My Consulate years

Part I — My Consulate years

Applying for a position at the Indian Consulate

I had another sponsor named Mrs. Ann Harrison. Ann’s sister, Jean, had a house in Baltimore. She said that I would be able to meditate there and Ann would bring seekers and disciples. I was delighted and fully prepared to go and live in Baltimore.

But Kailash-ben, my sister-disciple from the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, said to me, “No, no, you have to work at the Indian Consulate.”

I said, “I do not have any degree.” She herself was a graduate.

“I am sure you will get a job,” she assured me.

“It is impossible,” I said. “The Indian Government will require at least a Bachelor’s Degree. Otherwise, they will not allow me to work there.”

“At least you can try,” she said.

Then she went to the Indian Consulate. She filled in the form, she did everything for me — only she took my signature. Look at her concern for me! I am so grateful to her.

In a few days I was summoned to the Consulate. Very nicely I failed the typing examination! At the Ashram I used to type 65 to 70 words per minute, but here the result was 33. I had been out of touch with the typewriter for eight or nine months and I was going through all kinds of problems, so I very nicely failed.

They told me that after ten or twelve days they would examine me again. My friend, John Kelly, bought me a small manual typewriter, a Hermes portable, and I started practising. I was absolutely confident that in ten days I could pass the test.

Twelve days after I had failed the first test, I got a telephone call from Mr. Mehrotra’s secretary, Yvonne, who was from Jamaica, West Indies. She asked me to come to the Consulate. I was so happy, thinking that they would ask me to sit for the typing test again. O God, they did not ask me to take the test. Kailash-ben had submitted some of my Indian articles and poems, although she had written on my application that I did not have any qualification. Mr. Mehrotra is a great literary man and a supreme authority on Indian philosophy, culture and religion. He liked my writings very much.

There were five other candidates applying for that junior post and two of them had Master’s Degrees. Many Indians did not have any job and they were dying to stay in America. Only by working at the Indian Consulate or Indian Mission could they stay here. I was the sixth person to apply for the post. I did not have even a high school diploma, but Mr. Mehrotra chose me because he liked my writings. By his unimaginable grace, I got the job.

Becoming permanent

My loving and unfailing friend, Mr. Ramamoorthy, and a few others had been working there for a long time and Mr. Mehrotra’s attaché would not agree to make them permanent. But in my case, it was not more than 13 days.

One day Dhawan came to our section. Whenever he came, everybody would tremble. What was he going to say, and to whom? This time, from the doorway Dhawan shouted, “Ghose!”

Everybody was wondering what was going to happen. Then Dhawan marched up to my desk and very abruptly said, “Mr. Mehrotra has decided to make you permanent.” Then he marched away.

O God, instead of applauding, everyone was silent. Perhaps they were puzzled or jealous or upset. I, too, was stunned. Then some of my colleagues said to me, “I have been working here six months” or “I am nine months and I am not yet permanent.” I had not even been there for two weeks!

The Passport and Visa Section

My colleagues and I did 40 or 50 passports every day. My job was to check each one of them and put stamps on the envelopes. At two o’clock I had to go to Shivaram’s section, Accounts, to show how much money I had spent during the day. Then around 4:30 I used to go from the Indian Consulate to Bloomingdale’s post office and mail the passports. Once I went to Bloomingdale’s, I did not return to the Consulate.

My mental arithmetic

Mr. Mehrotra's concern

I was inspired to write a poem on Mr. Mehrotra. He was going away and God knows when he would come back. I felt so sad that he had to go. At his farewell party in our office, I stood behind his chair and read out the poem about him. He was so moved.

I was not feeling well on the day of farewell. A few weeks later, from Cuba, he wrote a letter to his secretary, Yvonne, who really liked me. In the letter, Mr. Mehrotra asked, “How is Ghose now? How is his physical health? I know about his spiritual health. He is taking good care of it, so I do not have to worry about his spiritual life, but I am worrying about his physical health.”

My first talk on Hinduism

A Jewish synagogue selected five religions and invited a speaker from each one to come and give a talk. Hinduism happened to be one of the religions they selected, and Ananda Mohan’s immediate boss, Nirmaljit Singh, accepted the invitation for Ananda Mohan to go and give the talk on Hinduism. It was all settled.

Then the rabbis or authorities wrote a letter to our Consul General, S. K. Roy, inviting him to attend the lecture. O God, when the Consul General heard about it, he asked his junior secretary, Ramanathan, to tell me to go and give the talk on Hinduism. I was working at my desk when the order came. I could not believe it. Ananda Mohan had been giving talks on Hinduism and Indian culture at various places for so many years. I had never given a talk on Hinduism and I had not written about it. Where did the Consul General get the idea that I knew that subject well?

I had only five days or one week to prepare. The talk that I gave was called “Hinduism: The Journey of India’s Soul.” Afterwards, the authorities wrote a very nice letter to the Consul General and they also sent me a letter of appreciation with a check for $100. In those days for me to get $100 was something!

Ananda Mohan was my very good friend. Perhaps he was happy that I went and gave the talk so he could have his freedom. He is a very good speaker and an excellent writer. He has written a book about Indira Gandhi and a few years ago he wrote a very nice article appreciating one of my large acrylic paintings.

An amusing anecdote

Bholanath happens to be Jewish. His Western name is Clyde Weinmann. As soon as the Rabbi saw him, he asked Bholanath, “So, you are his disciple?”

Bholanath replied, “Oh no, I am not his disciple. I am only the driver. I just drove him here.”

Inwardly I laughed and laughed. In fact, Bholanath was the one who was my most devoted disciple! By that time, he had openly told me that he was my disciple. One evening we were at the 14th Street subway station together. I was seeing Bholanath off. All of a sudden, he came out of the train and embraced me in front of thousands of people. He said that while he was standing inside the car, he saw my soul. I was so deeply moved. After that experience, he used to tell me, “I am your first authentic disciple.” I first met Bholanath on the fourth or fifth day after my arrival in New York at my sponsor’s place. Then he became my real disciple, so devoted. But on this occasion at the synagogue, when he saw the Rabbi, he changed. He said, “I am only the driver.”

After the talk, when we were leaving, I said to him, “So, you have become my driver!”

Bholanath said, “I am always your disciple, but I am afraid of my father. He knows this Rabbi and the Rabbi may tell him about you. Then my father will scold me, saying that I have given up my religion.”

I said, “You do not have to give up your religion. Your heart is your religion.”

Bholanath's father

When Bholanath heard about it, he got furious because his father had fooled him. He said to his father, “How could you do this? You promised me that you would not charge him anything. He is my friend, my best friend.”

After that Bholanath refused to speak to his father for a long time. Even when his father was in the hospital, Bholanath did not want to see him. I had to beg him to take me there so that I could give his father a rose. His father could not believe that I had come to give him a rose.

The elevator encounter

One day, I was about to enter the elevator. I was going to the accountant with the book from our section. I pressed the button, but when the elevator door opened, I saw the Consul General inside the elevator. As soon as I saw him, I got frightened and ran away. He stopped the elevator and screamed, “Ghose, Ghose, come in!” He was waiting for me.

Mr. Mehrotra's nobility

Mr. Mehrotra used to dictate his speeches, so perhaps she herself had made the errors. Anyway, I begged her not to tell Mr. Mehrotra. But she knew Mr. Mehrotra’s nature. She went and told him and immediately he corrected the mistakes. Then I got a good job. Whenever he was supposed to give a talk, he used to ask Yvonne to show it to me in advance so that I could offer my suggestions. Mr. Mehrotra saw something in me — perhaps a budding literary figure.

Our reunion in San Francisco

Then I went to San Francisco only to meet with him. Mr. Mehrotra invited me and about 25 of my disciples to come to his place and eat one evening. Then we invited him and his wife to come to our restaurant, Dipti Nivas. They came and were seated opposite me. Before we ate, right in front of them, I did a painting for them.

Singing the French national anthem

Consulate colleagues

Mr. Ramamoorthy had a friend, Krishan Dhanda, who used to live in the same apartment. They used to quarrel and fight like anything; they were like the North Pole and the South Pole. They both worked at India House. Again, they stayed together. They were always arguing.

Krishan Dhanda was the one who made the arrangements for me to give my maiden speech here in America. It was at Hicksville High School on 4 October 1965. That was the day Pope Paul VI came to New York to speak at the United Nations. When we came out, we heard it in the car.

Krishan Dhanda has been paralysed for the last four or five years and I have been promising Mr. Ramamoorthy that both of us should go and visit him. I must keep my promise. He was so kind to me.

Mr. B. Ramamoorthy:

Krishan Dhanda used to tease Guru like anything. It was his nature to tease and make jokes. Guru would come to me and say, “Mr. Ramamoorthy, Dhanda has said such and such.”

I would reply, “Don’t worry, Ghose. I will take care of it.”

Even when Dhanda was sick, he used to crack jokes. He had kidney stones and was admitted to the hospital several times. The nurses were all nice to him because he was such a joker. One time, I drove him there and he was in severe pain. The nurses said, “Krishan, are you back again?”

“No, I just came to say hello,” he replied. Needless to say, he was admitted that day!

At the Consulate, Guru was extremely, extremely shy and aloof. You can say he was in the other world. Normally he would not initiate any conversation, but if others spoke to him, then he would reply. He used to remain all by himself.

Once in a while I would talk to him and then later we became close friends.

In April or May 1966, Guru made a prediction for me on a personal matter. He said that on a particular date I would get a letter. At that time, the letter had not even been written.

Manifestation beginnings

Ghose never cuts jokes

Two brothers

Shivaram has a younger brother, Ramachandran, who also worked at the Consulate. His brother was of a totally different type; he was always joking.

In 1987 I saw Ramachandran again at the Los Angeles airport. How much respect he showed me! I could not believe he was the same person. All credit goes to Shivaram; he has changed his brother’s attitude completely.

Among friends

One of my friends was the librarian, Mr. Master. Anything important in the newspaper he used to underline and tell me. When he was leaving the position, he wanted me to apply for his job. But in the meantime I got my green card, so I no longer had to work at the Consulate.

Then there was a Bengali called Anil Kumar Mukherjee. He was Assistant to the Consul. He was so nice to me. Now nobody knows where he is. He used to tell me, “I do not believe in religion. I do not believe in spirituality. I do not believe in yoga — no. But, Ghose, when you stand in front of me, everything changes.”

Giving my first spiritual name in the West

He said, “I am the father.”

So I gave the name Bela, meaning “Time: one who will go beyond time.”

Acharya said, “Ghose’s name is the best,” and they used the name I gave.

Many years later at a function in Manhattan, I lifted this former colleague. He asked me, “How is it that you are not asking me about my daughter? You gave her the name. It is your name and nobody else’s name, and you have totally forgotten?”

So he reminded me of his daughter, asking why I was not enquiring after her.

Then I asked our singers to sing my song “Bela chale jai,” and he was very happy.

Bringing refreshments for everyone

My Christian friend

A pronunciation problem

Applying for extra work at Bloomingdale's

Our pay day tradition

A quiet place to eat lunch

The other workers used to go to the cafeteria in Central Park, which was across the street. But I did not have money to eat there, except on rare occasions.

Shivaram:

Guru and I were at the Consulate together until August 1964, when I resigned. At that time, Guru used to come to work with two little candy bars in a paper bag. That was his lunch. Then, at lunchtime, he would sometimes come and ask me if I would like to “go out for lunch and talk about God.” What Guru actually meant was that we should go into the park, sit on a bench and share the candy bars while we talked.

The ice cream man

A letter to the Consul General

I went there and the Consul General said, “Ghose, sit down.” He was looking at me very compassionately. Then he said, “A letter has come from the Sri Aurobindo Ashram against you, saying how useless you are. It is asking why I have given you a job, saying you will bring disgrace to the Indian Consulate. All kinds of things they have written. They want me to dismiss you.”

Here I was, poverty-stricken, helpless — and I was on the verge of losing my job. I was earning only $230 a month and, out of that, sixty or seventy dollars used to go for rent. I had a tiny room in an apartment with two other workers. The length of the room was only one foot longer than my height. Sometimes I would get hurt if my feet came down the wrong way. When I remember my poverty, I shed tears.

Suddenly, out of the blue, the Consul General asked me a question. “By the way, Ghose,” he said, “do you know Dilip-da?”

I was surprised. I said, “Sir, do you mean Dilip Kumar Roy?” Dilip Roy was a very great singer who was extremely close to Sri Aurobindo.

The Consul General said, “Yes.”

I said, “I know Dilip-da so well. How much affection he has for me! At the Ashram, he was always very kind to me. I can tell you so many stories about him.”

The Consul General said, “Tell me.”

I started. When I was only thirteen years old, I wrote two hundred poems. In this connection, how much affection he showed me. He read the poems and made suggestions. A few years later, I wrote an article about him in Bengali. It was about forty pages and he was so moved. The name of this article was “Amader Dilip-da.” Recently, I sent him an article about his father, D. L. Roy, the immortal poet and playwright, that I had written in English, and he has corrected it. He sent me a letter highly appreciating the article. He has also sent me a message: “No matter how much you suffer, never, never go back to the Ashram. People will say that you have gone to the dogs, but never go back.”

Then the Consul General said, “I am a personal friend of Dilip-da and I know why Dilip-da left and opened up a centre in Poona. If Dilip-da likes you, the matter is finished.”

I come from Chittagong

“Oh no, he is such a big shot,” I said.

Then one day I saw that he was reading a newspaper in the park, so I went there and stood in front of him.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I have just come to get your blessings,” I replied.

“Fine. Come, come. What is your name?”

I told him my name.

“Where do you come from?”

When I said, “Chittagong,” he burst out, “Chittagong! I hate Chittagong! My mother died in Chittagong, in your hospital. I will never forgive Chittagong.”

That was enough. My conversation with him ended there.

After six or seven months, it was time for his farewell. I forgave him or he forgave me, God knows. Anyway, I composed a poem on him in Bengali. I was asked to read it out at his farewell party. When he heard it, he melted. He placed his hand on my shoulder and we talked in Bengali. His wife also melted. At that time there was no Chittagong.

My first harmonium

I said, “Please take twenty-five dollars!”

He said, “No, no. You are poor.”

Then I said, “My lucky number is seven. Let me buy it for seven.”

So he took my seven dollars and gave me back one dollar. I do not know why. Then he gave me the harmonium and I was so delighted and inspired. I used it for many, many years. His harmonium is immortal. It was my first and foremost harmonium. His name was written in Hindi on the front of the instrument.

Sher Singh:

If my recollection is not failing me, I was the first person at the Consulate to meet Chinmoy Ghose on the day that he came to apply for a post. I was relieving the receptionist, Mehru, during the lunchtime. A young Indian man came in and, as a security guard, I asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Chinmoy Ghose.” Then I asked, “May I help you?” He sat down by the reception desk and told me his story. He said that he wanted to stay in New York but, in order to stay here, he needed a job to help himself.

Since Mr. Mehrotra had to ask S. K. Roy for approval, I believe that S. K. Roy created the job for Ghose. In this world I do not have much, but I do have a little bit of memory — which has not failed me yet!

One of Mr. Mehrotra’s secretaries had to go back to India, so I bought a harmonium from him to occupy my leisure time and to learn some music. Somehow Ghose came to learn that I had a harmonium. In those days I used to live at the Consulate in the basement, which was the security quarters. I knew that he wanted a harmonium and so one day I brought it to him and said, “Ghose, here it is!” He paid me seven dollars for it.

My first musical performance

That week I practised those three songs on Sher Singh’s harmonium at least forty times. Before the actual performance, during my lunch hour, I had to go to the Asia Society and sing before the Society’s leaders. They were very satisfied. They gave me $30 and a beautiful letter of appreciation.

When I went to perform the songs at the Guggenheim Museum, there were quite a few people and they appreciated my singing.

The accomplice

When he begged me to go with him, I did not know that he was going to do that kind of thing. I thought it was for some purpose. O God! And he was just a guard at the Consulate!

The big shot from India

Dhanda told me, “He is frightened. This evening he has to go and receive one of the seniormost Members of Parliament at the airport. His name is Surendra Mohan Ghosh.”

I laughed and told him, “I am the one to go and receive him. I know him so well!”

My colleagues knew that I never told lies. So my friend took me seriously and he went to Dhawan and said, “Ghose says he knows Surendra Mohan Ghosh well.”

Dhawan came to me. He was not shouting, but he was speaking very abruptly. He asked me, “Do you really know him? Are you sure? This is a very serious matter.”

I said, “Yes, Sir, I know him quite well. He helped me to get my passport and he has written nice things about me. I have had many conversations with him.”

It seemed that Dhawan went and told the Consul General, “Ghose says he knows Surendra Mohan Ghosh well.”

“Ghose?”

“Yes,” replied Dhawan and he repeated what I had said. The Consul General agreed that I should go to the airport.

At five o’clock I went home, so I did not know about the Consul General’s decision.

That evening, I was having dinner with my sponsor Samie and Eric. Around nine o’clock, the telephone rang and Eric answered. He came and said to me, “Mr. Dhawan is calling you.”

“What have I done? What have I done?” I thought.

I picked up the telephone and Dhawan said, “Ghose, can you do me a favour? Do you really know him?”

“Yes, I know him. He will be so happy to see me.”

He asked, “How do you know him?”

I told him, “He is extremely close to Nolini-da, the General Secretary of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, and I was Nolini-da’s secretary.”

“You!”

“Yes,” I said.

“I am so relieved,” Dhawan said. Then he asked me what suit I would wear.

“I know him so well. He is like my elder brother. Do I have to wear a suit?”

Dhawan said, “All right.”

So I had to go to the airport. They sent me in the Consul General’s limousine with a driver. Surendra Mohan Ghosh was so thrilled to see me there. First I took him to his hotel, and then I took him to my friends’ place. When I brought him back to his hotel again, it was quite late at night.

When I finally arrived home, the telephone rang. I picked it up and a voice said, “Ghose!” It was Dhawan. He asked, “Has he come?”

I said, “Yes. I brought him to his hotel and then to my friends’ place.”

“Then tomorrow morning please bring him to the Consulate,” said Dhawan.

So I took him to see the Consul General the next day. I did not have to take him to see Dhawan because Dhawan was running behind us the whole time!

Look at what divine Grace can do! After that day, the story changed — all because I knew a big shot.

Mr. Mehrotra was very proud of me. Some big shots make complaints if they are not treated well when they visit the Indian Consulates, and this can create serious problems.

This big shot was so nice to me. In one of his letters to me in America, he wrote, “Nobody will work for world peace as much as you will.” Another time he said, “Many Indian Ambassadors have gone to the United Nations, but India’s true cultural ambassador is Chinmoy.”

When he read one of my books in English, The Mother of the Golden All, he quoted a very well-known verse:

> When the Grace of the Goddess Saraswati descends,

> And the lame can scale mountains.

Then he said, “Through Mother’s Grace, everything is possible.”

He was a disciple of Sri Aurobindo. He is the one who used to get interviews with Sri Aurobindo even after Sri Aurobindo stopped giving them. At that time, he was a Congress leader and Sri Aurobindo used to advise him. Even in those days, in 1945 or ’46, Sri Aurobindo was interested in knowing about Indian politics.

He was also our Nolini-da’s best friend. One day he was in Nolini-da’s room drinking tea with Nolini-da. I entered the room to get some papers. I was going out again very respectfully when Nolini-da asked me to stop. He introduced me and then said in English, “Chinmoy is my only authority on all my writings and everything about me.” By that time, I had translated hundreds of Nolini-da’s articles from Bengali into English.

India day picnic

Sudha (Miss Carmen Maria Suro, the first president of the Sri Chinmoy Centre in San Juan, Puerto Rico) had given me a tape recorder, and I recorded the evening’s conversation. It came out well and I listened to the tape four or five times. Then God alone knows what I did; everything was erased. Can you imagine? Nowadays we are still having problems with tape recorders, but on that occasion I was definitely the culprit.

How could my husband die?

The following morning, when we came to work, we heard the news. I was so shocked. The accountant was a Bengali and I had been to his place to eat. He used to live on Fifth Avenue, near Dulal’s place. He had two beautiful sons. And the day that he had the stroke, at two o’clock in the afternoon, I had taken the accounts book from our section to him.

I was at his cremation. Everybody from the Consulate came, even the Consul General. They were all consoling his wife. Everybody was crying and his wife was insane with grief. The Consul General was a man of tremendous dignity but he, too, was heartbroken.

I came back home with his wife in the bus. She was crying so bitterly. She said, “Do you think I have to believe in God now? You are a spiritual man. You talk about God. Tell me, how could my husband die?”

I was shedding tears. All her anger and frustration she was pouring into me. She was so mad at God.

The frightened secretary

I cannot recognise you

In 1994, Dr. Jayaraman-ji, the Executive Director of the Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan (USA), invited me to a special Indian cultural performance at Queens­borough Community College. He wanted to dedicate the performance to my mother for her centenary.

At the performance an Indian man came up to me and said, “Ghose, do you recognise me?”

“I do not recognise you,” I said.

“You cannot recognise me because you have become a big shot!” was his reply.

“Please tell me your name.”

“I am Ramanathan.”

The Consul General's loss

He said, “I have no idea.” Then he told me that his mother had passed away.

I meditated with him for a few minutes. Afterwards I wrote a poem about his mother and left it with Sher Singh, the gatekeeper. As it turned out, the Consul General did come back to the office later that afternoon, and he did get the poem.

Farewell to the Consul General

S. K. Roy’s wife was a Muslim, although he was a Roman Catholic. She was thinner than the thinnest, and she was a very strict disciplinarian, but she liked me very much. God knows what her husband had said to her about me!

Mr. B. Ramamoorthy:

My first camera

The following day I got the film back, but nothing had come out. I was so disgusted. I said, “A camera is not meant for me. In India I knew it. These things are hostile forces!”

I came out of the building. I remember it was snowing. Then so powerfully I smashed the camera on the street. Afterwards I said, “I have to be a good person.” So I sat down and collected all the pieces. I broke the camera into pieces, so I had to pick them up.

Diplomatic privileges

When S. K. Roy was Consul General, he allowed us certain diplomatic privileges, even though we were not diplomatic officials. We could send letters to India using Indian stamps. The letters would go in the diplomatic bag. We could also get champagne and cigarettes. But Guru never availed himself of any of these things.

When S. K. Roy returned to India and Dr. S. Gupta became Consul General, he said, “No, you cannot have these privileges, especially since you are not government officials.” And so everything stopped and a lot of people were very upset.

But none of this bothered Guru because he had never used any of the privileges himself.

Mr. Ramamoorthy is correct. From this side I never sent mail to India in the diplomatic bag. But perhaps he does not know that I received hundreds of letters from my family at the Consulate. It was quite cheap for them, but it used to take time. The letters had Indian stamps. They used to go from Pondicherry to Delhi. From Delhi they came in the diplomatic bag. Any letter that you send to the Indian Consulate in New York from India has to go via Delhi.

Why else did I go back to the Consulate in the evenings and on weekends? Only because I was dying to get letters from my family. Sometimes the diplomatic bag used to come at night because that was when Air India came in. The following day, the letters would come to our section. But my expectation and greed could not wait. So in the evening I used to go there to check the mail. Even on Saturday, when the Consulate was closed, I used to go there with the hope of getting some mail. Sher Singh and I used to open up the bag only to see if there were any letters for us. And quite often I did get a letter. Then I would spend some time, read books from the library and chat with my friend.

I wanted the mail to come to the Consulate and not to my home address. It was cheaper for my family and also my home address was always changing, so I did not know if I would ever receive their letters.

A performance at the Indian Cultural Centre

Quite a few hundred people came to the concert. For me to get over one hundred people in those days was really something. But they came and they appreciated my singing.

Everything changes

In those days, on very rare occasions, Mr. Mehrotra would ask me to go to him for some reason. Dr. Mishra’s legs would be up on the table, and he would be enjoying a cigar. He would say, “Ghose, what do you want?”

A Far-East reunion

Our paths continue to cross

He came when I was about to leave the Indian Consulate and so I only saw him for a short time. Strangely enough, our paths have crossed many times in the intervening years.

All excellent smokers

One sectional boss was so nice. He did not smoke in front of the workers. He used to go outside and smoke. But others used to smoke, very graciously, like anything! Even the women secretaries smoked.

The first and last time!

My religion is the best

Inner blessings

In 1981, when I was giving some lectures and concerts in Canada, Vijaya happened to be in Toronto. She wanted to come and see me, but she could not come because of family problems. Her husband also likes me very much.

In India, whenever you see a swami, a spiritual man, you give him something. So she put fifty dollars in an envelope and wrote, “For the Swami.” She gave the money to Shivaram to give to me so that she could get inner blessings for her family and for herself.

A little bit of advice

Uncle, uncle!

O my God, then he ran to his father who was standing ten metres away and I saw that this man was one of my colleagues at the Indian Consulate, Mr. Macwan. He is a Gujarati. I asked him, “When did you get married?” Then he told me all about his wife. “She is so good, who cares for colour?” he said.

She saw India inside me

So that priest was no good. Then Jovial took me to another priest. Priests are not allowed to marry, but this priest was married. I told my friend that we should call him a minister, but my friend replied that Indian priests can get married.

One Sunday I was invited to give a talk in this priest’s apartment. Around thirty people were there. I spoke for about an hour and a half. Afterwards, one Indian lady came and fell flat at my feet. She had been planning to go back to India because nobody was nice to her. She told me that during my talk she had received so much joy, love and affection from Mother India. She saw India inside me. Then she said, “Now I do not need to go back to India anymore.” I saved her the trip.

No money, no money!

You do not belong here

“But I have no followers,” I said.

I failed to see Jacqueline Kennedy

A special friend

I said, “I have to go both ways. I have to be integral!”

Like this, we were cutting jokes with each other. He was so moved to see me and talk to me. He had read some of my books and he had heard so much about me. A few years earlier, he had gone to Hunter College to attend one of our functions. When he saw so many people and guards, he was frightened to death. He told me, “I wanted to go and embrace you. You were in front of the public, and then I saw that you had kept strong people there to be your guards. I was frightened. I am your friend who used to chat with you for hours, but now that you have become a big shot, how am I going to approach you?”

Then he asked me why I was there. I told him that I had come for a new passport. He immediately went and started questioning the clerk. The clerk said that it would take three days. Then my friend had to say to him, “Do you know who he is? He used to work in our section. You cannot do him a favour?”

Then my friend started shouting and screaming. He has now become Assistant Director in their Commercial Section. The clerk said, “I do not dare to go to the Consul for his signature. Tomorrow we can go.”

When he heard this, my friend just took the passport and the papers and went to the Consul’s office. He did not even knock. He opened the door to the office and immediately went inside. In a minute, he got the papers signed. This is what friendship can do. Then, as I was leaving, he said to me, “I am so happy, Ghose, that I saw you.”

You carry two worlds

I said, “I, too, recognise you! What are you doing? You are my boss!”

Then Chandra said, “Inwardly I am not your boss. Ghose, we knew it, we knew it while you were working with us. We knew you were not just a clerk. Your very name is a phenomenon. You carry two worlds inside you — Eastern and Western. It is such a rare thing. Your music has transported my wife and me almost into a trance. Please let us know when you are coming again so we can be with you and be blessed by you.”

I thanked him and said, “I am so grateful to you. Your very presence is a blessing to me and to us all.”

This particular man was much older than me and he used to be my boss. Even then, he had to touch my feet in front of hundreds of people.

When the British girls performed my play about Lord Krishna in Toronto in 1995, he came to see it.

Is that the same Chinmoy?

My letter of resignation

My Dear Mr. Mukherjee,

I beg to offer my resignation with all my heart’s deepest gratitude to each member of the Passport and Visa section and my Consul, Mr. Nazareth, and the Adm. Consul, Mr. Bhalla, and finally to the Consul General, Dr. Gupta, who have all been most kind and affectionate to me during my humble service at the Indian Consulate.

My deepest sense of gratitude also flies to Moscow to my ex-Consul, Mr. Mehrotra, who had so kindly appointed me. He was of abundant help and inspiration to me. His constant and genuine concern for me makes me shed tears of gratitude.

Truth to tell, I shall never forget our Consul General Dr. Gupta’s indulgent ear. I shall always treasure his sweet, encouraging and inspiring words.

Consul Bhalla has been most sympathetic and most actively interested in my future plans, and for that I am deeply indebted to him.

Unfortunately, I have not had the opportunity to serve my Consul Mr. Nazareth for a long period of time. Nevertheless, during this short span of time, his dynamic inspiration and profound understanding have touched my heart deeply.

Mr. Chandra’s penetrating mind and true concern have greatly helped me, and to him I sincerely owe a great deal.

Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Coutinhoe, Mr. Jovial, Mr. Takore, Miss Ramaswamy, Mr. Jesia, Mrs. Chipper and Mrs. Chopra — to each of them please tender my deep affection, joy and gratitude.

Finally, Mr. Mukherjee, in all sincerity, I would like to tell you how I wished and still wish to be worthy of your unfathomable affection.

Most sincerely yours,

Chinmoy Kumar Ghose

“Mr. Chinmoy Kumar Ghose has performed his responsibilities with an unflinching sense of duty, an unquestionable integrity and thorough sincerity. We wish him every success in his endeavours to spread India’s message of Truth and Love and spiritual disciplines such as Yoga.”

-– L. L. Mehrotra, Consul, Indian Consulate

“How is Ghose? He was a little unwell during the days preceding my departure. I am very much concerned and would expect him to take greater care of his physical well-being; for I know he has already taken care of his spiritual well-being better than any one of us.”

-– L. L. Mehrotra, First Secretary, Indian Embassy in Moscow

taken from one of his letters,

“I have rarely seen such an industrious and honest person. Moreover, he is a gentleman in its true sense. He is an unassuming and humble person with great strength of character. I shall greatly miss him, both officially and personally.”

–- A. K. Mukherjee, Assistant to Consul, Indian Consulate

Part II — From apartment to apartment

Dire poverty

At night my meal was two cupcakes and water. Then, in the morning, I used to take cereal without milk. Sometimes at night, around eleven o’clock, I used to go out and sit in a small park nearby. It is called Morningside Park. My friends used to say, “Do not go there. It is so dangerous. At night all kinds of drug addicts and bad characters come out.” I went there only to meditate. I was in my own world.

One night an old lady was making such a noise. I did not know if she was laughing or crying. I did not dare to go near her.

It was in this park that I wrote my famous poems “I am a Thief,” “I am a Fool” and “I am an Idiot.”

A short walk to the consulate

My landlady was German. She used to tell me, “You will not like America. I can see that your lifestyle is very simple. You are not modern. Here, everybody is modern.”

One day I was about to go to the Museum of Natural History to look at the exhibits. Five minutes before I arrived, a man was shot and killed. I heard the sound even!

An apartment next to the train line

Saved by my Mother Kali

I went outside the room and stood on the roof. The distance between the place where I stood and Mother Kali’s picture was only thirty feet or so. From there I uttered the name of the Supreme three times very loudly from my inmost consciousness.

Then a miraculous thing happened. When I chanted “Supreme” three times, the fire calmed down like an obedient child. Although the fire had reached my Mother Kali’s picture, the picture itself was not burnt. But the glass was shattered and the picture frame and the cardboard behind the picture were reduced to ashes. Alo was searching for water, but she could not find the kitchen because there was so much smoke.

Then the fire brigade arrived and covered everything with water. They also began throwing things out of the window. So many things were destroyed. They caused so much damage.

At four o’clock in the morning, when it was all over, I saw my Mother Kali vividly with my naked eyes. She was dancing. She said, “Let the house be burnt to ashes, but I have saved my children!”

My Mother Kali is my dearest, she is my everything. She is the protector. Thousands and millions of times she has saved me. It is her Feet that can give us our liberation and our salvation sooner than at once. Immediately she can give us everything that God possesses.

The fat sentry

Upstairs, soul repair!

Part III — My subway experiences

Absent-minded hero

Suddenly a young man slapped me on the back in a comradely way saying, “Thank you!” and crossed through the turnstile in which my token had been deposited. Thus he escaped without paying for himself, and I was forced to buy another token. Unmindfulness exacted its retribution.

Mad train versus God's Will

The young boys and girls in the coach were in the seventh Heaven of delight, but the older people were frantic. They were being taken miles out of their way and there was no certainty that they would get trains in the reverse direction without great difficulty. Moreover, because of the wild speed, they felt an accident to be imminent. What if our train should meet its predecessor parked at a station?

Strangely enough, an old Bengali woman happened to be in our coach. I later found out that she came from Potia, Chittagong, East Bengal, only four miles from my birthplace. We were both in a runaway train in New York, only 13,000 miles from our native place. Imagine my surprise when I heard her cry out in our distinctive Chittagong dialect, “O Lord, O Lord, we are finished!”

I went to her and by way of a joke, I answered in the same vernacular, “God will not be satisfied with your life alone, but He wants ours as well.” When she heard her own dialect, tears of astonished delight came into her eyes and she could not help embracing me with motherly affection. I tried to soothe and reassure her, but her cries and tears did not cease. Nor did the panic-stricken cries of several other women in the coach.

At 130th Street the mad driver stopped his wild journey, only to be arrested by two policemen. Word had been sent by intersubway telephone from one station to another about the errant train. The police had been informed and had tried unsuccessfully to stop the driver at various places along the line. Curiously enough, the driver was not drunk. It seemed that an unseen force made him the instrument of that fateful journey in which he wanted to be free from all bondage and fly unhampered and dauntless into the bosom of the night.

Indians cannot tell a lie

“Did you put a token in?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Where do you come from?”

“India,” was my answer.

“India!” he exclaimed. “Indians cannot tell a lie. Had you been a youth from another country, I would not let you through. Those boys do not have a pennyworth of sincerity. But you Indians have yet to learn how to tell a lie.” Thereupon he allowed me to go through the turnstile.

Two revolvers

As soon as I descended the staircase, I saw two men ferociously aiming revolvers at the station master, who was forced to give them all the cash, bills and tokens. These he had to dump into a large, cloth bag at their terrifying command. Then the holdup men left the scene. The whole thing had taken only a few seconds. I was utterly stunned and shaken. The name of God seemed to come out of my mouth of its own accord at least a thousand times, starting from the moment I saw the revolvers.

An old lady of about seventy, an African-American man of the same age, and I were the only eye-witnesses. The woman burst into tears and sobbed frantically, but the man had nerves of steel. The station master, outraged and furious, immediately phoned the police and requested us to give evidence as witnesses. I told him I was fully prepared.

The African-American man said to the station master, “Why are you putting us into difficulty? We are not going to face such problems at this hour!”

“Go your way, then,” retorted the station master.

Then the African-American man asked me if I was an Indian and, when I replied in the affirmative, he simply pulled me through the door which led to the lower part of the station where the trains ran, for the tokens had all been grabbed in the holdup and we could not go through the turnstiles. The old woman, in spite of her sympathy for the station master, followed us. The old man forced me into a train and began rebuking me: “You Indians are so innocent. To help the station master at this hour is to invite trouble. The police will harass you and take you to the police station. These things happen because they do not keep police at the subway stations. Be wise and do not be innocent. Wisdom is more important than mere sincerity.”

Surrender not accepted

All of a sudden a young worker outside the train approached the tracks from an open construction area and threw himself down in front of the fast-approaching train, ready to surrender his life in suicide. But the driver refused to accept his offering. He violently applied the brakes. The resulting jerk was indescribable.

All of us in the coach were suddenly thrown on each other. The physical shock was almost as cruel as death itself. Some people were severely injured, especially those who were sitting. I fell on top of about thirty passengers who had already been thrown down. We were mercilessly and swiftly precipitated towards the end of the coach like stones in a gunny-sack. Perhaps an unseen force breathed for us while so many bodies became one.

The name ‘Kali’ left my mouth and entered my heart. I escaped entirely without injury, but I was ashamed of my poor left thumb which was bleeding a little. When the train resumed its journey and reached the next station, it was found that, besides those with serious injuries, many other passengers had fainted. They were all taken to the hospital. Some young boys, at this point, began turning somersaults and embracing each other out of a wild, nervous excitement.

A nightmare journey

We had only covered two stops when we heard a voice commanding us: “All out, all out!” We were all taken aback, but we emptied the train in no time. A sea of human bodies, utterly perplexed and not knowing which way to move, was milling heavily on the platform. There were thousands upon thousands of individuals pushing and struggling on the narrow platform, for each successive train was unloading hundreds more as it came to this spot.

The reason? It was very simple. A water main running through the subway tunnel had burst, flooding our particular line, the BMT. The trains could run no further than the place where we were now halted and discharged. Now the problem was to continue our journey in some way or other, to reach our destinations without further delay.

To get out of the subway station to the surface was itself an herculean task. It took us no less than forty-five minutes just to inch our way forward in the jam-packed crowd, painfully ascend the slow-moving staircase and finally reach the street level. Once we had completed this exhausting task and were able to breathe fresh air once more, we had to consider how to proceed.

My Scottish father, my Indian son

Getting lost

Kailash-ben lived in Manhattan. At that time, I also lived in Manhattan. The problem was that after a certain hour, some trains do not work. I would wait for the train thinking, “Since this train brought me here, it will definitely take me back to the station from where I started my journey.” I was absolutely sure that I was taking the correct train.

But I was so stupid! Instead of bringing me home, the train would take me somewhere else. When I told the other passengers my address and asked for help, they would ask me, “What are you doing here?”

Commuting from Brooklyn

Part IV — Early friends and admirers

My talk to the walls

My first talk in Minneapolis was a fiasco! I was supposed to give a talk on reincarnation. Ida had promised me that many, many people would come. But nobody came. She was the only listener. I gave my talk to the walls.

I remembered that one of Sri Ramakrishna’s dearest disciples, Swami Brahmananda, once gave a talk and nobody came. He said that he was so happy because he got such receptivity. He said, “The walls did not argue with me. At other times when I give talks, people ask such rubbish questions.”

Attacked by hostile forces

As soon as I tried to go to sleep, the dissatisfied spirit of her husband came and then so many hostile forces came to attack me. They were attacking me because when somebody commits suicide, it is the greatest victory of the hostile forces. I said, “What is going on? Here the room is clean. What has happened?” Then I had to challenge those hostile forces.

He believed in Light, not God

The lawyer's promise

The following day, Ida contacted the authorities of that particular church and they informed her that this lawyer was not even a member of the congregation. He had no connection with their church.

My way of chanting Aum

I said, “Here is the proof that I am not a scholar! Definitely mine is wrong.” Then, twenty minutes later, she asked me to chant it again and again so that she could learn it my way.

Sight-seeing in Minneapolis

Something in my eyes

I said to Nolini-da, “Ida Patterson? I do not know who she is.”

A reunion with Ida Patterson

She replied, “You were just a young man. You said you came into the lion’s mouth when you came to America.”

My beloved Woodstock

On Friday evenings, after finishing work at the Consulate, I used to catch the Greyhound bus to Woodstock from Grand Central Station. A few times I got lost. In front of the bus, it said Woodstock, but for some reason I would enter into another bus by mistake.

One Friday it was snowing. Even in that weather I went to catch the bus to Woodstock after work. When I got off the bus, I had to walk half a mile. There was no light, nothing, and it was snowing so heavily.

I had many, many spiritual experiences in Woodstock. I used to meditate on the top of a particular hill. I had a special spot — a dry, arid piece of woods. I was very fond of that place and I used to go there early in the morning to meditate. I felt such joy meditating there on the top of the hill.

My first driving experience

Poor me! As soon as she went inside the bakery, a policeman came up to the car and demanded that I move it. I said, “I do not know how to move the car.”

“You have to!” ordered the policeman. “Do it right now!”

What could I do? I looked at the letters on the gear shift — D, R, N and so forth. The policeman was still insisting. I thought to myself: R means right, so I will put it in R and go right.

When I shifted the gears to R, the car all of a sudden went backwards and dashed against the car belonging to the police officer. He was parked right behind us. What a noise!

He began to shout at me. But I told him, “You forced me. I explained to you that I did not know how to move the car, but you forced me. I thought R meant right.”

Writing on a napkin

My friends and I sat down to eat and a sudden wave of inspiration flashed across my mind. I asked the waiter if I could borrow a pencil or ballpoint pen. None of us had a piece of paper, so I started writing on the paper napkin. I wrote two poems: “Father, I Am” and “Father, You Are the Child of Your Dream.” Those two immortal poems appear in My Flute.

The time difference

Her friend answered the phone, and I said, “Is Ann Harrison there?”

Her friend answered, “What! Do you know what time it is?” She was so mad. She happened to be the spiritual leader of that community.

Afterwards I told Ann that her friend had blessed me and Ann felt miserable.

Learning to drive in Woodstock

In the car she had a very cute kind of doll hanging. When the doll moved a little to the right, my sponsor thought this meant that she could go against the red light. O God! How many times God saved us from a serious accident! Her inner voice, this little doll, was telling her to go and I was shouting, “Stop! Stop!”

The Golden Purusha¹

The heart and soul of Woodstock⁸⁷

Peace is the only thing that we need, that the world needs desperately. Here, our devoted, dedicated and soulful service to this great community will be our act of self-offering. Fruitful is Woodstock. And we are trying to add our soulful qualities with our devoted service to this great and good community.

I have had here teeming experiences, soulful experiences, spiritual experiences, illumining experiences, fulfilling experiences. I still have very, very good friends here in Woodstock. They have been extremely kind over the years and my heart of gratitude I am offering to them.

I cannot express adequately my inner feelings. I can only say this much: O heart of Woodstock, I was extremely fond of you, I am still fond of you, and I shall always and always remain fond of you. It is here that I had the dream, the golden dream, to do something in our way of manifestation here on earth. It has taken us twenty-four years to sow the seeds of my dream-beauty. Now we shall be offering our oneness-dream, oneness-home, oneness-family, not only in Woodstock but all over the world.

Riding the escalator at the United Nations

Then she took me to a young lady who was talking about the UN. At one point, Samie’s mother said to the guide, “Hey, young lady, why do you have to speak so fast? My Indian son cannot understand a thing. For God’s sake, speak slowly so that he can understand you. What is the use of bringing foreign visitors here if they cannot understand you?” Everywhere we went, she corrected people and told them how to behave towards me.

The never-ending grace

The second time I visited Eric’s parents, I was there for three or four days. Again she begged me to say Grace. “No, I do not want to say it,” I said.

I cannot eat meat

Then she said, “Had I been your mother, would you not have listened to my request?”

I replied, “Even if you had been my mother, I would not have listened to you. Your other requests I shall definitely fulfil, but I cannot eat meat.”

The second time I went with Eric to see her, she did not beg me to eat meat. Eric’s mother was like a real mother to me. I used to call her my mother. She was so kind to me. Her name was Caroline Hughes. She took me to quite a few stores. Some of her friends asked her, “Who is this?” Very bravely she said, “This is my Indian son.”

Eric’s father was practically lame. He had a television set and from his chair he pressed something and the television worked. I said, “How can it be?”

My bus experience

I do not need any earthly degree

For a few days I could not comply with his request, then finally I agreed. He took me to the New School on the day of registration. A middle-aged woman was sitting at the desk and there was a long queue. There were 40 people ahead of me. I stood there in the queue for about 10 or 15 minutes. Then I lost all my patience. I said, “God has given me His degree. I do not need any earthly degree. It is too much, too much!”

The ten-cent store

I said, “What is this? Everything is supposed to be ten cents!”

Then they showed me that on the sign there was an arrow pointing up, just after it said ten cents.

Second-hand clothes

Arthur's spiritual mother

“Your Guru is showing me,” I replied, “and I can see him inside the boat with one of your spiritual sisters.”

“Yes, it is Sushila,” said Arthur. Then he became my great admirer because his Guru did have a sailing boat and a few times he and his spiritual brothers and sisters went out in the boat.

Arthur used to come quite often to my friends’ place. His apartment was very close by, only two apartments away from ours. We lived at 43 Greenwich Avenue and he was at 45 Greenwich Avenue. From time to time, he also invited Samie, Eric and me to come to his place and meditate. Samie and Eric were his good friends.

One evening, we were all meditating at his place. It was on the occasion of his Guru’s birthday. He said his Guru liked to meditate in darkness and so there was no proper light. His apartment was all dark. All of a sudden, with my third eye, I saw a middle-aged lady standing behind Arthur and blessing him while he was meditating. She was blessing him with so much affection. She was very short and thin. The lady told me that she was Arthur’s spiritual mother.

When the meditation was over, I said to Arthur, “I saw something! Somebody was standing behind you and blessing you. She said she is your spiritual mother. I can even tell you her name! Her name is Nirupama. You never, never told me that your Guru was married!”

I told Arthur the name of the lady and it was absolutely correct. It was his Guru’s wife. He was so astonished. He asked me, “How do you know this?” My friends were also asking me the same question. Their admiration for me went very high because I showed this kind of magic.

After that Arthur started giving me very nice jackets. He was also a poet. He had printed two or three books and once he read out his poems at the Guggenheim Museum. He was so nice to me.

Reading out my poems in a fancy restaurant

The gentleman’s name was Mr. Gruber. Once he invited me to read out my poems at a restaurant in Manhattan. The name of the restaurant was Cavanti. The restaurant was very fancy but the patrons were behaving in a very undivine way. They were drinking and drinking. While they were drinking, we were supposed to read out our poems.

Mr. Gruber read out several of his poems and then he told me to stand up and read something. I read out two or three of my poems and then I said, “I am leaving this place! I am not going to stay.”

A second invitation

So Mr. Gruber telephoned the lady and asked her, “Will there be drinking or smoking during the reading?”

The lady said that drinking and smoking would not be allowed and so we decided to go. The lady read out eight or ten of her own poems She was very aristocratic and I enjoyed listening to her poems.

At the ice rink

Hitler took care of his father

“My father?” he said, “Hitler was so compassionate to my father. He took care of my father.”

The tooth-maker-disciple

My first printer

Both of us were under the impression that the other one was deaf. How we used to shout and scream at each other at the top of our voice! We were not arguing, but we felt that if we did not scream at each other while standing face to face, then we could not hear each other. We always used to discuss politics. I used to speak in favour of America. He used to speak in favour of China. He was Jewish, but he was so fond of China. What wonderful arguments we had! But, we liked each other so much. We were such good friends. He was always very, very nice to me.

After practically sixteen years, he came to one of my concerts in Manhattan. After the concert, he came up to me. I looked at him, and he looked at me. Finally, I said, “Are you Mr. Custer?”

He said, “Are you Mr. Ghose? Are you Chinmoy? What shall I call you now? Shall I call you Ghose or Chinmoy?”

I said, “No, now my name is Sri Chinmoy. Have you forgotten?”

I still remember Mr. Custer

Sanatan came back and told me that he had found my first printer. I could not believe it. After so many years! Sanatan took me there to see the place. It was exactly the same, and across the street the flower shop was still there.

I went inside the printing shop and immediately the son recognised me. His father had by that time passed away. I said to the son, “Now that I have seen you, I want to print one of my books here.”

He said, “Yes, of course. I know how much my father loved you. I will do the job at a very cheap price.”

I said, “Ask any price. I remember your father so well. He had such affection for me.”

My adopted grandmother

Going to Viet Nam

One day Durga had come to me crying. She said, “My son Neil has gone to Viet Nam and I am not getting any letter from him. I am so worried. Every day soldiers are being killed.”

I consoled her and said, “Do not worry. I am sure he is safe.” She thought that I was offering her ordinary human consolation. But every day I used to meditate and pray to the Supreme to send His Protection to Viet Nam.

Unfortunately, the mother did not believe me because she did not receive any letter from her son. I told her that the government would have informed her if her son had died. Finally I said, “All right, you will get a letter.”

One evening in Viet Nam, her son was sitting in a chair, quite relaxed. All of a sudden, somebody appeared before him. I said to him, “Your mother is worrying. Please write a letter to her. I am your mother’s spiritual Master.”

Not long afterwards, his mother received a letter from him. He wrote, “Mother, an Indian gentleman came up to me and said he is your spiritual Master. He looked at me and asked me to write you a letter and tell you not to worry.”

She showed me the letter when she came to the Centre. Can you believe it? Where is New York and where is Viet Nam? For eight or nine months I used to lean against that particular tree and pray before I went to work. And God did listen to my prayers. Her son came back from Viet Nam perfectly all right.

One day Durga invited me to her apartment to meet her son. I went with Alo. This boy did not care for spirituality, so he stayed upstairs. She was begging him to come down, but he did not want to. Finally, he condescended to come down.

As soon as he saw me, he was so startled because he recognised that I was the Indian man he had seen in Viet Nam. I also looked at him for two or three minutes. Then I said, “Ah, you are German. I can see you are German.” Suddenly he grabbed my hand and took me upstairs to his room. His room was flooded with German souvenirs and pictures of great German leaders. In his last incarnation he had been German.

My fleeting smile

I was already running late, so I said that in the evening I could give this man an interview. But he told my landlady that he just wanted to shake hands with me.

I lived on the fourth floor. In those days I used to go upstairs running and come downstairs running. As usual, I came running down from the fourth floor and I passed by my landlady’s apartment. Her friend was there and I smiled at him. It was a matter of two seconds. Then I continued running out of the building because I was already so late for work.

In the evening, when I came back, I asked my landlady if her friend was waiting for me. She said, “No, your smile was enough. His problem was solved. He left ten dollars for you.”

A meeting with Paul Richard

On 29 April 1967 I went with my friend to an apartment on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, and there I had a three-hour interview with Paul Richard. He was so nice to me, so affectionate, so compassionate.

In his room, he kept a small picture of Sri Aurobindo. He told me that Sri Aurobindo always used to call him “Brother,” and he also used to call Sri Aurobindo “Brother.” He had such love and respect for Sri Aurobindo.

He served the French Government. I believe that he was the French Consul in Algeria at one time. In 1910 he came to see Sri Aurobindo for the first time. In 1914 both he and his wife visited Sri Aurobindo. Then after four or five years, she came back alone.

In his later years, Paul Richard came to America to be with his sons, who were teaching here at a university.

He showed me a window in his room and said, “I vividly saw my Brother standing here.” One day before Sri Aurobindo passed on in 1950, he appeared to Paul Richard to bless him.

After the interview, I wrote everything down in Bengali. It filled thirty pages. Later I sent a photograph of our meeting to my family in the Ashram. When Paul Richard died not long afterwards, I wrote directly to the Mother to inform her.

A divine warrior

“I see Nolini more as a divine warrior than as a great thinker. He is my Brother’s (Sri Aurobindo’s) earthly shield and Heavenly sword. His mind is illumined, his life is liberated. I admire Nolini.”

Getting a green card

She telephoned her brother, and I went to see him when I returned to New York. She had told me that her brother would do anything for her. I was only a junior clerk, but the way he treated me was so nice. His name was Sol Mark. And Dulal’s name was Sol Montlack. He helped me to fill out all the forms and with so many other things that I had to do. Previously, the authorities had written to me that I had to get a letter from the Sri Aurobindo Ashram saying that I was qualified to teach people. I said to Sol, “I will not be able to ask them because I came here against their will.” So he smiled and cancelled that part. He himself answered many of the questions on my behalf. His last question was, “So, when are you planning to go to Russia or China?” I said, “I am not planning to go.” Then he gave me a broad smile. Later I found out that the American immigration authorities do not allow people with green cards to go to Russia or China.

Usually people have to go to the Immigration Office at least three times, but I went there only once. At the end of the interview, Sol Mark told me to continue working at the Consulate for two or three more months, not to take any risk. I worked up until the middle of June 1967 and then I gave up my job and went to Puerto Rico.

From Puerto Rico I wanted to go to Jamaica, West Indies, but I could not go without the green card. So I telephoned Sol Mark from Puerto Rico. He said, “When do you want to go to Jamaica?” I told him the date. He replied, “I will get it.” Then the conversation was over.

I thought that I might hear from him again in ten or eleven days, but in just two days the green card came in the mail. On the outside of the envelope was his name. He looked like Ashrita’s father. Usually he was very strict, but because of his sister he was so nice to me. This is how sisters and brothers make demands.

On the day that he promised me the card, I did something for his soul. And when I came back from Jamaica, how much I did for his soul! As soon as I received the card, I sent him a tie. Then at Christmas I gave him a beautiful present. He wrote me a thank-you note saying that he was so happy he could help me. He later became head of his department. Now he is retired and living in the Virgin Islands.

His sister, Rose, was our disciple for three years and then she went to live in Florida. Her husband was also very nice to me, although he did not become a disciple. We went to eat at their place in Puerto Rico several times. Once the husband was telling us that Sol was very bad. Meanwhile, Rose was defending her brother. For one hour, X, Sudha and I enjoyed their fight. The food was ready, but we could not eat until their fight was over!

Part V — The first messages

New Year's Message for the year 1966

Out of the pure fulness of the heart, may the lips of Truth speak and the hands of Truth act in the year 1966.

The New Year — what can it teach us? It can teach us the secret of spiritual self-reliance. It can teach us how we ourselves can be our Masters and Saviours.

From the New Year we can learn that God is God only when God is OUR God and not MY God. From the New Year we can learn that Truth is Truth only when Truth is OUR Truth and not MY Truth.

At every moment it is we who can make ourselves a blessing to ourselves and to the world at large.

May the universal embrace of the New Year flower into a permanent smile of Victory on the Face of the Supreme.

1 January 1966

Motto of the Aum Centres

Man is Infinity’s Heart.

Man is Immortality’s Life.

New Year's Message for the year 1967

Arise! Your Lord Supreme is crying for you.

In the Sea of Transcendental Consciousness.

March! It is you who will realise your Lord Supreme in this very life.

In this life of yours here on earth.

```

Anniversary message of 13 April 1967

My spiritual children,

If I have Power, if I have Peace, if I have Delight,

O my sweet children,

Part VII — Appendix

Some members of the Indian Consulate 1964-1967

Dr. S. Gupta: Consul General of India. Dr. Gupta succeeded S. K. Roy. He was very well educated, with a Ph.D. from Oxford University. Before he joined the Indian Foreign Service, he was Professor of History at Allahabad University.

Mr. Lakhan L. Mehrotra: Consul (Passport and Visa). A scholar of ancient history, a linguist and a poet, Mr. Mehrotra was appointed lecturer at Allahabad University in the Department of Indian History. He became a member of the Indian Foreign Service in 1958. As Director of the Northern Division in the Ministry of External Affairs, he was the main advisor to the Dalai Lama when the latter sought refuge in India. He was later appointed Chargé d’Affaires of the Indian Embassy in Beijing, during which time he successfully negotiated for normalisation of India’s relations with China. From 1962-66 he served as Consul of India in New York with interim assignments as Chargé d’Affaires of India in Mexico and Cuba. In 1966 he was transferred from New York to Moscow as First Secretary. His distinguished career later included posts as Ambassador of India to Argentina and High Commissioner of India to Sri Lanka. He then became Secretary, Ministry of External Affairs, New Delhi. He is now retired and lives with his wife, Sheela, in India. Since meeting him again in 1977, when Mr. Mehrotra was Consul General of India in San Francisco, Sri Chinmoy has maintained a very close friendship with him. Sri Chinmoy visited him at his official residence in Sri Lanka in 1989 and they have met frequently in New York. The two correspond and exchange their literary works regularly.

Mr. P. A. Nazareth: Consul (Passport and Visa). In 1966, Mr. Nazareth succeeded Mr. Mehrotra. Mr. Nazareth has since served the Indian Government in many countries. In March 1987, he and his wife were special guests at a programme dedicated to India held at the United Nations in New York. This was sponsored by Sri Chinmoy: The Peace Meditation at the United Nations. Sri Chinmoy met him again in Cairo in 1989 when Mr. Nazareth was serving as Ambassador of India to Egypt. He then became the Indian Ambassador to Mexico. His wife’s name is Isabel and he has a son, Anand, and a daughter, Pramila. Mr. Nazareth is now retired and living in India.

Mr. Bhalla: Consul (Administration).

Mr. Nirmaljit Singh: Consul (Information). He later died in a car accident.

Mr. Dhawan: Attaché (Administration). A strict disciplinarian and a somewhat feared figure at the Consulate, Mr. Dhawan was later transferred back to India.

The following twelve staff members all worked in the same office of the Passport and Visa Section as Sri Chinmoy during the years 1964-1967:

Mr. C. G. K. Menon: Section Officer. He now works for American Express in Fort Lauderdale.

Mr. Anil K. Mukherjee: Section Officer under Mr. Mehrotra. He was later transferred back to Delhi.

Mr. Krishan Chandra: Assistant in the Passport and Visa Section. He later succeeded Mr. Mukherjee as Section Officer. Sri Chinmoy saw him again in Toronto in 1984.

Mr. N. C. Acharya: Assistant in the Passport and Visa Section. Sri Chinmoy gave the name Bela to his daughter. In 1989 Sri Chinmoy lifted him at the Penta Hotel in Manhattan. He now lives part of the time in India and part of the time in the USA. He trained most of the members of the Passport and Visa Section.

Mr. B. Ramamoorthy: Assistant in the Passport and Visa Section. He resigned in June 1966 to take up a lectureship in Economics at Corning Community College. He was subsequently Assistant Professor of Economics at Johnson State College in Vermont and Commonwealth University in Virginia. He has maintained an extremely close connection with Sri Chinmoy over the years. He is presently a business consultant and lives in Elmhurst with his wife, Lakshmi, and two sons, Madhu and Raghu.

Mr. Krishan Dhanda: Assistant in the Passport and Visa Section. He now lives in New Jersey.

Rev. Vincent Jovial: Assistant in the Passport and Visa Section. A Gujarati and a Christian priest.

Mr. Takore: Assistant in the Passport and Visa Section.

Mr. Kapoor: Assistant in the Passport and Visa Section.

Miss Kailash Narang: Assistant in the Passport and Visa Section.

Mrs. Carol Coutinhoe: Secretary.

Miss Vijaya Ramaswamy: Junior clerk. After many years, she visited Sri Chinmoy at his home to seek blessings for her child.

Other staff members:

Mr. Shivaram Trichur: Clerk (Accounts). Shivaram worked on the 4th floor of India House. He resigned in August 1964. He saw Sri Chinmoy again in 1970 at York University when he attended one of Sri Chinmoy’s lectures. He presently runs an Indian restaurant, Annapurna, in Toronto with his wife, Devavira, and is the leader of the Sri Chinmoy Centre in Toronto. He visits Sri Chinmoy every few weeks and is extremely close to him.

Mr. Ramachandran Sastri: Shivaram’s brother. He worked as a clerk in the Consulate. He and his mother came to see Sri Chinmoy in New York in 1990 and Sri Chinmoy lifted them.

Mr. B. R. Gupta: Caretaker, India House. He gave Sri Chinmoy his first camera. He passed away in 1993.

Mr. Sher Singh: Security guard, India House. He sold Sri Chinmoy his first harmonium for $7. He was formerly a security officer in the Ministry of Home Affairs in India, but after his three years of service in New York were completed, he resigned from the government. He now works as a super­visor in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and lives in Queens.

Ms. Mehru Jesia: Receptionist. She later married B. R. Gupta. She now lives in Queens. She came to see Sri Chinmoy at his tennis court when Mr. Mehrotra visited in 1991.

Mr. Ben Macwan: Assistant (Administration). He came to Sri Chinmoy’s 25th Anniversary function in Manhattan in 1989. He passed away in 1992.

Mr. Master: Librarian. He resigned in 1967 to work at a university library.

Mr. Ananda Mohan: Assistant to Consul (Information Section). He was also a journalist. He wrote a biography of Indira Gandhi. He and Sri Chinmoy have met many times over the intervening years.

Mr. Iqbal Singh: Security guard.

Mr. Ashok Choksi: Accounts Section. He prepared Sri Chinmoy’s paychecks.

Mr. C. R. Seshu: Assistant Director (Commercial Section). Now he is Professor of Economics at SUNY, New Paltz, NY. His wife’s name is Rani. He has two sons, Ramana and Murali. He came to see Sri Chinmoy at his tennis court in 1990 with Ramachandran Sastri, and Sri Chinmoy lifted him.

Mr. Balbir Singh Sahni: Assistant Director (Commercial Section). He later married Jean, who was secretary to Consul General S. K. Roy. Now he is Professor of Economics and Director of Graduate Programmes at Sir George Williams University in Montreal.

Mr. P. Ramanathan: Secretary to the Consul General. Sri Chinmoy met him again in 1994. He lives in Teaneck, New Jersey.

Mr. B. K. Sampath: Assistant (Administration). He now lives in Queens.

Mr. Hanu Agarwal: Accounts Section.

Mrs. Smith: Secretary

Mrs. Chipper: Secretary

Mrs. Chopra: Secretary

Some staff members in the Permanent Mission of India to the United Nations during the period 1966-67

Mr. Harshad Acharya: Assistant. The younger brother of N. C. Acharya. Sri Chinmoy shared an apartment near Columbia University with him and one other for six months. He now lives in Queens and came to see Sri Chinmoy in 1993 and 1994.

Editor's preface to the first edition