chemistry between us, unique and strong, obvious yet subtle. And right now that chemistry had brought us to spend a lovely afternoon in Colaba. What was next?

It was now 9 pm. As we stopped at a little side café to eat something, I wondered what my options were for tonight. Did I feel to go back home, or would I prefer to stay here overnight? Did I feel like meeting Ramesh tomorrow morning again? I talked about it with Kira. It was up to me she said, there certainly were buses to Pune leaving every 30 minutes or so, all night long, for the 4 hours trip. Alternatively, I could stay at her place, she said, it was just a room, but rather spacious with a comfortable couch where I could sleep. I don’t know why, but she added that she had a boyfriend, right now in Canada, and that she stopped flirting around when he was away and she was committed. So I could relax, she added laughing, she was not about to sexually seduce me. I also had a girlfriend, and I noticed all kinds of thoughts and feelings pop up and raise their voices, many of them conflicting with each other. What a scene in there, I remember thinking. Anyway, she laughed and I laughed, not too sure why, but it felt good this way. It felt right to talk about this now. I noticed how sharing openly brought us even closer and how relaxation deepened.

I could feel both options at play inside, and I was familiar with the confusion of having to decide. Going back to Pune tonight had definite advantages; I would sleep in my own bed, would be back by the pool, my friends and my paintings in the morning and I had plenty of things to look forward to. My meeting with Ramesh had been amazing, so had been my day with Kira, but wasn’t it all enough and complete? What more could I expect from another day in Mumbai? Also, Kira was certainly sweet and attractive, but a romance didn’t feel in the cards for a few obvious reasons. On the other hand, staying here would…..

Here I was again, weighing up pros and cons and hopelessly trying to see clear and speed up the decision-making process. I must have looked rather desperate, because Kira pulled out a coin from her purse and put it in my hand, laughing, “Why don’t you toss a coin?” she asked.

“Toss a coin!?”

We were still sitting at a table outside a busy eatery where we had shared a delicious paneer tikka masala and a couple nans. We were ready to leave and the question was, do I follow Kira to her room about an hour’s drive from here, or do I head to the central station and catch a bus to Pune.

I was utterly confused with no clue where I would be in an hour. At the same time, it felt an important decision to take and letting a coin decide for me sounded outrageous. But wasn’t I right now facing one of the biggest challenge in my life and my burning question? Didn’t I come to Mumbai specially to ask Ramesh about this? Indeed, I did. And in three words he had answered me.

“Here is a one-rupee coin” repeated Kira mischievously, “why don’t you toss it and see what happens?”

I took the coin and was about to throw it on the table, but she stopped me. “Wait! First you need to ask a clear question. I can see that you never tossed a coin, did you? So what is your question? And this is head and this is tail…”

I looked into her eyes, looked at the coin, and said: “head up I go to Pune. Tail up I come with you”.

I suddenly was eager to test Ramesh and see if he had answered my burning question with the wisdom I would expect from a sage.

I shook the coin in my closed hands and let it fall on the table.

“Head up!” said Kira.

I looked at the coin closely. Indeed. Tail was up and Pune was the answer.

I imagined myself saying good bye to Kira, getting into a taxi, heading to the station and sitting in a night bus to Pune. I sensed my stomach shrinking.

Everything was suddenly clear. Crystal clear. There was no decision issue anymore. I stood up. Kira’s eyes widened, she looked baffled.

“It’s amazing, amazing! I just can’t make sense of it! Ramesh is a magician!” I was suddenly euphoric. It was such a relief to have all this mind confusion replaced with clarity and ease. Just like that. With the toss of a coin.

“Forget about Pune. I come with you” I said, “let’s go”.

It was getting late, the roads were empty, and the taxi ride to Kira’s place took less than half an hour. I felt tired but high, happy, at ease, and in the flow. The only glitch in the smooth unfolding of existence today had been resolved in two minutes with the flip of a coin, and that too had appeared as part of a bigger plan.

(part 2 coming soon)

Leaving New Delhi in times of inner emergency

Less than three weeks ago, after an amazing two months in India, I found myself in Rishikesh. For a long time, I had dismissed the pandemic that was to come and also didn’t anticipate the fear that would take over the whole world. But since a few days already, the fear of being stuck in India without medical, without food, sick and dying was creeping into my system. Anxiety set in. Shocking world news were appearing at an increasingly fast rate. India had first cancelled all the visas so no foreigner could come in, and then countries one by one were closing their borders; more and more flights were being cancelled, and as I finally just bought a ticket to go to Denmark I received a message that the country just ordered national lock-down and that the community where I was going had to close. Shock set in. Words like “national lock-down” were so foreign to me that I struggled to understand what it meant.
I had two clear options: either stay in India or go back to France. A choice between having my soul or my body nourished. A choice between feeling safe or feeling alive and thriving. A choice between isolation or the magic and incredible richness of human connections that were still happening for me in Rishikesh at this point.
Although my friends in France and Europe sent me the same clear message to stay in India and that life in France was far worse, my gut feeling was clear. Taking care of my nervous system, of my anxiety, of my inner child was a priority – and going back to France was the only option that would make me relax right now.
It took me two days to act on this and to follow my guts- and I almost waited too long. A fight between my male and my female, between my rational and my intuitive parts, was taking place in my inner world. Luckily I have learned to listen to those two, to have them talk and listen to each other, and to give my feminine side the space she needs. Not doing so always had a price I am not ready to pay anymore!
One night at 2.30, I woke up with cold sweat. I turned on my phone. Breaking news affecting me was appearing a few times during the day and night at this point. The French President had just finished his talk to the Nation and announced national lock-down from tomorrow noon!
More cold sweat. What did that mean?
I turned on my laptop and checked for flights. There was one leaving Delhi tonight and arriving in Paris the next morning at seven after a stop in Dubai. 230 euros! I hesitated. That meant packing, organizing a taxi to Delhi for the 7 hours journey. That also meant organizing how to get to my hometown 250 km away in Normandy once I land in Paris. Would I spend hours at the airport? Would I be quarantined? What did it all mean? I usually take a train, and in an emergency, I ask my Dad to come and pick me up (which happened twice only during my long crazy Indian life). I check online. The 16 trains to my hometown are cancelled from now on, and no one is allowed to drive.
Anxiety gives place to panic. I get my credit card, but I remember that I lost my French sim and that buying a ticket would require entering the security code sent to that now unreachable number. I am fucked. And arriving in Paris without a working phone sounds even freakier. Kiosks to buy a temporary one would be closed. I am upset at myself for losing that little thing, and yesterday I spent 2 hours checking every piece of luggage in my room and had come to the conclusion that it’s lost for good. I do have another credit card, but there again, I usually need my French number to verify. But sometimes not. Okay, I try. I walk up and down the room. I have not slept in 2 days, and my heart is beating loud. I see that I am freaked out. And yet I have to act. It is quiet; the monkeys are still asleep. It is now 3 am. I tap myself on the face, yes, here I am. I look at the screen on my laptop and review the flight details. Leaving tonight! Should I or should I not? Will I manage to bring myself to Delhi?
I review the basics involved. I am so foggy. But I have to act. Now. So many details involved. It is just too much. My intuition is that there is a 30 % chance that this flight will go, 70 % that it will be cancelled. I am already thinking of that option and what it would mean, being stuck in Delhi, finding a place to stay, being on my own. But 30 % is a good chance. I watch my fingers entering the details. I look for my passport and enter the numbers. I review the screen again, struggling to keep my eyes open. Yes, it is a flight from Delhi to Paris, arriving tomorrow. I double-check if the month and year are right. They are. Then the Credit card numbers. Now I just need to push Enter. Probably it won’t go through. But maybe it will.
I get up, I am in the most unconformable state I know. Will I make it? I mean, will I die here? I get back to the laptop, and my finger just pushes “Enter”. I hold whatever is left of my breath.
“Your transaction is successful. Have a nice flight.”
I scratch my eyes. A mix of delight and more panic looming. It is now 3.45.
I lie down. Theoretically, it would make sense to sleep for a few hours. I will need to be strong, and I have a long, long unknown journey ahead.
Sleeping is a good idea, but an opinion only.
At 8 am, I am in a state of complete panic. Now I have a ticket, but still so much to organize. I need help!
I remember the breaking news in the middle of the night, and the French presidents saying that flights from abroad would be interrupted from now on and that stranded French Nationals should contact their nearest consulate to organize their return.
Calling the French embassy in Delhi is something I did once in my life, and just the idea brings up a tidal wave of memories, of traumas, of an incredible life journey that continues to this day.
It is early, but I dial the number. I imagine the switchboard saturated with calls, and I expect an answering machine. But to my surprise, a soft voice answers, and a lady on the other end asks for my name, my situation, my phone number. I feel taken care of. I explain what I just did, a flight tonight, no phone when I arrive in Paris, no train, how will I get home, I am in a panic, exhausted, have not slept in 2 days, I am freaked out. I burst in tears. She listens, reassures me, tells me about her situation that she is from Bordeaux and also will face the same issue at some point when she goes back if she does. No one knows. I did the right thing she assures me, and that flight I just booked will likely go she checks, if not I should call her back. She looks at options with me and assures me that once in Paris I will relax and I will find a solution. I am amazed that she stays with me on the line for so long, holding my hand somehow. Half an hour passes. Aren’t there thousands other people wanting to talk to her for support? Do I sound that freaked out?
As we are about to part, I say “You know, last time I called the Embassy in Delhi it was in 1989, and you know what? You saved my life! I have been doing overtime since then. “
Now let me go back some 30 years.
It is 18.15 on the corner of the Paharganj main Bazar just opposite the imposing New Delhi Train Station. It is rush hour, and the market is buzzing with millions of people. In less than 30 minutes, my train will depart and take me to the City of Agra, just a few hours away from here. My pack on my back and my drum around one shoulder. I am waiting while my friend is collecting some pictures from the photo shop.
As I am looking over the crowd gathered there, here she comes, smiling. Yeah! The pictures are ready! As I try and ask if the pictures look good, something feels weird, really, really weird!
Only half of my mouth is moving. I am suddenly paralyzed on one side of the body!
Here, in the midst of the New Delhi’s madness, stoned, with all my possessions in a little backpack, and a train in now 25 minutes! This is absolutely surreal!
We were in December 1989, and I was not travelling alone anymore. I had met Shelley 2 months before on the southernmost point of Crete where I was living naked under a Tree. We had fallen in love, and she was now following me on my well-known hippie trail around India. We had just walked around the Annapurna Sanctuary for four weeks in Nepal and were now going to zoom around India for six months. But first I was going to show her the magnificent Taj Mahal!
How stoned, unconscious and fearing nothing we must have been that evening is still beyond my imagination. I clearly just had a major incident in my brain-possibly a stroke.
But we made it to the station and got into our train! I was stubborn, and changing plans was against my philosophy. The train ride was intense. We were both 23, we had long dreadlocks, we looked wild, and we were wild! With only half my body moving the other passengers thought that I was completely drunk. The train was packed, but somehow someone gave me a berth, and I could lie down.
We arrived in Agra late that evening, and after the usual struggle with rickshaw drivers, we finally managed to find a cheap guest house.
Two weeks later we were still in Agra. I was now lying on the bed of a local hospital, under the drip. I had been misdiagnosed since days, no one knew what my problem was, and all the antibiotics I was taking didn’t help at all. I had just spent 24 hours in Coma a few days back, and my condition was obviously severe and getting worse. But somehow we didn’t realize and trusted that life would take care. We were doing our thing and were moving along.
The Agra hospital had certainly no intention to have a foreigner die on their premises, and so before sunset, they brought me to the Agra train station and put a little paper in my pocket where was scribbled “Apollo Hospital Delhi.”
The train to Delhi took forever, but finally at 2 am we got a rickshaw to drop us in India’s largest hospital with our dirty backpacks. By then, I surely looked sick and like a skeleton, but the emergency room seemed like hell, filled with blood and screams and people looking far more impressive than I did. Someone’s head had a hole in it. Someone’s leg was on a table next to his stretcher. A doctor finally had a quick look at me and told me that I was okay. He gave me another antibiotic pill, and off we were again on the streets of Delhi.
It was now 3 am on a Sunday, and this was going to be my last day in this body.
After a few hours’ sleep, we are waking up somewhere in Carol Bag in a much fancier hotel than I was used to. There is carpet on the floor. We got scammed by the rickshaw driver as we left the hospital in the middle of the night. But this is all irrelevant at this point.
It is around 8 am, and Shelley goes down to the reception and calls the French Embassy. It is early, and it is Sunday, and yet she can smell that this is very soon all over for me.
Less than an hour later a young French doctor arrives in the embassy’s car. He is shocked. I have been in this condition for more than two weeks, without a diagnosis and proper treatment. This is the first time that someone looks at me since I became suddenly paralyzed on the street. He takes his time, and I feel hope and trust again. I am in good hands. We will do tests he explains, but first, he has to guess right and act now. Results would come too late.
His first hunch is that I am suffering from Infectious Mononucleosis and that an Oedema had developed in my brain, explaining the Coma and the paralysis. He is right, and this will save my life. I look so unlike anything he ever saw that he also suspects that I could have at least Aids and another tropical disease as well, but luckily he will be wrong on that one. He injects me with a good dose of cortisone, pays the hotel bill, gets us into his little car and off we are through the busy streets of Delhi to the reputable East-West clinic.
I am given a room there, and my girlfriend can stay with me. It will take a week to get all the tests done and get the pressure in my brain down to a point where travelling by air can be an option.
Finally, one evening at around 7 pm, the van from the embassy arrives at the clinic and four officials from the French embassy knock on the door. They have organized tickets to Paris, and we are leaving now on a direct Air France flight. There is a chance that my brain doesn’t cope with the flight and so the doctor has to sit next to me.
And so on a freezing morning just before Christmas 1989 I landed in Paris, walked through the airport corridors with my doctor on one side and Shelley on the other, got picked up by my Dad, and was brought straight through Normandy to the emergency room of my hometown Hospital. That same afternoon, on the 18th floor, I slid into the tunnel of an MRI scanner.
This chapter of my life isn’t easy to write, because as exciting and interesting as it may sound, I do need to omit the juiciest parts.
I was 23 at the time, and I just had my first significant encounter with death. I came very close. Most significantly, it marked the end of my hippy life as I had intensely known it. I never touched drugs again, and I instead would soon discover meditation. Out of this, I would soon meet Osho and be absolutely ready and open for what He was about to propose.
As I left the hospital on Christmas 1989, I was prescribed a year of convalescence; but instead, after six days at home with my parents, I bought a ticket to western Africa. I would spend the next two years living naked in caves on the Island of Gomera and in Senegal. Life was easy, wild, and completely in touch with nature. I had a beautiful girlfriend, and we then moved on slowly all the way to New Zealand.
What had happened in Delhi had shaken me to the core. What was I after? What was I running from? What did I long for? I was aware that I was now doing extra time, that another chance was given, and that sooner or later death could take me back, and this time keep me.
Those years travelling in the wild were a time of convalescence; indeed, a time of chilling out and of transition. Those were golden days, recklessly living a freedom somehow long gone, and I was getting ready for a new adventure, an inner one this time. I was getting ready to open up, to feel, and to say Yes and slowly but surely tap into a source of infinite possibilities.

Meditation

For almost 30 years MEDITATION has certainly been the one word running continuously through my daily life. Combined I must have spent a few years “in meditation”. Satori groups, meditation retreats, 10 days Vipassana courses, 5 and 7 weeks retreats in complete silence and isolation, and the daily routine of at least 3 hours of different meditation techniques. Meeting Osho I discovered active meditations. His famous “dynamic meditation” became my favourite one, and for years I woke up at 5.30 every morning to be in the hall ready to breathe, jump, cathart, dance and fall into the centre of the cyclone in utter silence. Dynamic meditation was a simple formula for a great day ahead.

After 20 years in Pune following that incredible and juicy regimen I one morning found myself in Mumbai at the feet of Ramesh Balsekar. He told me something I had never heard before and that would change my life forever. There was according to Him no need to meditate, but if you felt to, just taking a few minutes in the evening looking back at your day and investigating one event that you obviously did was enough. “Dissect that event and find out if you REALLY did it”. That was a puzzling proposition, but that investigation again and again, every single time showed the same result: I was not the doer of any action, not even that one. Actions happen through this body mind organism. There is no doer whatsoever.

For years afterwards that specific investigation did run inside like an undercurrent until one day I realized that the understanding had settled without any doubt and that the inquiry had dropped by itself.

Today I would simply say that Meditation is remembrance. Remembering who I am. Osho’s last word is SAMASATI. So is Buddha’s. “Remember who you are”.

Meditation techniques are a way to bring that remembrance to the light. Meeting Osho has been the greatest blessing in my life and meditating in His garden under his guidance was fun, juicy and the gap between the outer and the inner was bridged every single time.

I still enjoy sitting in silence with closed eyes. I still enjoy active meditations. In the same way I enjoy cooking, painting, walking, making love, having a talk with a friend. Whenever I remember who I am I am in meditation.

Most of the time I am in my centre, connected, present and enjoying the play of life. Sometimes I am identified with this body mind organism and believe I am the doer of those actions and thoughts and emotions. Now I know the way, I know the space, I know the knack. I could say that I know who I am…and yet I do go astray once in a while, and I am okay with it. The idea that staying in my centre is a greater thing, deeper and more holy is also falling apart. In fact all the ideas of who I am and who I should be are all falling apart. Something is happening which is beyond all my ideas, beyond any doing, beyond any description, and that something looks more and more like nothing.

I have been a spiritual seeker since as long as I remember. Finding out who I am was the single most important drive inside. Meditation was the motor, the main tool.

Today as the seeker is dying and the seeking is giving way to something beyond doing, meditation is also changing. I don’t quite understand what is happening and I am okay with it. Trying to understand is not important. Accepting the new unfolding is clearly all I need to let go into.

This new happening isn’t always comfortable. I often feel pregnant with something I don’t comprehend, something I can’t push nor do anything about, something that by nature I absolutely cannot name.

I am washing some dishes in the communal kitchen this morning and my friend asks me if I could write something on meditation, and I go “yes, of course”. I know that words will come in spite of me and that whatever comes will be perfect. There is complete trust. And here I am and words are flowing. Meditation is presence, meditation is spontaneity, meditation is life running through this organism called “Nirav”, through this laptop and through the birds singing in the garden. Meditation is love, meditation is freedom, meditation is easy…as easy as the wind moving through the autumn leaves.

Meditation is no mind, meditation is openness, meditation is all there is.

Meditation is remembrance.

Samasati.

 

 

Luckily the Devil is well alive

Watching Notre Dame engulfed in flames was shocking and I certainly was deeply affected.
Less than 24 hours later, as over a billion dollar had already been donated by individuals, and as the French President announced on TV that the bells of ND would ring again in 5 years, I entered another state of shock.
How could the burning of such a monument bring so much passion and empathy and cash, when the 12th century city of Aleppo, World Heritage in Syria, almost completely destroyed under American bombing 5 years ago, has hardly started reconstruction because the first million dollar has not yet arrived!
Why hundreds of other historical sites over the world, from Afganisthan to Lebanon, as ancient and monumental as the Paris Cathedral, are facing such indifference? Why the world mobilise on unprecedented scale when 9 people are killed by a terrorist in Paris, New York or London, but the genocide of an entire population in the Middle East or the starvation of millions in Africa are not enough to even make it to the headline?
I visited Notre Dame a few years ago for the last time, and I certainly remember the outrageous beauty of it. But I also remember how sad I felt seeing those millions of tourists flocking in with their cameras, most of them not remotely connected with what this place essentially has to offer.
As I tried to make abstraction of the blood that thousands of women shed as they were burned alive in that Cathedral, as I struggled to forget the tortures and unimaginable suffering that took place there under the umbrella of the Catholic Church, I walked away with a churning stomach.
Last night again, the archbishop of ND de Paris was life on TV at prime time, and in between a few tears he had the guts to ask “ We trust in God, but I don’t understand why this happened to us, and why now”.
Again I chuckled. What about the millions of kids victim of sexual abuse and whose lives have been destroyed? What about the extraordinary cover up on the paedophilia ring in the Catholic Church? What about Lyon’s Archbishop Philippe Barbarin, who was found guilty by a French court earlier this month, but whose resignation was refused by Pope Francis?
What about this planet, the only Cathedral we have, and the unprecedented crises it is facing? As the global scientific community is warning of a 40 % chance of human extinction before the end of this century, and that the number one issue facing planet earth today is overpopulation, the Catholic Church goes on demonising even condoms…
Pope Francis made it clear last month that the Church is not responsible for the sexual abuses, and obviously for this fire also he won’t feel responsible.
Luckily the Devil is well alive.

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And …
Every cathedral will burn and be rebuilt, and then one day be gone forever.
Every living being will go through birth and the challenges of life, through diseases and accidents, will pick himself up, stand again, and then one day be gone forever.
Every planet, every galaxy, every black hole will go through the same process, in its own way, its own timing.
As cruel as it may seem
Impermanence is the nature of all
Remembering this is the only freedom

Tribute to Meera, part 1

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Few people have influenced the course of my life the way Meera did. 

As I look up and around right now, I see my walls full of amazing paintings, filled with leaves and trees and mysteries; filled with the taste of the unknowable. So much beauty and love and movement and silence in every stroke, so much depth, so much of the divine shining through. How I became the painter that I am today is a story that started in 2000 in Osho’s commune in Pune, India.

I was a bodyworker then. I was working in the Commune giving individual sessions, and I had spent basically every day of the last decade in bodywork and therapy trainings. Meera was a unique character in the commune, she was obviously full of Osho and she was around every winter leading her creativity workshops and trainings. I had often stopped by to watch her incredible demos in the Multiversity Plaza, and I had been to many of her exhibitions which she organized every year at the end of the season.  But really painting was never my thing and to be honest I had never held a paint brush!

One day in November 2000, Meera was about to start her yearly two and half months painting training in Pune, and one of her participant had requested a French translator. I was finding myself in a gap then; I was going through a heartbreak and was getting tired of giving so many sessions. I was still very involved in the commune but sensed a wind of change. I approached Meera and we had a little chat. She explained that she never takes someone on the staff who hasn’t first participated in at least one of her groups, and that maybe I could do that. I replied that I had never painted and was not that interested, and clearly if I seemed to have unlimited money for heavy therapy and inquiry groups, I was not ready to spend a cent on something like a creativity workshop.

I remember that moment when she paused and looked so deeply into my eyes that time simply stopped. It seemed that she was seeing something I had no clue about, something like a hidden diamond I could not even dream of considering. I had often experienced this feeling of being seen so deeply and so totally, but right now it was something different. Meera was looking at something beyond my depths, something beyond everything I think I am, contemplating a potential I had no mean to comprehend.

Meera took my hand and broke the silence:  “Wao… yes, come and join, this participant will only do the first part, it lasts two weeks, and it is Primal Painting! You will like it. Come. I will make an exception.”

We never talked again about this very first meeting. So much had transpired, so much had been said, and yet…all what remained was a mystery that left me deeply shaken.

 

( part 2 …)

Walking into China

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The little village of Sust in northern Pakistan is the very last stop before the Khunjerab pass that stands gigantic at  4700 meters in the high Karakoram Mountains. It is also the entry point into China. This is the land of the last snow leopards. Within less than 40 miles a bird could also be in India, Afghanistan or Tajikistan. For me Xinjiang, in the Far East region of China is the aim. The pass is closed most of the year, lying under heavy snow at sub-zero temperatures, and on May 1st it officially opens. I am in Sust since a few days, sleeping on the floor in the kitchen around the open fire with at least a dozen others. This is a check post point and life is tough. It is cold, smoky, food is scarce. We are a handful of westerners, a few colourful people from Tajikistan and some traders from the nearby regions. We are all on our way to Kashgar.

An old bus with tinted windows is stationed there by the still frozen river; it will drive us to the Chinese border as soon as the road is clear. Every morning since a few days we inquire desperately as when we are going to move; and today is April 30th already. But the weather forecast doesn’t look good, the pass is apparently out of reach and so we must wait.

The next morning a couple of traders from Urumqi are engaging with the bus driver in a heated discussion. Impatience is in the air. They want to leave today!

What happened then I never knew, but I suspect that some baksheesh was paid and so the bus was suddenly ready to go.       

We all got in and off we were.

The ride is one of the most spectacular I have ever experienced. I was used to sit on the roof of buses during my journey north in Pakistan, and it was an intense yet delightful place to be during the peak of the March heatwave; but here there was no chance. It was dry and cold, snow was covering everything around and we were slowly moving above the 4000 meters line.

After a couple hours the bus suddenly stopped and we were all told to get out.

That was it!  The road was actually no more accessible, and in fact we should never have left in the first place. Snow was getting thicker and we had no choice but walk the last bit!

How long was the last bit we had absolutely no idea.

And so on May 1st 1989, I wrapped myself with all the clothes I had and covered my head with a yellow Shiva scarf. Of course I was a hippy and the idea of sunscreen or sunglasses or a hat had never even occurred to me. I put my pack on my back and up we walked. We were less than 20 people, from such different places, on such different trips, but here we were, moving step by step, up and up and up. I remember an English man who was travelling with his Hong Kong girlfriend. She seemed so exhausted and unhappy and she had 2 suitcases! He was a big guy and I still see him carrying that luggage on his head leading the way while his girl was threatening to just stop and sit on the snow. I remember an older lady from some remote village in Tajikistan; she had come to Pakistan for some medical treatment and was now on her way back home through those high mountains. Two men were taking turns to help her up. It was totally surreal and I felt in a movie from a different time. The air was getting painfully thin, the sun was bright and blinding, but the nature and the high pics all around were so absolutely breath-taking.

I cannot remember how long we walked. It was one step at a time, one breath, another step, and another breath…

This very moment was all there was. How we got here was a mysterious unfolding that only the divine could possibly make sense of. I recall the feeling of being completely one with life and the magic it is made of. I recall that sense of being in the hands of something infinitely bigger than my little self. I recall the awe in my heart in front of so much beauty. As the amount of oxygen was diminishing with every step so was the holding of the mind; everything became lighter and a strange sense of emptiness was pervading the air. Life was being lived, fully and dangerously. In that moment there was no thought about tomorrow and the feeling that I could die here and then was an obvious possibility; and yet in that moment I felt more alive than ever, more present than ever and in touch with something that clearly would never die.

We finally all made it to the top and crossed over to China. By foot. On the snow. At 4733 meters above sea level!

The long overnight trip to Kashgar was excruciating. I was snow-blind.

 

Tribute to Meera, part 8

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Meera always told me that having zero background as a painter and having never been to art school was a gift in disguise. She said that so many people coming to her were so loaded with ideas and concepts, had too much baggage, and that she spent so much time trying to free them from their knowledge. In that sense I was free already.

Today when I look at my paintings I recognize that, and I am in awe every single time. Meera taught us very little techniques, almost nothing really. And yet I see beauty all around right now, I see mystery and depth, I see the wild cyclone in movement and I feel the centre of it. I see both my aching and my silent heart, the joy and the pain, this whispering longing taking me to the unknown…

As years are passing and I am slowly collecting knowledge, I can see how right she was. Looking at paintings I did in her trainings when I knew nothing, I often stop in amazement at a certain freedom I had then. Many times I realise that today I would not be able to paint with that magenta next to that bright pink, or to suddenly enter a heavy stroke of black ink in the middle of a beautiful light flowery painting. Staying in touch and alive with that innocence and that freedom is a constant challenge. That freedom has a beauty of its own and the taste of the divine.

 Painting with Meera in Osho’s garden, listening to Him and meditating every day, was a happening hard to describe. Osho’s presence is tangible in every word Meera utters, in every move she does, in every painting she creates.  Osho’s vision is the connection between Meera and me.

( Part 9 coming soon )