Author's preface¹

I go to my Mother India for affection, compassion and illumination, and I do get these divine realities in boundless measure in the inner world. But, unfortunately, the outer experiences that I get in India are extremely painful. Alas, my life-boat plies between the confusion-shore and the deception-shore!

The saga of my Gujrati neighbour

From New York to London everything went well. The stewardesses were extremely kind to me in every way. I can give them one hundred out of one hundred. The funniest thing is that they served pizza for vegetarians. They gave me three pieces and they wanted to give me more! Plus it was real pizza.

In London, I went to transfer for the flight to Bombay. Again, it was British Airways, and I got the upper deck once more, so I was very happy.

When I went to my seat, there was an Indian lady, middle-aged, on my right. It was executive class, so there was plenty of room between the seats. I put my small bag in front of me.

The lady said to me, “You cannot do that!”

I asked, “Why?”

“Because I am not feeling well, and I need plenty of room to stretch my legs.”

The bag was right in front of me, and she wanted to put her legs there!

A few minutes later she called the stewardess. “I need a couple of pillows,” she said. She already had one pillow, and so the stewardess brought her another. Then their fight started.

The lady, who was Gujrati, said, “I asked you for a couple of pillows, and you have only brought me one!”

“But you already have one pillow,” the stewardess pointed out.

“I am not feeling well, so I need lots of pillows,” said the lady.

More complaints from the Gujrati Lady

A few minutes later, the Gujrati lady called the stewardess again. She said to the stewardess, “I need aspirin. I am not feeling well.”

“Only aspirin?” the stewardess asked. The stewardess brought two aspirin, and gave her one of them.

The lady cried, “I need four at least!”

The stewardess told her, “I am not authorised to give you four. I can give you at most two. I gave you one, and I am giving you one more.”

“No!” said the lady. “You have to give me as many as I want.”

“No, I cannot do that,” the stewardess said, and she left.

Shaking the whole plane

Can you imagine? The story never ends, and the plane had not yet even started! I was sitting on the aisle, and the Gujrati lady was sitting on the other side near the window. My left foot was in the aisle. It was aching, so I was shaking it a little.

The lady saw me, and she said, “You are not allowed to do that. I am sick, and you are shaking the whole plane.” She was on my right side, and my foot was nowhere near her.

O God, O God, we were still on the ground and I was shaking the whole plane! There were only sixteen seats in our section. I stood up to see if there were any empty seats, but there were none, so I surrendered to my fate. Then I was obedient. I did not shake my foot anymore.

Saved by the head steward

In executive class the seats recline so far back; it is not like economy class where the seats go back two inches. An elderly man, bald-headed like me, was sitting right in front of the Gujrati lady. He pressed the button and went back, leaving a very small gap between his seat and this lady. She also could have reclined her seat in the same way; everybody can do it.

The man was near me, so I could easily see him. He fell asleep in five minutes, and he started snoring very loudly, perhaps deliberately — God knows! The lady began shaking his seat, and then afterwards she started shaking his shoulder, saying, “Stop snoring!” I was sure that he was ignoring her; otherwise, the way she was shaking his shoulder, he would have been furious. But he stayed fast asleep.

Again she called the stewardess. This time her complaint was, “He is snoring! He is making so much noise and not allowing me to sleep.”

I buried my head in my palms and said, “O God, what am I going to do?” There was no seat empty.

Then a man came to me and said he was the head of the stewards. He asked, “How do you pronounce your name? Do you say Ghosé or Ghose?”

I said, “My name is Ghose, not Ghosé.”

He pulled me by the left shoulder and whispered, “Are you comfortable?”

Very quietly I told him, “She is torturing me.” He said, “Let me go downstairs.” Downstairs also there was executive class. He came back and said, “There are three seats empty. Where is your bag?”

He carried my small bag and took me downstairs. Then I got excellent treatment. Three seats were empty and nobody was there to bother me. Behind the seat of the person in front of you there is a television screen. You just pull it out and you can watch whatever is on the big screen. And the seats are so comfortable. So I was the happiest person, and I was far, far away from that crazy lady!

The Gujrati lady's parting blessing

At the end of the flight, when I was gathering up my things, I remembered that I had left a small bag upstairs. It had some candy bars and newspapers inside. When I approached my former seat, the Gujrati lady asked, “Where have you been?”

I just smiled at her. Then she said, “Shame on you, shame on you!”

That was her parting blessing.

Three minutes becomes twenty

When I reached Bombay, I wanted to go to a hotel nearby named Samraj. I was going to be in Bombay for three hours, and I wanted to stay in the hotel for two hours. At the airport I asked a hotel representative, “How much do you charge for two hours?”

The man said, “Eight hundred rupees.”

I asked, “For half a day there is no special rate? I will be there only for two hours.”

He told me, “No, this is our fixed rate.”

I decided to go anyway. I asked, “How long does it take to get there from here?”

The man said, “It takes only three minutes.”

“Then please take me,” I told him.

He said, “Just wait, the coach is coming.”

Five minutes went by, then ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes. Finally, I said to the man, “Instead of the coach, let me take a taxi.” I was ready to give him money, but he said, “We do not take money here. We only make arrangements for the hotel.”

After twenty minutes had passed I got disgusted. I said, “I am going to another travel agency to make arrangements.”

He cried, “No, no, no.” At that moment, somebody came and said the coach was there. Instead of three minutes, it became twenty minutes!

God, allow me to see my dearest sister

When I arrived at the hotel, they asked me to pay in advance, so I gave them eight hundred rupees. Then they asked me, “At what time do you wish to leave?”

I answered, “I want to leave this place at three o’clock.”

They said, “Oh yes, we shall call you at three o’clock.”

I told them three, but I knew that if I left at 3:15, it would also be all right. The plane was due to leave at 4:30. It was only three minutes from there and I had my ticket. In the room I took out my timer. I said, “In case they do not call me, I will use this.” So I set the timer.

Then I called my brother to find out how my sister was. He said, “She is still alive. You will be able to see her.”

I said, “This is the greatest news I have got.” This was the only message I wanted to hear; I was so happy that she was still alive.

Then I phoned up the nursing home. The nurse shouted, “Lily-di, Lily-di, Chinmoy-da is calling you!” Then she took the phone to my sister, and said, “Say something, say something! Say hello at least or call his name.”

My sister was not able to do me that favour. She could not speak. I thought, “The boat is sinking. Before I touch the destination, before I reach Pondicherry, she cannot even say hello. She is so sick.” I was praying to God: “Since I have taken such trouble to come to see my dearest sister, God, allow me at least to see her.”

The expensive phone calls

The two phone calls that I made to Pondicherry from Bombay were not even one minute long. The first time I only asked my brother how my sister was. Then I dialed the nursing home. At the nursing home, my sister did not even come to the phone. But the hotel charged me for four minutes per call. Then I placed a phone call to New York. The hotel operator dialed the wrong number. When I challenged them, they denied it, and before I came downstairs, they changed the number on my bill. I happened to see that on their copy the incorrect telephone number was still there.

So they told me lies. They said that because somebody answered the phone in New York, I had to pay two hundred rupees, even though it was a wrong number. Plus I had to pay more than six hundred rupees for the two calls I made to Pondicherry, which should have been forty or fifty rupees. So in the Bombay hotel, deception started.

Speeding to Pondicherry

The plane to Madras was delayed by an hour and a half. From Madras to Pondicherry it takes three and a half hours if you drive very fast. One of my close friends came to take me. He always comes. He is such a kind friend. He was waiting for me at the airport and he said, “At ten o’clock the nursing home closes. After that they do not allow visitors.”

I said, “What are you going to do?”

He said, “I will drive as fast as possible, and Mother will protect us.”

I said, “Yes, Mother will protect us.”

On the way two or three times big lorry trucks unnecessarily blocked us. He used all his Indian mantras, but the trucks did not listen. Whenever he got the opportunity, he drove very fast. Where it says you cannot drive more than 35 miles per hour, he was going very fast.

I said, “Let us hope and hope that we can reach Pondicherry in time.”

The ten o'clock closing time

At five minutes to ten, my friend and I arrived at the nursing home. I forgot that I had knee trouble. There were three staircases inside the building. One was short but the other two were long. I went practically running up the stairs. There were nurses and servants in the hallway and I said, “I have come to see my sister.”

They said, “No, it is past ten o’clock.”

“My watch says five minutes to ten,” I said and I showed them my watch.

They replied, “No, ours says ten o’clock.”

I said, “I am coming all the way from America to see my dying sister.”

They said, “Come tomorrow at eight o’clock.”

I looked around and saw a huge picture of the Mother. With such devotion I looked at her picture, and the Mother saved me. When they saw me with folded hands praying to the Mother, they said, “All right, we have changed our mind. You can be there, but only for two minutes.”

I said, “Two minutes is too much. Just allow me to see her.”

Swimming in a sea of tears

When they took me into my sister’s room, my sister was eagerly waiting for me. As soon as she saw me, she started screaming with joy. There were tears in her eyes. She became hysterical. I placed my hand on her head and started blessing her. She immediately grabbed my hand, pulled it down and placed it on her heart. She pressed my hand against her chest. Both of us were swimming in a sea of tears. She told me that she did not want to live on earth any longer. Now that she had seen me once more, she wanted to go to the other world.

I said, “No, you have to stay on earth. Your soul wants you to stay.”

We were together for perhaps three or four minutes. We created a scene! Then they sent a servant to knock at the door to remind me that it was closing time. He was knocking at the door very hard. I opened it and said to him, “There are four patients in this room. All of them are sick. What are you doing?”

He said, “But two minutes are up.”

I said, “You could not have come here and whispered?”

When I was leaving, my sister was so happy and, at the same time, she was so miserable that I had to leave her.

The nurses told me again, “Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock you can return.”

The kind and compassionate doctor

That night I did not have a wink of sleep. I did not have even one minute’s rest. I was extremely tired, but I was so happy to remain awake so that I could go and see my sister and we could have a good talk. I had promised her that I would be there at eight o’clock. The next morning finally arrived. Exactly at eight, I presented myself at the nursing home. I was so eager to see my sister.

One of the nurses said to me, “What are you doing here?”

I said, “I was told to come at eight o’clock.”

The nurse said, “No, the visiting hours are between four and seven in the afternoon.”

I said, “Last night they told me to come back at eight o’clock.”

She would not allow me to see my sister. Then I said, “All right, let me see what I can do.” I sat on a chair in the hallway for about ten minutes. “O God, is this to be my fate?” I thought.

All of a sudden, a lady wearing a sari appeared and said, “Ah, Chinmoy-da, what are you doing? Why are you here? I am Doctor Salila. What are you doing here? You did not go to see your sister today?”

I said, “I am not allowed. Last night I came at five minutes to ten. At first they did not allow me. Finally, with greatest difficulty, they allowed me. Then they told me to come at eight o’clock, but now I cannot go to see her.”

The doctor said, “You go and tell them that I am the doctor. Any time you want to come, you can come, and as long as you want to stay, you can stay. I am giving you permission.”

I said, “The nurses will not believe me.” Then Dr. Salila called one nurse and introduced me, “This is Chinmoy-da. Any time he wants to come, he can come here, and he can stay as long as he wants to.”

She is one of the main doctors. There are two doctors: Dr. Datta, who is from Calcutta, and Dr. Salila. Both of them are extremely, extremely, extremely kind to me.

My experiences in the nursing home

I went to see my sister, and we chatted for about an hour. Then a nurse came and said, “Now we have to bathe her, so you go out for some time.”

I said, “I am going to stay outside. Will you kindly inform me when I can come back in?”

The nurse said, “Definitely.”

My sister was not the only patient in that room. There were three more patients. The lady right by her on the left side was constantly screaming so loudly: “Yeeah, yeeah.”

I asked my sister, “What is wrong with her?”

My sister said, “Somehow she was responsible for her husband’s death. She poisoned her husband or she did something, so now she is getting the karma back.”

I asked, “How do you know?”

My sister told me, “We hear from people that she was responsible.”

While the lady was sleeping, she was quiet. Otherwise, when she was awake at every moment she was screeching very loudly: “Yeeah, yeeah.”

Another patient does not sleep at all. The doctor confided to me that this lady is mentally unbalanced. Unfortunately, I had to pass by her to see my sister. On one occasion, the lady said to me, “Is she your sister?”

I said, “Yes, she is my sister.”

Then she said, “How is she? Is she still alive? Then no problem, my mother is in Heaven. My mother will take care of her.”

Her mother will take care of my sister, and my sister is still alive? All kinds of rubbish things she was telling me. I had to pass by her to see my sister, and she would always say something crazy. This was my experience at the nursing home.

Our family friend

At the nursing home, I went to visit a lady who is our family friend. It was at her place that I met our great Ashram sage, Anirvan, when I was very young. She is twenty years older than I am. Her younger son is extremely close to me.

As soon as I went there, she said, “Chinmoy, Chinmoy, Chinmoy, come and bless me. I need your blessingful presence.”

I said, “Oh no, I cannot bless you. I am praying to the Mother and Sri Aurobindo to bless you.”

Then she said, “Let me see how soft your hand is.”

I knew she was playing a trick on me. Her son was there in the room, and he said, “You should allow my mother to touch your hand.”

So I gave her my hand. She immediately grabbed it and put it on her head.

My bicycle teacher

I also went to see another old man who was there. He said to me, “Ah, who are you?”

I said, “Chinmoy-da. Do you remember me? I came to the Ashram in 1944, and it was you who taught me how to ride a bicycle.”

Then he said to me, “I taught you how to ride a bicycle. Now you are teaching the whole world how to run!”

So that incident he did remember, but when I first stood before him, he could not recognise me!

I am mistaken for my brother

The main doctor took me from one patient to another, introducing me. One fellow was the funniest. He is now an old man, but in his youth he was very, very strong. The doctor said to him, “This is Chinmoy-da.”

“Who is it?” the old man asked.

“Hriday’s youngest brother,” the doctor replied. Then the old man said to me, “How are you, Hriday? And how is Chinmoy? Oh, I am sorry. Chinmoy is long dead!”

Shopping for Lily

Every day I went at least four or five times to see my sister. I would arrive at eight o’clock and spend an hour or so. I would return at 10:30, and again at 12:30 and six or seven o’clock. When I first arrived in Pondicherry, she could not get up from her bed, but when I went there the following morning, she was ready to walk. About fifteen metres she walked and sat on a chair to chat with me properly.

All of a sudden, as she was talking, she said that she did not like the garments that the nursing home had given her to wear. The petticoat was no good and she did not like their nightgowns. I said, “You do not have to worry. I will go and buy some for you.”

Immediately I went to the market. I have never bought petticoats before. My sister said that they had to be light and they had to look nice. I went to six or seven stores, begging them to give me very light ones made of cotton or silk. With greatest difficulty, I got six petticoats and six nightgowns, but not from one store. Happily I brought them back to my sister.

But she liked only two nightgowns and one petticoat. Then she said, “Take the rest back to New York.”

I said, “I do not take petticoats for the girls.”

She said, “No, you have to take them. I do not like them.”

Then I told her, “As soon as I go back to New York, I will find light ones, nice ones, and I will immediately send them to you.”

The callous nurses

How callous some nurses can be! My sister wanted to eat at six o’clock, but they do not give food until seven. When I saw that she was so hungry, I tried to talk to the nurses, but they ignored me. I called them, saying, “Sister” or “Hello,” but they just passed by me.

I said, “This is too much.”

The following day I went to the doctor. The doctor was very kind and full of admiration for me. The doctor got furious: “What can you do with these people? We have some Ashramites here but the rest of the nurses are from outside. They are paid nurses. The paid ones are so bad.”

Recently, I sent from New York seven or eight kinds of vitamins for my sister, as well as eggnog, which the Mother took for three years. Three hours before the Mother passed on, the last thing she took was eggnog, according to one of her assistants.

This time I gave more vitamins and eggnog to the doctor, and he assured me that they would give them to my sister. Then I discovered that for two days they did not give anything to my sister. I asked her, and she said, “No, no, they have not given me anything.”

When I told the doctor, the doctor got furious. He asked one of the nurses in front of me if she had given the vitamins and the nurse admitted she had not given them. The doctor said to me, “We can only get angry with them. If we fire them, we will have nobody.”

One nurse said that they gave the vitamins inside some milk, but my sister did not take the milk. They said, “Is it our fault she did not drink it?”

I said, “Can you not tell my sister when you are giving the vitamins that they are from her brother?” The main doctor told the nurses, “Definitely you have to say these things are from Chinmoy-da.”

So they agreed they would tell my sister. Now they do mention it. Three different things they give, and each time my sister knows that it is coming from me.

The two main doctors are so nice. They have such love and admiration for me, but some nurses were so bad!

Glimpses of the other world

I was begging them to keep my sister in the nursing home. Lately for ten days Lily remains in the nursing home, and then for five days or so she goes home. Over the last few months, five or six times she has done this. I begged the doctors, only if she is much better should they allow her to go home. The problem is that as soon as she feels a little better, she fights with the doctors, and then she goes home. At home her condition gets worse. Then they bring her back to the nursing home.

Some days my sister and I would be talking together in a normal way. All of a sudden she would say, “Ah, it is so beautiful, I can see such a beautiful room with flowers, and Hriday and Ahana are there.” She would say that my brother and sister, who are no longer alive, were already talking to her.

I would say, “No, they are not here. I do not want that place, I do not like that place.”

One moment she is all right, and suddenly she will see my brother Hriday and sister Ahana and a beautiful house filled with flowers. She is having a glimpse of the other world. Otherwise, she is quite normal, but weak.

A fight with the maid

One day my sister had a fight with the maid, not the nurse. When I went to visit her, my sister made complaints that the maid had struck her. I asked the maid what had happened.

The maid said, “At two o’clock in the morning, she wanted to get out of her bed. I did not want her to get out. Where would she go at that hour? I was not allowing her to get up, so she struck me.”

I said, “But my sister is telling me that you struck her.”

The maid said, “In order to keep her in the bed, I slapped her three times.” I was in between the maid and my sister; both had complaints against the other.

The out-of-order phone

During my entire visit our home phone was out of order. I had to go to a booth outside in the street to place calls. There you have to stand in a long queue. People were making phone calls to Calcutta, Bombay and other places. You can give them the number you want or you can dial it yourself, and it is absolutely as if you are dialing a local number. It is called ISD. Immediately you get a connection, but you have to wait your turn in the queue.

So many times we went to the telephone office to ask them to repair our phone. Then one day one of the men where I made ISD calls said, “Just give them twenty rupees.”

I said, “Twenty rupees? Is that all? I am going there immediately.”

I went to the office and gave them fifty rupees. They promised it would be fixed. On other days when I went there, they said in a vague way, “Yes, we shall do it.”

After some time I tried to call home to see whether they had kept their promise, but the phone was not working. Again, I went to the office. Finally they sent a repair man the day I was leaving. I gave him another forty rupees as soon as he came. I said, “Now start working.”

He started, and in ten minutes he fixed it. Then I called the manager in Madras. I said, “Our phone is always out of order.”

The manager said, “What do you do?”

I said, “My brother goes to the office here and gives them some money. Then the phone works for two weeks and stops. Then again he goes to the office and gives them money.”

The manager said, “That is the mistake your brother makes.”

I said, “That is what we have to do. If my brother did not give them any money, God knows how many months they would take.”

Everywhere in the Madras-Pondicherry area, the telephone workers disconnect the phones deliberately so that they can get some tip. How horrible they are!

My eternal friendship with the rickshaw world

Now comes the story of my eternal friendship with the rickshaw world. My brother said, “You have so much money. For God’s sake, do not argue with the poor rickshaw-wallahs.”

I said, “I promise I will not argue with them. I will tell them, ‘Whatever you say’.”

Unfortunately, when I would say to the rickshaw-wallahs, “Whatever you say, I will give,” they would say, “No, you have to tell.”

What could I do? I said, “Last time I gave you ten rupees per hour. This time I am ready to give you fifteen rupees per hour, and each time I hire you, it will be for two hours. So I will give you thirty rupees.”

The rickshaw-wallahs were overjoyed: thirty rupees they would get. I told them, “Now, only do me a favour and do the right thing.”

Usually four or five rickshaws would be right in front of my house. I would say, “I need only one,” but each day at least four would be waiting. Then I had to choose among them. When I chose one, I got the ‘blessings’ from the others. They would say nasty things to me, and they were ready to beat up the one that I chose. But how could I take four rickshaws?

Two narrowly avoided accidents

This time I was saved from two very serious accidents while I was riding in a rickshaw. Once a bicycle came and dashed against the rickshaw. I thought that we would fall down, but the cyclist fell down instead. I told the rickshaw-wallah, “Stop! Let us see whether he is hurt.”

He said he would not stop because the cyclist was the one who had dashed against us, and he went on.

The second incident was absolutely the most dangerous. As usual, I was sitting in a relaxed way and my right knee was outside the rickshaw. A motorbike was coming directly towards us on the right side. I thought, “O my God, my right knee will be finished!”

The motorcycle stopped within one foot of the rickshaw. If the driver had come a little closer, my right knee would have been smashed. Luckily, nothing happened and I was saved.

Caught in the middle

Another day I took a rickshaw early in the morning. A man followed us screaming that he was the owner of that rickshaw. He was asking the rickshaw-wallah to give him twenty rupees. The driver said, “No, I have just started.”

The owner said, “Yesterday you did not give me the money. You have to give me twenty rupees at least. Otherwise, I will not allow you to use the rickshaw.”

Already I was one mile away from my house. I said, “I am supposed to give the money to the rickshaw-wallah. Instead, let me give the money to you.”

But the rickshaw-wallah, the one who was pulling me, said, “No, if you give him the money, he will not give it to me.”

There was a fight between the owner and the rickshaw-wallah. The owner did not want him to drive the rickshaw. Poor me! I was completely lost between the two. I was ready to give the money. The one who was driving was asking me not to give the owner money, but the owner wanted to have money from me. I said, “I really do not know what to do.”

Finally the owner went away, hating this fellow, and we continued on to the nursing home. When I came out after two hours, I gave the driver his money. I had said that I would give thirty rupees, but then I would always give the drivers forty rupees to make them happy.

Deceived by the rickshaw-wallah

It would take ten minutes to bring me to the nursing home, and the rickshaw-wallah was supposed to wait for me. I booked the drivers for two hours. One day I took a rickshaw to the nursing home, and before I went upstairs, I said to the driver, “Please stay here.”

The driver said, “Definitely I will wait.”

I saw my sister, and we talked and talked for half an hour. Then the nurses said that they had to bathe her. I said, “Then let me go out, and afterwards I will come back.”

The weather was so unbearably hot. It was the coldest season, they said, but for me it was so hot. When I went down, there was no rickshaw. I walked for about half a mile in the hot sun looking for a rickshaw, and eventually I found another one, so I got in. I said, “Now drive me to a place where I can get something to eat.”

On this trip I did not eat at home. My cousins were so sad and upset. I said it was difficult for me to eat at home because my sister was not there. I used to take idli or masala dosa and tea at a particular restaurant. The driver was taking me there. After we had covered practically a mile and a half, the driver that first brought me saw us and started screaming, “I am your driver. I am coming back to get you.”

I said, “Now, look here, already a mile and a half I have covered. What were you doing?”

The man said, “I was hungry. I went to eat.”

I said, “You were not supposed to be there waiting for me?”

Instead of replying, the first driver began screaming at the second, asking him to leave so that I could go into the first rickshaw. I said, “I am not going into your rickshaw. You have fooled me.”

There was a real fight between the two. Then the first one said, “Now you have to give me ten rupees, since I brought you to the nursing home.”

I got so mad. I said, “I am going to give you five rupees. You brought me, but it was only a ten-minute ride, so I am giving you five rupees.” I was so mad that I had to walk so far in that heat.

I gave him the five rupees. We did not go even twenty metres, before the first driver came again, saying, “It is false, false! It is no good, no good.” He gave me back my five rupees.

I said, “All right,” and I gave him another five rupees. I threw away the ‘false’ coin that he had returned. Then the driver came down from his rickshaw and collected the first coin.

I said, “I knew it was not false. You wanted to have ten rupees. For God’s sake, take your ten rupees!”

The story continues

I went to the restaurant to eat. I ordered rose milk, masala dosa and tea. The street was right in front of me, not even ten metres away. I saw that there were many drivers keeping their cycles and rickshaws at that place. The restaurant gave me very fast service. In three or four minutes they gave me the food, and another ten minutes I took to finish my meal. I ate very happily.

When I went back to the rickshaw, the fellow told me his sad story: he had gone out to eat. When he came back, somebody had taken away the cushion or seat of the rickshaw. People were saying that the place was illegal, so the police had come and taken it away.

I looked at the seat inside the rickshaw. Now it was a hard surface, and it was so uneven. I said, “I will not be able to sit there. I am giving you the money because the seat is gone. I will find another rickshaw.”

He said, “No, if you do not go with me to prove that I was waiting for you, the police will not give me my seat back.”

I said, “What am I going to do with this fellow? He is begging me. If I do not go with him to the police station, he will not get the pillow back.”

The police station was out of my way. It was God knows where! We were driving and driving, and I was being tortured because of the hard seat. I have such a bad back. Sometimes I tried not to sit; I stayed two or three inches above the wood because it was hurting me. And in three places there were nails! Usually the pillow covers everything. This is how I was enjoying my journey.

I decided that since the police had taken the pillow away, whatever the police charged, I would give the money to the driver. He also had a bald head. I said, “Poor fellow.”

We went to the police station and asked the police for the pillow. The police scolded and insulted him: “As if we have nothing else to do than to bring your pillow here!” Then I spoke to the police chief. He said, “No, we do not do this kind of thing.”

Some people had told the driver that the police took it away, but it was not true. Then I was begging him, “Please, this time take me to my house.”

For another fifteen minutes we drove on, and I could not sit because it was all wood and nails. He did not get his pillow. I think the other fellow, the first driver, followed us and removed the pillow to punish me because I did not wait for him. When we reached my home at long last, instead of thirty, I gave the driver fifty rupees. I said, “God knows when he will get his pillow.”

Lord Krishna's favourite flower

One day when I was in a rickshaw going home, a lady said to me, “Chinmoy-da, stop, stop.”

I could not recognise her. She asked, “How are you?”

I said, “I am fine.”

She said, “No, you are not fine.”

I asked, “Why?”

She told me, “Because I can see. Your eyes are red and something is wrong with you.”

I said, “I have got a little fever, but there is nothing wrong.”

She had a few flowers. She gave me one flower which was the most favourite flower of Lord Krishna when he used to meet with the gopis. She said, “Here, this is Krishna’s most favourite flower. If you take it and put it on your head, then you will be all right.”

I said, “Even now I cannot recognise you.”

She said, “You cannot recognise me because you are so great. How will you remember? Do you remember Kanak?”

I said, “Yes.”

She said, “I was very young. You were so fond of my uncle. Do you remember my uncle?”

I said, “Yes. I was so fond of Joganananda.”

She told me, “I was one of his nieces. Now do you recognise me?”

I said, “Yes, where are Bokul and the others?”

She said, “They are all out of the Ashram. They are not here. They got married, this and that, but I am still here. I remember you. You take this flower and you will be all right.”

So I was very nice to her. In those days she was so thin, but now she has become extremely fat.

My cousin's colleague

I had gone another half a mile, when another girl called out: “Chinmoy-da, stop, stop!”

I said, “I am sorry, but I do not know you.”

She said, “You do not know me, but I know you. I work with your cousin Soma at the Ashram press. I have read some of your books. You were brought up here. You are such a great man. I have been begging her to bring me to your place, but she will not listen. She says she comes to your place and she does not see you. You are such a big shot, you do not speak to people.”

I said, “Fine, fine. Whatever my cousin has said is true.”

She said, “I want to speak to you.”

I said, “I am sorry, but I am very busy with my sister.”

She said, “All right, since I have seen you, I am very happy. Now I can feel that I have seen a really great man.”

She never saw me at the Ashram when I lived there. She came afterwards.

Nolini's assistant and his sisters

I gave my book of talks at the United Nations to one family. That family was very close to us. There are three sisters and one brother. When I left the Ashram in 1964, Nolini made this young boy his assistant to take care of his mail and so on. I studied with him and we did sports together. His older sisters were extremely nice to me from the very beginning. Their names are Priti, Tapati and Arati. Arati is a professor at the Ashram university. She is older than I am by two years, I think. Once when I was going to the nursing home, I saw her. She said, “Tomorrow I am going to take the book to show my students and tell them all about you.”

The admirers

One day I was supposed to go and visit the Head of the Physical Education Department at nine o’clock. I was at the nursing home, and my sister was not doing well, so I decided to go the following day.

At eleven o’clock they called me to say that Pranab-da was waiting for me. I said, “I am so sorry. It is eleven o’clock. Please forgive me. I will come tomorrow.”

Pranab-da came on the line and said, “No, you have to come today.”

I said, “Why?”

He said, “You have so many foreign admirers. In their own countries they cannot approach you. When they came to know that you would visit me, they asked if they could be present. They have been waiting here since 8:30 to see you.”

I said, “O my God, O my God!”

So I went to visit my friend. One foreign admirer was from Africa. God knows how he heard about me! One was from Manchester, and somebody else was from New Zealand. There were these three non-Indians, plus a few Indians. I was supposed to go there at nine o’clock, so from 8:30 they had been waiting with the hope of seeing me.

When I arrived, the visitor from Manchester approached me with folded hands. He begged me to have a photo taken with them. He said, “We know so much about you in England, but we can never come near you. Now that you are here, and people said you are accessible, we wanted to see you. Please allow us to have a picture taken with you.”

Unfortunately, my friend Pranab-da is now confined to his chair. When the visitors saw that we could not all be in the picture together, they said, “Let us at least have a picture of you and Dada together.”

They took two very nice pictures of Pranab-da and me sitting side by side.

My two brothers

I always ate out, but my brothers would never eat out. Chitta would cook something for Mantu, and they would eat at home. Our two cousins are so close to us, but Chitta will not take food prepared by them, and Mantu eats whatever Chitta cooks. Lily is seventy-two or seventy-three and Chitta is nearing his eighties. God knows what he cooks — potatoes and other things! Many, many years ago Chitta used to cook when he was working at our bank. Whatever food the Ashram gives, they eat, plus Chitta’s food, and they buy fruits, such as bananas and papayas.

My cousins brought prepared food for me. But I did not take it. I said, “It is very sentimental. My sister is not here. That is why I do not feel like eating at home. I am so happy to go out to eat.” They were very sad. I said “When my sister is not here, it is too much for me.”

I went to a restaurant once or twice a day to eat masala dosa, rose milk, sambhar and tea.

The sari store owner's false devotion

Early one morning, around seven o’clock, I went to a restaurant. They gave me three idlis and sambhar. They did not have rose milk, so I asked them to give me lemonade. The prices were cheaper at this restaurant and they were very nice.

After breakfast, I told the rickshaw-wallah, “Take me to the bazaar.”

He said, “It is not open. At eight o’clock nothing is open. It opens at nine or nine-thirty.”

I said, “Take me slowly, and I will just see nature’s beauty. In the afternoon I will come back.”

I saw one particular sari store. The owner had opened the door a little, and he was praying so devotedly with folded hands. He was not paying any attention to people passing by. All the other stores were closed. I did not want to buy anything. I did not even have money; only a small amount I had taken with me. I said, “He is such a nice man. Let me see the name of the store, and I may come back.” This was my stupidity.

O God, the man happened to see me and said, “Oh no, no, no, do not drive away! I was praying to God, and God has listened to my prayer. You have come!”

I said, “This is not the right time. Your store is not yet open.”

The owner said, “No, God has listened to my prayers. Please, please, come inside.”

I said, “I have no money.”

He said, “You do not have to give me money now.”

I said, “I have very limited money. I cannot buy anything.”

Hostile forces always make fun of me! I chose a few saris, mostly to please him. I had only 120 rupees with me. He said, “You give me 100. Afterwards when you come back, you will give me the rest.”

The man put the saris in a bundle, and packed them very, very nicely. I said, “All right. I trust you, and you trust me. You have got 100 rupees. I trust you to such an extent, I do not need a receipt from you. You are such a nice man. In the morning you are praying. God knows when I will be back, but during the day I will come. Now I am going to see my sister.”

His whole forehead was besmeared with ashes and white paste. He looked like the greatest devotee. I said, “He is such a nice man.”

Late afternoon came. Already I had gone to see my sister three times. I said, “Let me go back to that store.” My sister was so happy that I was going shopping. She had begged me to go and get saris, but I had said, “This time I am not interested.” When I told her I had bought some, she was very happy.

I went back to the store and got the package. I gave him the money. He was very happy to find such a sincere person. As I was carrying the package out of the shop, all of a sudden, some divine forces acted through me. I said to myself, “The best thing is to count again to see if all the saris are there or not.” To me, the package looked exactly the same; in the morning we had counted everything. But I said to him, “Can you open it?”

The man said, “Why? Can you not see it is the same?”

I said, “Something is telling me. Just open it. I am absolutely sure all are there.” He had given me the receipt and everything.

Reluctantly he opened the package and I counted the saris.

Four saris were missing! I got so furious. I said, “I am calling the police!”

The owner said, “No, no!” He ran into a corner of the store. Those four missing saris he had kept at one particular place. He grabbed them from the corner and brought them to me.

I said, “How could you do this? Police, police!” He deceived me shamelessly. The package looked exactly the same the way he had re-packed it. If you take away only four light saris, how will somebody know? He had tied the cord around the bundle in exactly the same way.

When I was about to come out of the store with the package, the owner, his son and perhaps his grandson were blocking the door with their arms. They said, “You have to drink some soda.” They were afraid that I would tell the police.

I said, “I promise I will not go to the police. You have given me my saris back, so I am not going to the police.”

The owner said, “I know you will not go to the police, but you have to drink some soda.”

I had to wait there for five minutes because they had sent for soda for me. Otherwise, they would not allow me to leave. This is called emotional demand. It was all fear, fear.

For this kind of deception there is something called the law of karma, but the law of karma does not operate immediately. God waits for us to pray to Him for forgiveness; God gives us the scope to pray for forgiveness. Unfortunately, instead of using this time to become better, many people become worse.

Another missing rickshaw

When I came outside with the bundle of saris, my rickshaw was missing. The driver was supposed to be right across the street. Where had he gone? It is my eternal rickshaw fate. There I saw only twenty or thirty bicycles. I was looking this side and that side, but there was no trace of my driver. I said, “What is happening?”

He did not tell me that he would be going somewhere. I had to stay in the store for another ten minutes until the driver came back.

I asked him, “Where did you go?”

He said, “I was hungry.” He had gone to eat. At last, he brought me back home safely. This is India!

Ganesha was not thirsty

While I was in India, magazines, newspapers and radio were telling about statues of Ganesha drinking milk. This miracle happened in many places around the world. But in one case it was not true. About forty metres away from my house there is a Ganesha Mandir. Always I heard the music. It was one house away from our house. Unfortunately, that Ganesha was not thirsty. At every hour of the day and night, women were sleeping in front of the temple and outside on the street, but this particular statue did not accept the milk that they offered.

Avoiding the Florida lady once again

In four days how many sad experiences you can get! I have forgotten to tell you about the Florida lady. She had bothered me so much on my previous trip. I was very happy that she did not come to see me when I arrived.

One day I went to my dearest boss Amrita’s centenary exhibit. The 19th of September was his birthday, so they had an exhibition. It was smaller than the smallest. I was extremely happy that they observed his centenary, but I was so unhappy and sad that it was such a small exhibit. The exhibit was prepared by his youngest niece, Kumuda. If she had not insisted, there would have been nothing.

The exhibit was at the Ashram school. As I came out of the building, the Florida lady screamed: “Ah, Chinmoy, when did you come?”

She greeted me at the Ashram school gate. I said, “Enough, enough, enough!” Then I told the rickshaw-wallah, “Go away from here as fast as possible.”

We drove to the nursing home, and I came home after two hours at least. The Florida lady was waiting in front of my house. I begged her, “I have come here only to see my sister, my dearest sister. Do not bother me.”

This time I hoped she would listen to my prayer.

Plagued by the Florida lady

Every day I would walk two miles early in the morning. Then in the evening at ten o’clock or ten-thirty I would go out again and walk two miles. On my fourth day, I went walking at three-thirty in the morning. After 400 metres, all of a sudden my right foot was aching like anything. The pain was so bad. I said, “How could it be?” Then I said, “All right, God does not want me to walk today.”

I sat down. It was still quite dark; the sun had not risen. I was meditating very powerfully facing the sea. I meditated for about forty-five minutes. I was so happy. Now that I had meditated for forty-five minutes, I could go home.

I stood up. The sun was still not visible. I said, “The best thing is to imagine the sun. Let me take a few stretching exercises.” I was taking stretching exercises, moving my arms and so on. At one point I turned around. Just thirty metres away, the Florida lady was doing the same exercise. I had not seen her before. I was so embarrassed. I said to myself, “Where could she come from?” O God, O God, she was there. I had not seen her when I went there to meditate. Can you imagine?

Then she followed me home. I was walking slowly because I was being cautious. My foot was still aching. I said to her, “I am begging you. Please do not bother me. This time my sister is dying. I am all the time thinking of her. Please, please, please.”

But she would not listen.

Flowers for the Samadhi

On my last day in India, I went to the Samadhi. The man who was in charge of Sri Aurobindo’s room was there. He said to me, “You are not planning to come to Sri Aurobindo’s room this time? You must come.”

I gave him a very sorrowful face. I had been coming to the Samadhi every day. But for Sri Aurobindo’s room there is a fixed hour; only at eleven o’clock can you go there. That was the hour I was more interested in spending with my sister. I could not say anything. The man gave me some flowers. He said, “All right, if you cannot go, I understand.”

I put the flowers on the Samadhi, and I was very, very happy.

Aging Ashramites

When I see the Ashramites who are older than I am, how pitifully they walk! They take four inch-long strides and their whole body bends in different directions. Their faces are completely changed. While walking along the street, out of fifty people I would only see perhaps only one Ashramite that I knew from before. So many people who are older than I am by five or ten years have passed away. Wherever I went, there were all new faces. The old ones have all gone. When I went to the Samadhi, I could not recognise anybody. At the meditation hall, I could not recognise anybody. They are all new.

I think there are practically the same number of Ashramites — 2,000 or so — but most of them are new. People with whom I was brought up have all gone. Even many who were younger than I am have passed away.

My aunt is an exception. She is 95 years old. She is blind; she cannot see at all. She wants to live another five years, and then celebrate her centenary. There are three people who are one hundred years old in the Ashram. Let us see how many years more they can cover.

In India so many people die after the age of fifty years. It is from our Indian heat. If I had stayed more than two months there, I too would have gone to the other world! I suffered so much from the heat. The fan was emitting only hot air. When you stand in front of the Bay of Bengal, it is unbearable. The hot countries that we visit at Christmas are nothing in comparison to Indian heat.

Greatness versus peace

Before I left, one of my friends came to see me. I said to him, “God has given me a few things and God has made me great, but God has given you something which He has not given me.”

My friend asked, “What has He given me?”

I said, “Look at your eyes, look at your face, look at yourself. How peaceful you are! What am I doing? I have thousands of students here, there and everywhere, but I have only worries and anxieties. I am ready to give up all the name and fame that I have and all my disciples. Everything that I have in my possession I am ready to give up if God would give me just a fraction of the peace that you have.”

Then I said to him, “Which one do you want? Name and fame like me or peace?”

He said, “Name and fame I do not want.”

I said, “Do you not feel that you are leading a peaceful life?”

He said, “It is true. I know it and I feel it.”

I said, “I have got name and fame, everything, but I have not got peace.”

My friend looked at me so pathetically. He is of my age. He leads a very simple life. He has such peace inside him. I can see it in his face and in his eyes. I have name and fame; everything I have got. But peace I find only in my meditation. There I go beyond, beyond. In my outer, daily life, I have only worries and anxieties.

No refuge from the Florida lady

On the last day, I went to my sister’s place for an hour. We were talking, talking, talking. My sister was cutting jokes with me and I was cutting jokes with her. She was saying, “Take care of your health. I can see how fat you have become.”

I said, “I have lost weight.”

On the last day, my sister was giving me absolutely so much joy. Alas, the Florida lady! How could she come into my sister’s room at the nursing home? When I saw her, I said, “O my God!” My sister was so sad and upset. Of all people, that lady was coming with some flowers, standing ten metres behind us, near the other patients. I said, “O God, this is too much, too much!”

Then I looked at my sister and I meditated very powerfully for four or five minutes. I said, “I may come once or twice more, but today is the last day. We have cut so many jokes. Now let me meditate. I am not going to pay any attention to that lady. You also do not pay any attention to her. Let us meditate.”

When I was about to leave, the Florida lady said, “Please wait, wait. These flowers are from Sri Aurobindo’s room.”

I was so surprised. I said, “How, how could you get flowers from Sri Aurobindo’s room?”

Then she said, “Oh, they are not actually from Sri Aurobindo’s room, but while I was plucking them, I thought of Sri Aurobindo’s room. So I brought these flowers.”

First she said they were from Sri Aurobindo’s room. Then she said she thought of Sri Aurobindo’s room while plucking them. The last time I went to Sri Aurobindo’s room in January, she was there to bother me. This time I did not go. Perhaps she knew somehow. Perhaps she had been observing me. When I challenged her about the flowers, she said, “No, but I was thinking of Sri Aurobindo’s room when I picked them.”

She brought the flowers near my sister to give them to her, but I got disgusted and I started to move away. Instead of giving the flowers to my sister, that lady had to follow me! Look how sincere her compassion for my sister was!

The doctor's genuine compassion

When I was leaving, the main doctor happened to be there. I said, “I have to talk to you.”

The doctor said, “Please, please come.”

I went to the doctor’s room, and we talked and talked. The doctor was very, very nice. With his compassion he melted my heart. I have no complaint against either of the doctors. While we were talking, I was praying to the Supreme that the Florida lady would leave. When I came out, she was not there. I was so happy.

My friend becomes my bodyguard

I was supposed to leave at five o’clock in the afternoon. By three o’clock I had been to see my sister four times. Around five o’clock I was upstairs putting everything in my suitcase. Since my sister was not there, I had to do everything myself. I had no help. Somebody knocked at the door downstairs. At that hour, the Florida lady had to come!

My brothers opened the door and she came in and sat down. Then my two brothers came to talk to me upstairs. In such a hurry I was getting ready.

My saviour was the driver, who is a very close friend of mine. He dislikes the Florida lady like anything. He opened the front door to take my suitcase from the staircase. He called out, “Chinmoy, why are you so late?”

I said, “I am late because I have no sister here.”

He was shouting from downstairs; I was shouting from upstairs. In Bengali we were shouting at each other. It was all friendship. When the lady saw him, she went out of the house because she knew that he would insult her. She was standing outside. On my previous visit, when she came, I finally gave her some money. This time also she came with the expectation of getting some money.

Last time my friend saw that I was forced to give her something because she was not coming out of our house. At the door, I had given the Florida lady two hundred dollars. This time my friend was my bodyguard. He would not allow me to give any money to her. I came down with some money in my hand, but he ordered me to enter into the car, and I obeyed him. The Florida lady was across the street, so she did not get a chance to get the money.

My two brothers came out. I was very affectionately saying goodbye to them, and the lady was so miserable that I could not give her money. Perhaps she cursed me and that is why everything went wrong at Madras Airport.

Reconfirmation precaution

For my trip back to New York, I had to reconfirm my flights. I do not blame Ashrita, but I blame his fate. His sincerity, his eagerness to do the right thing I appreciate, but the fate that he has is unbearable, and I suffer.

Last time when I went to India from Myanmar, instead of listing my name with a G, it became C: Chose instead of Ghose. This time Ashrita gave me the itinerary. From India I was supposed to come directly via Air India to London. From Madras to Bombay and from Bombay to London, it would be the same plane. The flight number was 101. To reconfirm my flight, I went to a travel agency in the Ashram that is very reliable. The name of it is Auro Travel, and the owner is my very good friend. They are so expert. For twenty-five years they have been in that line.

My friend’s assistant said that no reconfirmation was needed since I was in executive class. He said that reconfirmation is usually only needed if you stay longer than a week, but for executive class it is not needed at all. In my case, it was not necessary. But my friend, the boss, disagreed. He said, “It is necessary. This gentleman is my friend. You have to reconfirm it. If anything goes wrong, it will be our fault.”

My friend, Gautam, has so many assistants. I was sitting right in front of him, and one of his assistants phoned up Madras, telling my name, this and that. Everything was reconfirmed. My flight number was 101.

Waiting at the airport

My friend who was going to drive me to Madras Airport from Pondicherry advised me, “No matter when the flight is, you should be there five hours before.”

I fully agreed with him. I said, “Otherwise, something may go wrong.”

The plane was supposed to leave at 2:15 in the morning. He brought me to the airport at nine o’clock. I said, “Do not worry about me. I will read. I will buy some books.”

I went to the counter and saw that the flight number was 401, instead of 101. The stupid thing is that they do not mention the destination, only the flight number. They should say it is Bombay. Then I went and bought eight or ten books: books of wisdom, books of proverbs and all kinds of things. I sat facing the counter, only fifteen or twenty metres away. People were coming and going.

Around 10:30, long before the scheduled time, I went to the counter and showed my ticket just to check. The man said, “Your ticket says 101. Can you not see this is 401?”

I said, “Yes, it is 401, and mine is 101.”

The man said, “101 is a later flight.”

I believed him.

Tearing up my books to reduce my luggage

I had ten or twelve books. I was reading them, but since they were so thick, I said, “Let me tear out the pages that I want.”

Any place that was important, I ticked off, and then I tore out the pages that I had marked. The man who was sitting beside me asked, “What are you doing?”

I said, “I have to go to America, so I do not wish to carry all these books. They are so heavy.”

These were Chinese proverbs, a book of wisdom, a book of friendship and others. From each book I got perhaps four or five pages.

The man sitting next to me asked, “Can I take these books that you have discarded?”

I said, “Yes, by all means take them.”

So the man took the books, while I kept only a few pages from each one.

Acting on wrong information

Many passengers gathered for flight 401, which departed at eleven o’clock. Around 11:30 I went again to the counter. I said, “Now, tell me, when will the other plane arrive?”

The man said, “What are you saying? Flight 101 leaves from Bombay. Here it is 401.”

I said, “Your colleague told me that flight 101 will be later. Now you are saying he was wrong.”

The man said, “101 is from Bombay.”

I said, “It said 401. Mine was reconfirmed as 101.” I showed them the receipt even.

He said, “It is all over. At 11:00 the plane left for Bombay. From here it was 401. The flight number changes to 101 in Bombay.”

Such wrong information was on my ticket. When my friend called British Airways from Pondicherry, they could have told him at that time. The airport officials were saying to blame British Airways because they issued the ticket.

I said, “Why should I blame British Airways? When I reconfirmed here, at this counter, why did you not check it? When I first showed you my ticket, why did you not tell me that 101 is from Bombay but from here it is 401, even though my ticket says 101?”

Who can deal with these people? They said, “You can go and speak to the duty manager.” The duty manager was a fat lady. I told her everything, and she told me, “It is the fault of British Airways.”

I said, “How can it be? I came to India on British Airways, but I am going back on Air India. When I showed my ticket here at the Air India counter, they told me my flight was later. They could have informed me at that time that flight 401 becomes 101.”

The duty manager insisted, “No, it is not our fault.”

I said, “Somebody has to take the blame. If it is not your fault, then when I came before, at that time why did the man say 101 was later, instead of saying it goes from Bombay?”

She maintained it was not their fault. I said, “What can I do now?”

She said, “Tomorrow morning there is another flight at 7:15 from Bombay to London, but you will miss it. By the time you arrive in Bombay, it will be gone. I can give you a direct flight from here to London. You have to be here tomorrow morning. It leaves at half past seven.”

The departure tax

O God, I had to wait another eight hours at the airport! From time to time, I would go and get tea to stay awake. One I drank was very strong. By this time my books were all finished. I said, “Let me buy two or three newspapers. Since the flight is at 7:30, I should be there at 4:30.” Actually, I was already there, since I was reading and moving around right near the counter. I wanted to be first in line.

At 4:30, I was standing at the counter. Somebody else came around five o’clock. He was a friend of the ticket checker, so he went first. Then I needed to pay the airport departure tax. The man who was in charge of collecting the departure tax was fast asleep. Here I lost my first place. I was knocking and knocking. Finally, he opened up. When I went to pay, I found I did not have enough Indian currency. They needed three hundred rupees. I had only American hundred-dollar bills. The man said to me, “Are you crazy? Why do you want to give me so much money?”

I said, “I do not have enough rupees.”

I searched and found a fifty-dollar bill, but fifty was also too much for him. I searched again and found a twenty-dollar bill. At last he gave me change. After paying my departure tax, I said, “Now I have to keep myself awake for God knows how long. Let me go out again to buy another tea.”

This time, however, the tea man was fast asleep! I did not want to torture him. I waited until they announced the flight, and then I boarded the plane.

My London experience

My ‘direct’ flight from Madras to London went to Kuwait, Cairo, Italy, France and so many places! Flying from London to Bombay took only eight and a half hours. This way it took ten or eleven hours.

When the plane finally arrived in London, the equipment was not functioning properly, so we had to come down from the plane using ordinary stairs, not a covered walkway. It was really raining hard. The workers had umbrellas, but for us there were no umbrellas. They said that if we wanted umbrellas, we would have to wait for a few minutes. Who wanted to wait? After such a long flight, nobody wanted to stay on board. The workers were saying to be very careful and to hold onto the rail.

In order to make my connection to New York, I had to go to Terminal 4. There I had to get a new boarding pass. Terminal 4 was quite far from the place where we had arrived. A few other passengers were with me. The officials said that within fifteen minutes a coach would come to take us to Terminal 4. The first coach we missed. Then we waited another fifteen or twenty minutes. I said, “What can we do?” There were three of us who wanted to make this connection and we had very little time. About half an hour later the coach came, and we three entered. We went to Terminal 4, which was quite far. By walking it would have been impossible, and it was raining.

People say that the British are very, very polite, but I think politeness is found in the dictionary only. Our waiting area was empty. When I went to the man who was supposed to take care of us, he said, “Just a minute,” and he left. After five or ten minutes he had not returned. His jacket was still on the seat but he was not coming back.

I did not know how much time I had. Already my plane from India had been late. I could have only half an hour left at most before the flight left. I was so sad. I said, “Everywhere I will have this kind of fate.”

On the other side, it said ‘First Class’. The man who was taking care of first class said to me, “Now that there is no passenger here, you can come.”

I went to him very thankfully. He said, “I can give you the boarding pass, but I am unable to give you the seat number.”

I said, “It is only half an hour before the plane departs.”

He said, “I am sorry, but I cannot give you a seat number. For a seat number you will have to go to gate number 10, and they will give it to you.”

Gate 10 was quite far. I walked and walked and went to gate 10. Although it was clearly written gate 10, I saw that nobody was there. I said, “The plane will leave in half an hour, but nobody is here. How could it be? He definitely told me gate 10.

I suspected that something had gone wrong. Usually I never read the schedules on the television screen. This time I said, “Let me look for the British Airways plane that goes to New York.” On the screen it said that the gate was number 4. I said, “I have been sent to gate 10. Now I have to go to gate 4, which is so far away. Here I am in trouble.”

Luckily, an airport official arrived. I said to her, “I was sent to gate 10 and there is nobody here. Now the screen says it is gate 4.”

The lady said, “Yes, we thought it would be 10, but it has changed.”

I had to return to gate 4. I was forced to walk extremely fast. The whole way I was only cursing myself for believing these people who give me wrong directions.

At gate 4, almost everybody was on board. There were hardly three or four persons ahead of me. Both my knees were hurting. Everything was hurting: physically, vitally and mentally. I was so disgusted. I said, “Civilisation is not only lacking in India, but in India’s once-upon-a-time boss.”

Sitting in a cloud of smoke

I entered into the plane. I was so happy that at long last my problems were over. I showed my boarding pass to the steward. My seat number was 14B. This steward was so careless and callous. Instead of 14B, he pointed out to me 14E. I did not say anything. Perhaps he had his own reasons. I sat there. Soon afterwards, somebody came and told me that it was his seat number. He said, “Yours must be 14B.”

I explained, “The steward asked me to sit here.”

Then I took my bag and moved to 14B. I said, “Even here I have to get wrong information? This is too much.”

I was seated on the aisle and next to me, on my left, was a very fat man, but there was plenty of space so it was no problem. Across the aisle, on my right, there were three seats. In the first was a businessman with lots of papers, and next to him was the young man who found that I had made a mistake.

The pilot made an announcement: “We shall deeply appreciate it if you do not smoke.” When I was given my seat, I had no choice as to whether I was in a smoking or non-smoking area. At that time I did not care, as long as I was finally inside the plane. Now I discovered that smoking is allowed in executive class.

The pilot himself made the announcement requesting people not to smoke, although it was not forbidden. Then the man who was on my right side started smoking. The plane had not taken off yet. Luckily, the smoke was not coming towards me. Suddenly, the young man to the right of the businessman stood up and said to him, “The hell with you.” The businessman smiled at him. Then the young man left and went to the economy section. He had bought a ticket for executive class, but he went to the economy section to find a non-smoking place. He did not come back.

I counted six cigarettes. One after the other the businessman was smoking, and he did not know how to stop. Still, the plane had not yet started. There was a very nice-looking man who was sitting next to the one who had left. This second innocent man also stood up to find a place in the economy section, but nothing was there. He was so miserable. He had to come back and sit near the big business executive.

I said to myself, “God has saved me.” But God does not know how to save me. At intervals of fifteen or twenty minutes, the businessman would get the inspiration to turn towards me and blow his smoke in my direction. Usually he would blow his smoke on the right side, but sometimes he was relaxed and he would get the inspiration to smoke turning in the other direction. I was so disappointed. The man who sat on my left side became furious, but what could he do? Both of us were suffering like anything.

So many people were suffering because of this man who would not stop smoking. And this particular flight lasted seven hours and forty minutes.

The police and the stewardess

At the airport in London, the stewardesses and their luggage had to be examined thoroughly, like us. The police came inside the plane to take one of the stewardesses back to airport security because she had not been examined. She said, “Yes, I will go, but I hate the person who examines us.”

The police said, “Then come with us, and we will find somebody else.”

So the police took this stewardess back into the terminal.

The final note

When I came back to New York, Aushadi was my saviour. At customs I did not have any problem. His friends or colleagues or bosses were so kind, so kind. Everything was faster than the fastest when I dealt with them. They were cutting jokes with me. I had so many unfortunate experiences during my journey back to New York, but this last experience was very good.