I have been in Pune for the past six days finishing interviews for a book on nanotechnology. Yes, you heard that right. Nanotechnology, I said.
This is even as I wrap up my research/interviews/travel for a book on Ahmedabad to mark 600 years of the city’s founding in 2011. The final manuscripts for both have been contracted to be turned in by or before October and December respectively. Did I mention that I am also updating ‘Mon Monk Mystic’ along the way? If this is not a hack at work, then who is?
With your awe having been earned in sufficient measure at the sheer range of my writing talent, let me tell you about a 40-second visit to the Osho Commune, which I returned to after 24 years. The last time I was here it was in 1986 on my way back from Battis Shirala where I had gone to do a feature about its famous snake festival for the Associated Press (AP). I stayed at what then was just Blue Diamond Hotel owned by the Kirloskars. I came back to the hotel in its new avatar under the Taj management.
I had no plans to visit the commune but while taking an evening stroll along the leafy lanes around the hotel I ended up near it. I went inside the reception center where a sullen man in a maroon robe (It really looked like a gunny sack with two holes to slip in one’s hands) asked me why I was there. As I stretched to shake hands after introducing myself, he looked at my hand as if it was a slithery creature out to impregnate him. He recoiled and said no by shaking his head.
I said I was looking for Swami Chaitanya Keerti. He looked at me as if I had been roused from a slumber of a different era. “He is not here. He has not been here for a long time,” he said, feeling vindicated at not having shaken hands with me. Who knows what contaminations I might be carrying from whichever era that I had emerged from? That seemed to be the question on his mind. Before I could ask my next question he had moved on two women in white robes. I said, “Thank you for not shaking my hand” and left.
As I walked back to the hotel I reminisced about my encounter with Rajneesh at the Bombay airport after being deported by the US authorities following his arrest under immigration laws. That was in October/November timeframe in 1985. Rajneesh was a big story in the US then and the AP was naturally interested in a follow-up out of Bombay.
I was the only reporter waiting for Rajneesh and his entourage at the airport. Rajneesh was in a wheelchair being pushed by his aide Ma Neelam Dhal (I think it was her) when I buttonholed him for some comments.
I was told sternly that unless I addressed him as “Bhagwan Rajneesh” he would not respond. I kept calling him Mr. Rajneesh. He relented after a while. One of the questions I asked was whether his commune in Oregon was seen as a threat to the local Christian community. He looked at me with mild amusement and replied in his trademark nasal tone, “If a religion, which is nearly 2000 years old, can be destroyed by an old, unarmed man (namely Rajneesh), then that religion deserves to be destroyed.”
For the record Rajneesh was not that old then. He was 54 but managed to look much older. He told me he had been administered a slow acting poison during his incarceration.