Suha’s final visit to The Resort, and her beloved street and little dog
The urgent impetus for a trip to Pune started to come into focus: to close a bank account I had left open after closing my house 4 years earlier, to see my Ayurvedic doctor, a computer expert, and my little dog Bella, who had accompanied me for 7 years on my last stay. I knew, however, that this was only the tip of the iceberg.
I approached the paperwork with a pounding heart as if it were my first journey: the ticket, the visa, the search for accommodation, and confirmation of the taxi from Mumbai to Pune. There was a problem though: during these years of absence my health had not improved. Would I be able to face such a long journey alone, at my age, 84? I had only one way to find out: to organise another long journey first. Soon enough I was on a Paris-Milan train to see my family and take note of my body’s reaction. …Successful experiment, finally reassured.
There was something different to all my previous trips to India; for the first time I was going to stay at a place that was not my own. Another indispensable precaution was to ensure that I had a wheelchair for the transfers in the various airports. I’m not physically handicapped and I can walk OK, but my spine does not hold me up for too long.
Departure time was imminent, and I almost couldn’t believe my dream was coming true. Journey in three legs: Paris-Doha, capital of Qatar; Doha-Mumbai, and Mumbai-Pune by taxi. 28 hours of door-to-door travel with 10 hours up in the air. The circulation in my body was doing well; my ankles had not swollen, in defiance of my doctor who had advised me to wear compression stockings – which I bought but did not wear!
I got my first taste of India already on the flight from Doha to Mumbai when the plane started filling up with Indian faces of every shade of brown. Unlike the wheelchair attendants at the previous two airports, the one in Mumbai pushed me around as if I was a princess, making his way through the crowds that had come off the plane, handing me the documents to fill out and presenting them to Immigration. There, on his mobile phone, he was busy looking for the taxi driver who was waiting for me. I had to get out of my wheelchair only when we arrived on the third floor of the large car park where the taxi was parked. The third leg, Mumbai-Pune, was about to begin! I hadn’t remembered it took 4 hours: the traffic was alarming!
Once in Pune, I no longer recognise what should be familiar streets. The presence of the aerial metro, which is partly in an advanced stage of construction and partly already in operation, covers my view of the sky. The street where I have lived for years is unrecognisable with the many new shops of all kinds, plus the areas that are under construction. I feel lost. I notice a more populated, richer city, demented traffic on the verge of a nightmare with waves of motorbikes whizzing arrogantly to and fro in all directions. Traffic lights being in short number, motorbikes and scooters are the pirates of the road: cutting in front of cars at alarming speed.
But there is something that has remained the same. I strongly feel the change of energy in the air. The air I am breathing in has more prana, more life energy. The energy vibrations released and left in the atmosphere by millennia of intense spiritual search (with enlightened masters, Ayurvedic medicine, yoga, tantra etc.) make you feel ‘at home’, at peace with yourself. The moment you land, you almost immediately feel the difference: even if your body is tired, your soul feels as fresh as a rosebud!
Between Indians and Italians there is something like a heart-to-heart communication. During my one-month stay, I saw people with whom I had dealt for 30 years. No handshakes, no hugs, no words. But our eyes were shining like stars on a late night. I received so much love that I was almost drunk with it.
Indians don’t talk about feelings. They live them to the fullest. They have an innate modesty and respect for those who live on the same wavelength. It is their way of expressing themselves, something they have been absorbing with their mother’s milk for thousands of generations. Not everybody, but most of them are playful, laughing and enjoying the little things in life.
India is no longer my story. To live as a foreigner, without a companion and without social protection, at my age would be foolish.
This stay is a love song, of farewell, of mutual gratitude, a time to strengthen the deep bonds that perdure from any distance. It dawns on me that I no longer need to physically live here to stay connected. I can live anywhere. India with its people is embracing me for my love for them. This time it’s not me going towards them: it’s them coming towards me. A mutual flow of energy.
And, the climate would no longer be congenial to me: my body has changed. There is an inner fire in me now. In the past I needed to be in the heat! The sun is so hot that the heat under the tin roofs of the slums raises the tensions and sounds for those who have no other recourse than to live there. You can hear their angry shouts like gunshots echoing from afar.
I did not immediately visit the Resort. I had already nourished myself to satisfaction during my walks in the streets home to the Banyan trees. I had already lost myself in the narrow streets of the town centre where you meet people from the humblest of classes, those who feel they are living and breathing in a dimension that is larger than themselves. They accept, in their own way, the circumstances of their life without complaining, convinced they somehow deserve it. In their behaviour I notice a vein of lightness and spontaneity that makes me feel I am in a different world.
My heart was pounding when I turned up at the Resort. I felt as if I was there discovering it for the first time, despite the fact that I had worked there for 8 years. I wanted to see myself there and to take back those pieces of myself that I felt were still there.
I walked down the avenues without looking around much, but on the way old friends recognised me and stopped to greet me. That did not distract me from absorbing the majestic presence of the trees that I did not remember being so immense, welcoming, relaxing and grown after the monsoon season. The first impression you get is that you are entering an oasis of peace: for 50 years they have absorbed the energy of our Master, including our joy and meditation, our silences, dances and celebrations! But more than feeling the peace of this oasis, I felt welcomed into the lap of the divine.
This is heaven on earth. Perhaps when you live in this atmosphere every day you take it for granted, but when you come from the outside you are left speechless. So much so, I say to myself, that if Osho has dissolved into the trees, I will spend as much time as possible in their company. They breathe joy and sweetness into every leaf and hold the secret of their lush beauty with regality. Every corner of the Resort is a samadhi, every chirp of the budgies an invitation to meditation. I do not go into the cold Buddha Hall, I do not go into the Samadhi, I feel in tune with every pebble.
I see that at 5pm the paths are wet from the water given to the plants. To keep such a space alive is something that touches the heart; and for that I am indeed very grateful.
Three times I went to visit ‘my’ dog, now named Bunny; I had known her as a puppy. It was only me who called her Bella. As I did not see her in the driveway of the apartment complex where I used to live, I asked a local friend to take me to the family of the vet who, I came to know, had adopted her 4 years ago. As soon as she heard my voice, she came running down the stairs from the first floor. The joy and celebration of being reunited: totally still, she wanted to continuously feel my hand on her muzzle. I was even a little embarrassed about it as I spoke to the family. Nevertheless, I managed to ‘eat her up with my eyes’ as we so beautifully say in Italian: I found her now an adult, still in need of security, but healthy, clean, no longer devoured by insects, and well-fed with rice and chicken every day.
She thought I had returned for good because she had started heading for my old quarters. Instead, I took her to play in the neighbouring garden where she devoured the delicacies I knew she loved. When I took her back to her adoptive parents she understood, became sad and looked at me with inquisitive eyes. I told her I had come back to be with her this one last time. She followed me, with a sad expression on her face, all the way out of the gate and beyond, quite a way up the street. I had to call someone to please take her back home.
From a technological point of view, my mobile worked better in India without WiFi than in Paris with WiFi. In Pune, even the janitor of a large building, when you visit a friend, no longer makes you sign a book with your details. He hands you his mobile where you fill in a form. There are apps for all kinds of food, pharmaceutical and other services. And they even make home deliveries for a minimum order of 500 Rupees, which is about 5 €.
And what about the metro, in the part that is already running? The best of modernity! But I felt lost; no one speaks English and the directions given on the loudspeakers are only in Hindi, except in those carriages where there are video announcements. Luckily the stops are marked in English. A young Indian woman took me by the hand and I was surprised to see that, before stepping onto the platform, I had to pass my bags under the scanner like in an airport.
Pune seen from above is, let’s say, a bit squalid, but what a surprise to see that, wherever there are trees, you are travelling at the height of the treetops!
And what to say about the trains? They roar by 50 metres from the boundary of the compound where I stayed, day and night. At first I experienced them with impatience, then as friends. I started figuring out from their whistles the mood of the conductor: joyful, grave, frightened, like a shout. And I imagined the crowd of commuters using them every day. They were the barometer of my sleep at night: if it was deep I could not hear them. During the day it was impossible not to notice them: every conversation would fall silent. I wondered how I would feel without their presence once back in Paris. I must say, I do miss them.
Translated from Italian by Punya
The photos taken of Suha and in Osho Teerth Park were clicked by Kama Kshi, all other photos are by the author
Comments are closed.