around the television set watching an Indian soap of the Mahabharata(9). While he was having a conversation with us, ever smiling, and repeatedly encouraging us to eat, he chanted mantras incessantly between the words: ‘Ram, Ram, Ram, Sita-Ram’. The entire time he was rocking back and forth on his chair and he told us that during the war with Pakistan he had to kill a lot of people. This was the most ‘unholy of appearances’ that I had ever encountered in India, and for some reason it felt good to me. I felt his bright love, his respect and his truthful interest and compassion as I had never previously felt with any other human being. His eyes were glowing like headlights. While he laughed about our meditation practice, he simultaneously praised it, and as we were leaving he gave us the advice to find a guru if we wanted to avoid spending many more lifetimes in meditation. We also laughed and left the place highly delighted.
We took the next bus down to Bhopal. There we went our separate ways. My meditation friend went to Orissa on the Indian East Coast, and I was never to see him again. I took the train to Delhi in order to fly back to Germany with the next possible airplane. Three days later I landed in Frankfurt airport. It was spring, 1988, and I was twenty-three years old.
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