The Abode of Yoga

Shortly after leaving the Center and returning to California, I got a telephone call from Giribar . Though the call was out of the blue, I was glad to hear from him. We spent a few minutes catching up and then he came to the point. "Sumati called me," he said. "She'd like to meet with you." I was taken aback. Sumati had been a long-time, San Francisco disciple, but it was rumored that she was now actively working against Guru by supporting the efforts of a group of cult deprogrammers. By doing so, Sumati was not merely persona non grata in the Center, she was reviled as a "hostile force." "Sure, I'll meet with her," I told Giribar. We agreed to meet for dinner at a hotel restaurant in South San Francisco, near the airport, which was about halfway between where I lived and Berkeley, where Sumati was apparently living. I agreed to meet with Sumati for one reason: to destroy the influence of "magical thinking" upon my actions. If S...

Before moving to New York -- when I lived with Giribar in Cupertino -- my favorite run was through the hilly trails of Rancho San Antonio park. Anugata and I had done some blistering circuits of the Wildcat Loop and those memories drove me back to those hills in my first few weeks back in California. Alone, I'd ascend the trails that led to views not only of Silicon Valley, but of San Francisco on a clear day as well. I'd stop at the top and survey the view and imagine that there was a woman somewhere out there -- someone I hadn't met yet -- with whom I'd share my life with. As it turned out, she worked at the YMCA. There were a lot of good looking women at the Y, both employees and members. But it was the Health and Fitness Director that caught my eye. Her name was Elaine. At the beginning, I worked at the Y's front desk. I'd check member's cards on their way in, gave members their towels, checked out equipment, and did laundry. And at the end of each n...

As I approached my 25th birthday, I found myself starting over. The day after I arrived in California, my dad drove me to Gavilan Junior College in Gilroy (Go Rams!). Although I was a week or so past late registration, a counselor there told me that with the instructor's permission, I might still be able to attend a few Administration of Justice classes. When I checked with the instructor, he said that he was okay with it. With that, I was enrolled in three courses -- just under full-time student status. I remember feeling weird the next afternoon as I left the house for my first day at school, with good luck wishes from my dad and stepmom as I went. I had been such a bad student in high school that I was pleasantly surprised to learn that by paying attention in class and doing my homework, good grades weren't hard to come by. I got straight As that semester. Turned out that I liked school and was hungry to learn. I also loved being back in California and out of the City, whi...

Well, that's it. I've covered my disciple-life, including the formative experiences that led me to Guru and the Center in the first place, in 97 posts and eight months of writing. With one giant caveat -- which I've made before -- I'm pleased with the effort thus far. The caveat, of course, is that my place in the history of Guru's life is minuscule. And the narrative arc of my memoir here is narrower still. While I've done my best to recall for you as honestly and as objectively as possible those things that I experienced -- what I saw, felt and heard -- I'm afraid it's just a sliver of the whole. Also, I feel compelled to point out that I consider the posts thus far to be a first draft. While I did a fair bit of outlining before writing, did my best to edit on the fly, and checked in with as many available sources as possible to confirm my memory of events (and their sequence), until I have had a chance to print out each post and mercilessly take the...

In the early morning hours before my final flight back to California and out of the Center for good, Tejiyan (pictured below) and I sat at a booth in Lucille's (the all night diner of choice) and chatted about life and the Center. Tejiyan hadn't received word about the "last supper," so the fact that he went out of his way to call me up and invite me out so late at night meant the world to me. Tejiyan -- and his older brother Bhima (pictured above) -- had always felt like long lost kin to me. From my earliest days in New York, Bhima and Tejiyan welcomed and encouraged me. Irish-Catholics born and raised in Connecticut, the brothers are highly competitive by nature and are built like college football players, which, in fact, they were. On a recent trip to New York, an old friend told me that Bhima and Tejiyan were so competitive that when some of the New York-area disciples got together for soccer games, Bhima and Tejiyan had to be put on the same team so as to avoid a...

"Yogaloy, Guru got your note." It was Ashrita . He was referring to the note I had passed to Lavanya at the end of Wednesday night meditation less than an hour earlier. "Guru gives you his love and blessings," Ashrita continued. "He doesn't want you to leave the Center, but he's grateful to you for bringing your brother and sister to the path, and he gives you all his love." After thanking Ashrita, I hung up. Jeevan was there with me. I don't remember why he was in town, but he stayed with me at Trishatur's place. After Ashrita's call, Jeevan and I walked over to Annam Brahma for dinner before it closed. I hadn't yet told Jeevan about my plan to leave, so he was kind of down as I explained myself on our walk over to the restaurant. Thankfully, he seemed to accept the idea that I'd made up my mind. "It's a burning fire out there," he said, referring to wider world. The next day at work, a disciple who had appare...

By the fall of 1989, it was quite clear to me that the time to leave the Center had come. I could barely control myself and I was beginning to worry that if I didn't have sex soon, then I might do something rash. I had already begun engaging in risky behavior, but my real concern was avoiding an entanglement with a female disciple. There was nobody in particular that I was worried about, but since I had become sexually conscious I was aware that there were at least a few girls on the prowl. I desperately did not want to be responsible for anyone other than myself leaving the Center. Despite the worries, though, I was grateful for the extra year that I had in the Center. Had Guru just let me go the first time around, it would have been more difficult for me to have assimilated my Center experience with my new life outside the Center. Psychologically, it would have created a kind of duality in me: my disciple years versus my ex-disciple years, with untreated psychological scar tissue...

After my brush with the " little death ," let's just say that I spent a lot more time with myself that fall (and leave it at that). All this "self study," however, demanded further experimentation. While I had no specific plan to leave the Center, I was getting restless. So, one Saturday night when Trishatur was out of town, I ventured into Manhattan alone. Though I had never been to a club in my life -- and while I hated dancing -- somehow I had gotten it in my head to visit the Palladium . Dressed in a newly acquired pair of blue jeans, my only non-race related t-shirt, and an army-style overcoat of Trishatur's that I thought looked good on me, I made my way to the subway and on into the City. I must have been past 11 p.m. when I arrived at the Palladium. There was no queue to get in, just two bouncers. One asked me to open my coat and then proceeded to pat me down. I could hear the music pulsing inside. Just as the first bouncer waived me in, though, the...

I suspect that this post is going to make some readers uncomfortable. That's not my intent. But it's important to the story -- critical really. If you "can't handle the truth," then I suggest you skip it and wait for my next post. While you're waiting, check out this video and then this one . In the fall of 1989, I was 24. To that point in my life, I'd never had an orgasm. At least, not a conscious one. Until now, I've tried to hint at this in the blog with Seinfeldian euphemism. At 24, I was still "master of my domain," which for those non-Seinfeld fans, simply means that I had not only abstained from sex up to that point, but that I had also abstained from "auto-erotic activity." (Here's the classic opening to " The Contest .") In other words: to that point in my life I'd never masturbated. Ever. I had simply never learned how. Sure, as I've already written , as a teenager, I had been sexually active (thoug...

Great shot of some of the guys at the Rocherolle compound in Stamford, CT. Not sure I can name them all from memory (or whether I can spell their names), but let's try, starting from the back row, left: Kripan (leaning), from Boston; Jwalanta (blue shirt), from Germany; Sahadeva , England; Durdam , Connecticut; Gangadhar (Durdam's dad); Sujantra , San Diego; yours truly; middle row, left: Don ; San Diego; Papaha ; San Diego; Golapendu , San Francisco; Jeevan (my bro), S.F.; Devashishu (Sahadeva's older bro), England; and across the front, left: Prakash , Connecticut; don't remember the lad's name next to Prakash (sorry, anyone who knows, please give me a shout); Narendra (Durdam's older bro), CT; and finally the mighty Arpan , CT. (Photo credit, I think, goes to Durdam's and Narendra's wonderful mom, Gayatri . Thanks to Narendra for sending it to me -- great memories!) In the wake of the Peace Run, I was relieved to be back in New York. And with Aug...