(6 October 1928 – 26 February 2022)


When Truth called

by his daughter Nayana

Robin was born on 6 October 1928 into a very respectable English family. He went on and lived a very respectable life as a teacher and father to five kids until he was 50, when Truth called in the form of Osho. He left behind everything to heed the call, becoming Anand Robin, the brightness of bliss.

One of my father’s great qualities was his totality of heart. Once he committed to something, whatever it was – a political party, a game of ping pong, a friend, a Master – that was it, he gave himself to it completely, and wanted everyone else to feel the joy of it too. And so he lived a long and fulfilling life, full of adventure, love and the inner journey, touching the hearts of many along his way.

Then, on 26 February 2022, after three months of living in a body that was now exhausted and growing weaker, he stood up and said, “I’m going to look at the river” (he could see it from his front door). But as he took a step he collapsed to the ground and peacefully slipped away, leaving nothing but love and gratitude behind.

It was such a great blessing to have this man as a father, friend and fellow traveller. Forever in my heart.

Robin and Nayana

Robin’s humour, intelligence and sweetness

by deva rashid

Sw. Anand Robin was a rare and beautiful being. It seems that from the very beginning of sannyas in ’78 he knew the central purpose of his life was to realise his true nature. He understood clearly too that Osho would be the most lucid and effective guide to that end.

With his love of birds and their mysterious ways, with his love of poetry and its mysterious depths and his love of ball-game sports and their invitation to the ‘zone’, Robin became ever freer of the personality he used to call ‘Little Robin.’

He had been, before sannyas, a respected House-Master in a prestigious English Public (ie private) School, which institution kindly gave him a golden handshake when he reappeared from the school holidays dressed in orange, and started to teach his pupils dynamic meditation.

It was his daughter Nayana who had told him of the transformations happening in Poona with Osho and later two of his sons and his second daughter all became sannyasins.

Surprising and laudable too is the admiration and respect Robin always received from old colleagues and fellow sportsmen who would normally decry and disparage anyone in search of the miraculous.

I got to know Robin in the Magdalena pot room on The Ranch where we worked side by side 8-hour shifts in a little hell of steam and sludge. For me it was a punishment until Robin’s humour, intelligence and sweetness brought me to understand it was just a play, the leela of the buddhafield.

Down the years, in India and in Spain, in Thailand and in England, in forests and in cities our loving friendship has forever flourished. Still, in so-called death, it flourishes.

Beloved headless Robin, charaiveti, charaiveti.

Sannyas Darshan

17 February 1979

Robin is a teacher; he is from England.

This is your name: Swami Anand Robin. Anand means bliss; Robin is Teutonic, it means bright. Bliss is always bright, misery is dull. Bliss is always intelligent, misery is stupid. Bliss is always shining, radiant. Misery is dark, with no light in it – a long, long, dark night, with not even a single star; it is like moving in a dark tunnel. But people have decided to remain miserable because to be intelligent needs work. To be stupid, nothing is needed. To be in light needs search: to be in darkness no search is required.

And people are afraid of light – afraid because they may see things in themselves which they don’t want to see, they may see things in others which they don’t want to see. It may shatter their whole world. They have lived in darkness, in illusions, in dreams; and they have somehow managed, consoled themselves, and created beautiful ideologies that support their darkness and console them in their darkness. They are afraid of the light; if they come into the light, all that will be gone. Hence they are very much against people who make all efforts to bring them to the light: they crucify Jesus, they poison Socrates, they murder Mansoor. But to live in darkness is not to live at all; it is to miss life.

The only way to live is to live in utter intelligence, in the full light of intelligence, because only then are you sharpened, sharpened every day. Your soul becomes a sword. Your life starts having significance, meaning. You are not just accidental then; you are part of a significant universe – and an essential part, a significant part. It is not only that you need god, god also needs you. The day it is realised that god also needs you, a great explosion happens in consciousness: you are accepted, welcomed in existence, this is your home!

Osho, Won’t You Join the Dance? Ch 17

More Tributes

You can leave a message / tribute / anecdote by writing to (pls add ‘Robin’ in the subject field).

Dear Robin, reading your sannyas darshan, I see you in his words; a bright smile, full of joy and enthusiasm. I remember when, with Asutosh, the plumber, you had installed a lengths of a black rubber hose on the roof of the Saswad fort, in plain sun, and showed it to me with great pride. “You have hot water in the showers tonight!” That’s why I always thought you were an architect! Farewell, beloved!

I will never forget a “bird” watching trip with Robin and his friends in Pune II. While dining in Mariam, I had heard them planning an excursion to a spot where fruit bats lived and asked if I could tag along. Although I didn’t really know any of them, they agreed.

The bats hung upside down, looking like teddy bears with wings. They jostled, groomed, nursed babies, and chatted with each other as they awakened in a grove of trees beside a river somewhere in Pune.

When the sun was below the horizon, but the sky not yet dark, they began to drop from the trees and fly off. First one, then another – a few here and there – and in a short while great numbers of bats flew off above the river route like a plume of smoke trailing off in the distance as far as one could see.

Until that moment, to me, bats evoked the typical horror movie image – their evening flight an ill omen, creepy, even scary. The reality was quite the opposite. These animals were fascinating, relatable with their social interactions in the trees, beautiful creatures – the only flying mammals.

Though I was just an acquaintance of Robin, I’ve always remembered that evening and felt grateful for how he included me without any fuss beyond sorting out a pair of binoculars I could use. Witnessing the flight of the bats in India was one of the most spectacular experiences I knew outside of Buddha Hall.

Robin is a reminder to me today (as I am now a teacher of young children) of how the presence of an open-hearted individual can enrich others through his/her authentic interest and readiness to share freely. He was/is a lovely human being I feel lucky to have encountered.


Comments are closed.