"Why don't we lie down on the bed and talk?" The question, accompanied by yet another puff of smoke, knocked what little breath I had left in my lungs. It came from a 'spiritual guide', a 'guru', no less! Worse, he happened to be my father's friend. Fresh out of college I was, like many before me, clueless about what path to take. I was toying with the idea of entering the advertising world. My father knew a gentleman who used to belong there. He had now attained guru-dom. He passed as a spiritual guide now, and my father told me to seek his advice. To protect whatever little decency he has left, let's call this man 'Mani'. My first meeting with him was quite interesting. We met in the little village where he was trying to build an ashram. My father had some land there, and that's how their friendship grew. Mani wanted to lease a plot to build an ashram where foreigners could come and stay for the peace that Indian soil always promises them. I am sure many would have flocked to Mani, in search of peace, bliss, Nirvana, whatever you call it -- for he was articulate, insightful and intellectual. Tall, dark, lanky, his head perpetually swimming in a cloud of smoke, he greeted me with a 'Hi' and a handshake. The stench of smoke and sweat clung stubbornly to my palm for several hours after that. But he spoke very well and I found myself enjoying our conversation. We discussed several things and frankly I was quite interested in the turn his life had taken, from advertising to spiritual guru. Quite a dramatic path. But that was several months ago. Coming to the present, one fine day my father told me Mani and his family had settled in town. Mani and family? The story was that Mani had married this lovely, frail girl whom I had seen in the ashram. She had perhaps been attracted by his dark looks and the eternal lure of Nirvana. He was forced to tie the knot because Mother Nature worked strongly in their case and the girl was going to mother his child. As he had to settle down to a semblance of family life, they moved back to town, supporting themselves on her very generous bank account, I was to learn later. My father told me I could talk to him, seek his advice, and basically increase my social circle. So I took down the address and decided to pay him a visit. I called him up and he told me to come over. As luck would have it, his wife wasn't at home. In fact, she wasn't in town. We sat down at the dining table and began to talk. Our discussions were wide-ranging, touching on all topics from life, spirituality, the advertising world, to India's economic and political situation. I enjoyed the conversation, though I resented the smoke that permeated the room. And suddenly, out of the blue, he said, "Why don't we lie down on the bed and talk?" It floored me. I wanted to say something, but my voice seemed to have deserted me. "I don't see why, I think I am perfectly comfortable here," I finally managed. "There," he said. "There, why are you getting all defensive? It's a very harmless thing. Indian women are so reserved with their physical emotions!" I argued that he was completely off the track and there was absolutely no need to get up from our comfortable chairs. "Okay, okay," he said. "I'll go out of the room for five minutes. You think about my proposal and we'll discuss it." He strolled out, trailing smoke behind. I was too confused to think. I sat like a stone. My brain was numb. No, actually my brain was not numb. It was buzzing with so many thoughts, bouncing against each other, like some great fireworks. There was so much activity that it seemed numb. It would be foolish to bolt for the door, I told myself, because he was sitting in the front hall. I could tell, for the smoke found its way into the dining room. Five minutes passed. He returned. "So, what have you decided?" "I am still very stubborn about sitting here and talking," I replied as calmly as I could. "Okay, just stand up. I am going to give you a hug, and you tell me how you feel." I was too stunned to say anything. Before I knew it, his lanky arms were around me. I called to all gods and goddesses I knew to help me. I shut my eyes so tight I thought they would be sealed forever. He removed his arms. "So what did you feel?" "Nothing!" I replied. I do not know what came over him then. He put his hand over my shoulder, now fatherly. "Okay, okay, why are you so nervous? You know what, whenever I have my foreigner friends coming over, we head straight for the bed, lie down and chat. The body is completely relaxed when we lie down." "I have to go," I muttered. "I have to go..." "Did you say something?" "Yes, I have to leave now," I repeated loudly. I looked longingly at the door. I don't think I have desired anything so strongly before or since. And he saw the look in my eyes. I don't know what made him do it. Maybe the gods and goddesses had heard my prayer, maybe he thought I was too boring, too young and inexperienced. Whatever it was, his arm still around my shoulders, he led me to the door and opened it. What light, what freedom! My door to Nirvana was finally open! I swallowed the fresh air in gulps and dived into the nearest autorickshaw. I told the driver to pretend he was racing Michael Schumacher. And we zoomed out of Mani's sight. Meera Guthi now makes it a point to steer clear of all spiritual gurus. Illustration: Uttam Ghosh Tell us what you think of this diary Be part of an exciting venture! Write a Diary!
HOME | NEWS | CRICKET | MONEY | SPORTS | MOVIES | CHAT | BROADBAND | TRAVEL ASTROLOGY | NEWSLINKS | BOOK SHOP | MUSIC SHOP | GIFT SHOP | HOTEL BOOKINGS AIR/RAIL | WEDDING | ROMANCE | WEATHER | WOMEN | E-CARDS | SEARCH HOMEPAGES | FREE MESSENGER | FREE EMAIL | CONTESTS | FEEDBACK