Part II
Gstaad Diary
Switzerland – July 1999
“Since Shyamalamma has returned, you two can now proceed,” so directs UG herding us to Switzerland. We haven’t yet applied for the visas. Julie’s letter of ‘guarantee’ hasn’t arrived yet. UG says that we should leave for Bombay as soon as we receive the letter. What’s UG’s reason for asking us to go Gstaad? Narayana Moorty is there right now; also there are Guha and his family. UG has been working for quite a while at getting all of us together to foster a sense of belonging among us all. He got us to travel to Palm Springs the same way six months ago. Now he is bringing us to Switzerland at the expense of one lakh rupees. Why? What for? I can’t figure it out. Sitting on the toilet seat I recalled the song:
When a curly-horned ram
Charges a mountain
Does the mountain get hurt or will it be the ram?
Tell me, O God, Samba Siva; open my eyes, Samba Siva.
That’s how it is trying to argue with UG. It’s useless to contradict him. I tell myself, OK, we’ll do as you wish…. I wonder how Bharati and Usha are doing. I don’t know if Usha’s daughter-in-law is still in the country or has gone to the US. I can only find out through Rajasekhar.
July 20, 1999 (Tuesday)
Preparations are under way to travel to Switzerland. Julie’s letter has arrived yesterday at noon. By then I had already finished negotiating with Travel Air and booked the tickets. We leave for Bombay on the 25th morning. We leave at 12:30 am, and fly via Paris and arrive in Zurich at 9 am on the 27th morning. After that, we are in UG’s hands. He says, “I am not spending all this money for you just to have fun. Moorty is leaving on August 10. There are things to be done before then.” What needs to be done?
I can’t think of what I should take with me. I have this book which I wrote long ago and which has never seen the light of day. It would be great to put all the videotapes on CD’s but that requires selecting videos which are of good quality. It takes an estimated thousand rupees to transfer an hour’s video onto a CD. After Raj Mehta transferred the photos onto a CD, I got the idea that it’s best to preserve the videos too on CD’s as well.
But I don’t know for what purpose UG is asking us to come so urgently. If I go, the school business and finance business will take a back seat here. Before I go, I must see everyone I need to see. I must make the necessary purchases. I will stay in Bombay for a day. I may get to see Mahesh there.
July 21, 1999 (Wednesday)
Four days left for departure. I am worried that I have to leave home and travel so far. O God, why are you dragging me there rather than leaving me to my own devices in this corner here? What is it that I can do there? What am I going to gain? To visit Switzerland was my great goal 20 years ago. My idea then was to visit that country, sit on the bench on which UG had sat, and enjoy watching the seven hills of Saanen and the natural beauty of its seven valleys. I don’t have any such ambition now. UG has taken us there three times before. The last time, we were there for 42 days. This time too UG insists that we must stay there for six weeks, but it doesn’t seem feasible. We must return before the end of August. That’s what Julie’s letter states as well.
I worry thinking about the problems at the school, as if everything there depends on me. Why must I get entangled in every matter and get upset? It seems like an inborn trait of mine; just as UG says, “Misery is your lot.” I am not able to stay in this moment, but rot in the worry about tomorrow. This seems inevitable, no matter how much I try otherwise. No matter how much I try to acquire the faith that whatever must happen will happen, that always fades into the background as my eyes are veiled once again by maya. That’s what ‘maya’ and ‘moha’ mean. The mind knows what is real. It knows at an intellectual level that what I think and contemplate – all of it – is a concoction. But I don’t see it. It doesn’t come into the field of my experience. That’s what I wail about: the things that I leave unfinished, the things I still have to do – they all clutter my mind like flies as soon as I wake up. Yet by the time I go to bed in the night, not even half of them will be accomplished. The brain keeps fabricating things to do... things to do… Why can’t it stop just for a moment? It won’t listen.
* * *
Major and I bought a jerkin for me in Jayanagar. Somehow, my enthusiasm is not kindled. On top of it, UG has been phoning and dampening my enthusiasm. What is this mess?
What do I want? What have I achieved through all this mingling with UG? What’s left in life except moaning? When Nagamani says “You are lucky that you can get near UG,” I smile to myself. What luck, to whom? What’s all this? Am I lucky to be able to go to Switzerland? Am I not lucky to have the opportunity to spend a month in UG’s presence? How many people have such luck? All right, what will I gain by that? What change has occurred in me? None. Will there be change when I die? In whom? Who will remain?
Why am I thinking now of death? I merely think that I am alive, but do I know that? If these words come out of me, they sound strange even to me. Why all this moroseness? Is it because of the weather outside? My mind does not rest even for the brief moment of my drinking coffee.
I guess I appear to be in a jolly mood to others. Watching Chalam, I used to think similarly of him. How I used to envy him sitting in a chair in front of Arunachala[1], with a jasmine garland around his neck, looking into himself with half-closed eyes! When I remarked, “How blissful you look, Dad!” he would answer, “What do you know about all the storms that are arising in me?” I didn’t want to believe what he said. Now I understand somewhat.
Not all that appears on the outside is real. There is no rule that the agitation in the mind should be visible in one’s facial expressions. One might show just the opposite expressions. Chalam might not have been sporting about in some heavenly region or might not have been in the midst of a rapturous state. The very idea of a rapturous state is a big lie in the first place. The remorse that trusting such a thing I have falsified my whole life haunts my miserable being. There are no states of ecstasy. What’s here is nothing except this restlessness, the anxiety, the regret and the sadness. If I could remain with this realization, the next moment all these other feelings would vanish. In their place there would be quietness, restfulness and peace of mind. But then the struggle would begin to maintain these states.
* * *
July 22, 1999 (Thursday)
Writing for half an hour a day is not only a great pastime but is also a way to preserve my sanity. My mind would have gone crazy but for this writing and I would have been mad long ago.
A while ago Aruna called from California. She said that she and her husband are thinking of coming to India in the third week of August. He could only get leave from work at that time. She asked me to return [to India] from Switzerland by that time. “If you are not there, why should we go all the way to India?” UG asked us to get a visa for six weeks; he wants to keep us there for as long as possible. If we tell him that we will only be there for three or four weeks, what might he say? Aruna is worried: “No one seems to be excited about our visiting India,” she says. She couldn’t figure out why we have arranged this trip all of a sudden. She would like us to be here when she comes. When I suggested, “Why don’t you wait till we come back; then you can come to India in the last week of August?” she became angry. Maybe they have already booked their tickets. I must talk to Venkat and find out the specifics.
* * *
No one understands how much the school problems are bothering me. I must somehow straighten out Ranganadha Rao. I am worried about his ways. I must talk to him. I must talk to all the teachers. All these thoughts sting my mind but fly away before they are carried into action.
* * *
July 23, 1999 (Friday)
The Swiss visa I have been waiting for has arrived in time. They granted a 35-day visit. That means five weeks. We can stay till August 31. It’s surprising that we could get a visa directly through the travel agent without Mahesh’s intervention. When I called UG last evening to tell him that we have the Swiss visa, he said, “Suguna is rich, what more do they want?” I really think we got the visa only because we mentioned UG’s name in the letter. Normally, they say we need police clearance papers. It’s strange that they gave the visa easily without any such complications. We must now make the preparations to travel at once. Yesterday evening, I related the school problems to Venkata Chalapathi and asked him to visit the school in my absence. I asked Guravayya also to do the same.
* * *
July 24, 1999 (Saturday)
Tomorrow is the day of departure. All these days I haven’t been considering the fact that we will be traveling that far. I won’t be here, in these surroundings, for another month. I won’t see these people. I’ll be in a strange land among strange faces.
I am asking myself, “What will you be when you leave this world?” All of a sudden, I won’t have any consciousness. All the things that these eyes are used to seeing, the sky, the trees, the glory of sunrise and sunset, the stars – none of them will be there. There will be no music or noises. Will it be an empty blissfulness? Will it be a state of nothing where there is everything? How can I imagine such a state? I won’t even be there. “You can’t preside over your own death,” says UG. The ‘I’ must go first. The ‘I’ must go without a trace. Only then there is death.
If I myself am not there, who cares about this world? Who cares about the school problems, about these books, the tapes, giving hospitality, being nice to people, having affections, tears, spites and harassment? I won’t be there, right? “How will it be on the first day when I am not around? How will the sun rise without me being around?” contemplated Papa Chalam. Even after Chalam has gone down, the sun continued to rise. No matter who dies or who is born, the rains keep raining, the sky will still shine, and the wind will still blow. There will be no change in the order of seasons. There won’t be any change in the ways of nature in this vast universe. That’s true even if I die tomorrow. So, what do I care when I am not going to be there? What do I care which party comes into power in what country? What do I care who becomes rich and who poor, what country is destroyed, or whether the whole world goes topsy-turvy? There won’t be any of these things which I am thinking of now.
Would I know that I don’t exist? How would I know? Would there be some way of knowing that I don’t exist just as I know now that I do exist? I must first unravel this mystery. Is it really true that I exist? Do I truly exist? Where am I? I am thinking that I exist. As these letters are transferred to the paper, I read them and understand them. I know their meaning. I can feel the pain in my back and the pain in my ankle from sitting cross-legged. There is a ringing sound in my ears. The taste of the coffee made by Suguna is reaching my lips. Then it goes on the tongue for a moment. Then it’s a mere memory. Isn’t this true with any experience? It lasts only so long as we experience it; the next moment it’s a mere memory. Recalling that experience and digging the memories, I keep fabricating the illusion that I am alive.
These fears, anxieties, emotions and passions – they all come from those memories. I don’t understand how I remember. All these are basic, fundamental problems in my mind. I live writhing like a mouse in boiling gruel, not knowing about any of these, cloaking myself with the illusion that I am alive. How low to live like this, estranged from truth and reality! How long does this awareness last? Only for a moment, just as long as I write this. The next moment, I forget.
* * *
In Switzerland with UG
July 28 (Wednesday)
Exactly a day has passed in Gstaad. The Air France plane which had been scheduled to leave at 12:30 am left at 7:30 am instead and arrived an hour late in Paris, at Charles de Gaulle airport. The plane for Zurich had already left. Just as we got off the plane we were told that there was no other flight till 10:30 am. I sent a message to UG through the airline staff that we would be arriving late in Zurich, so that he won’t be waiting for us there. They gave us free snacks at the Paris airport. It was 11:30 am when our plane landed in the Zurich airport. And by the time we got our baggage and got out of the airport it was 12:30 pm. The immigration check was easy. The police official asked, “What’s your business in Switzerland?” “To spend time with UG Krishnamurti,” I answered. “I see, to see UG,” said the officer as if he was familiar with him. “When are you returning?” – the second question. “In four weeks,” I said. Without another word he stamped the passport and said goodbye.
At the gate, Narayana Moorty, UG and Paul Sempé received us. UG looked like he had lost some weight. Paul Sempé brought his old Citroën car. In another 15 minutes we started on our journey to Gstaad. The car travel lasted about an hour and a half. It was 3 pm by the time we passed Gruyere and entered Berner Oberland. I remember the outskirts of Gstaad pretty well. At the beginning of the town, there is a big tent. It has been put up for a circus. Now they have completed the bypass road. They finished building the tunnel in 1996. It was exactly that year that we came here the last time. The city council got the tunnel built as part of the bypass road so that cars wouldn’t have to go through the town. They created this facility because cars and buses on the main street were inconveniencing pedestrians. It’s very nice now. There is no vehicle traffic on the main street. One can walk about freely. The place is busy with a variety of shops and restaurants. Yesterday afternoon, Moorty, Paul Sempé and I went for a walk for an hour and a half.
Paul Sempé
I got better acquainted with Sempé this time. Even the last time it was he who had driven us both to Gstaad from Zurich. He has known UG for 32 years. His place is near Gottfried’s place in southern France near Sanary-sur-Mer. In those days UG used to go to the South of France every year and spend some time with Gottfried. Paul Sempé used to be a captain; he piloted tugboats. Now he is 77 years old. He looks pretty healthy. He still drives a cheap car. Whenever there is an occasion, UG makes fun of his driving. Even now, sitting in the front seat, he has to tell Sempé which way to turn and where to turn. UG has been giving him directions all the way from Zurich.
Sempé comes to Gstaad every summer to spend at least a week with UG. The rest of the time he is in his own world. He lives in a house in a desolate forest inhabited by wild animals. There is no electricity in the house. He uses a generator. He even has a computer. Books are his companions. He spends his time alone. His wife calls him when she needs him; then he goes to see her. He goes to his daughter’s place if he feels like spending time with his granddaughter. Or else, he lives in the forest. I feel that he and Major have similar minds. Moorty told me that his wife is very beautiful. She too is older than 70 years. Sempé likes Moorty very much. He is thinking of visiting him in the US. He says a lot of good has happened to him thanks to his friendship with UG. For instance, he is freed from ‘the madness of spirituality’. Once has realized that there is nothing permanent, worldly desires have lost their grip on him. He doesn’t care if he doesn’t realize the non-dual state that UG talks about.
It’s now 9:30 am, which means 1:00 pm. in India. I’m getting very sleepy. That’s enough. I’ll continue tomorrow.
* * *
July 29, 1999 (Thursday)
Gstaad – Ludi Haus
Morning 6 am here; in India it’s 9:30 am. There are no sounds around. Ours is a big room on the second floor. The houses here are all made of wood. Each of the beams in them would weigh some tons. The cornices on the roof reach out about 10 feet beyond the walls. Yesterday, I couldn’t go for a walk because of the rain. Instead, Moorty and I went around the house about ten times. Not a drop of rain fell on us. The cornice is so wide that it’s like someone is holding a big umbrella over our heads. That’s what’s special about these roofs. These houses are called chalets. In this chalet, on the first floor, there are shops and offices. UG’s apartment is on the second floor. There are other guest apartments. On the third floor there are other guests besides us and Mrs. Lakshmi. There are five or six apartments on each floor. Ludi Haus is a house of four floors. It’s very convenient. The living room in UG’s apartment is very big. There are many sofas, chairs and tables. Everyone gathers there everyday. All day long, UG doesn’t move from where he sits; he sits there and keeps talking from morning till evening. At the moment there are some Germans in the room -- Nataraj, Manju and his girlfriend and others. Julie is living somewhere else. Tomorrow, Larry Morris, Susan and Claire are leaving. Then Julie will move into their apartment.
* * *
If we look outside from the window of the room, we see a high mountain like Arunachala. There are clouds around its peak. Trees cover the whole mountain like a blanket so that not a single bare rock can be seen. From here you can see Chalet Sunbeam where UG spent summers for 25 years. Across the street, there are the tennis courts where the Swiss Open takes place. When the tennis tournament begins, all the apartments in this building are filled. In winter, the streets in Gstaad will all be abuzz with ski offficianados. The local people’s main occupation here is business. No one excels more than the Swiss in doing different sorts of business. There is a price for every little thing. Tourists have to pay two francs a day to the Swiss government to breathe the air here and roam about in these streets. The roads here are built with cobblestones laid in several designs – squares, semicircles and circles. In every city in Europe you can see this arrangement of cobblestones laid evenly with cement between them. How nice the roads look with these cobblestones! The roads remain intact for centuries; they are not broken even in rains or floods.
Behind the Ludi Haus there is a post office and a train station. You don’t hear much noise from the trains. The trains run regularly. You hear their noise as if they are coming from a distance, not just from a few yards away. You don’t hear the noise of vehicles honking or the busy sounds of men.
* * *
Suguna just handed me a hot cup of Swiss coffee made with cow’s milk. It tastes great. Just a cup of it will do. The taste lingers on the tongue for hours. Yesterday afternoon, I had coffee with Chandrahas in Rialto.
July 30, 1999 (Friday)
5:30 am. Through the window you can see the silhouette of the mountain in the fog. Any time you look at it you have the illusion that it’s about to walk into the room. Far away you hear the sound of a mountain train coming into town. Its whistle sounds like a bird’s cry. But for that, it’s silent everywhere. You can’t believe that thousands of people live in this remote village in the valley of these mountains. Yesterday, while walking along the Saanen River, Moorty and I saw the place where JK used to give his talks. They used to erect a huge tent in which Krishnamurti gave talks every day. In those days you saw Krishnamurti people wherever you went. Now young people are playing soccer in that field. It was 3:00 pm in the afternoon when we took our walk and the sun felt very pleasant. All around you could see Christmas-tree-like pine trees. They grow tall, straight and in clusters on the mountains. Where you don’t see trees, you notice green meadows spread out. But there is no dust or gravel. In winter, however, everything is covered with snow. All the paths on the mountains are filled with snow. Apparently, it’s less cold when it snows. Moorty says that when it stops snowing it gets colder.
* * *
Chandrahas
What happened a couple of days ago concerns Chandrahas. When did I see him last? I saw him in Bangalore about five or six years ago. He was in Yercaud for a few days. Then he suddenly disappeared. A few months ago he phoned from Switzerland. How did he come here? To someone who observes his manner, he doesn’t seem to be of a stable mind. But he is very intelligent. He comes from Bhopal in Madhya Pradesh. He had been spiritually inclined ever since he was a child. Sri Ramakrishna and Vivekananda were his idols. Mentally he is not fully developed and he has a mysterious interior. He is very emotional and passionate – having the same intense passions which possess every young person, creating havoc but then dissipating. He distanced himself from RSS[2] for some time, escaping their hold, and landed in the South. He found shelter in Arunachala. He heard about UG while he was there and came to Yercaud in 1993. He was friends with a German girl. Chandrahas loves to drink. He is handsome. He looked quite attractive in those days. After he came here Swiss girls sucked him dry. He used to dream about going to Germany. I can’t remember what happened after that. Once he came to see UG when he was staying in the Malladi’s guest house in Madras. He didn’t have a penny on him then. UG gave him a hundred rupees. From that moment on, his lifestyle has improved.
In 1996, he apparently tried to come to our place in Bangalore at the time of the housewarming. Major didn’t allow it as he didn’t want to bring a nuisance into our home at that time. Chandrahas was angry with Major for not taking him to our house in his car. Now, when tasting the pudding and the milk cake that Suguna and Lakshmi made, he said that he should have eaten these things at our housewarming time. He also said he came to Gstaad especially to see us.
His return trip is leaving from Geneva today. He is going back to Bombay. He has been in this country for seven months. His fortunes have changed. He guessed that UG might be in Gstaad and so he came here. He didn’t know where UG lived. He didn’t have his phone number. He is an absentminded fellow. He can’t take care of his own personal belongings. He leaves them wherever he goes and forgets them. Two days ago, he left his purse containing his passport, ticket and money in a shop and remembered them in the train station while chatting with me. After the train arrived, he looked for his purse, and then, not finding it, he ran to UG’s house looking for it. It wasn’t there. Then he went to the shop and asked for it there. They returned it to him. A little while later, he remembered his umbrella. He ran back again in the rain to UG’s place and retrieved his lost umbrella from there. At last, he got on the train that day around 5 pm. Today he will first go to Montreau, and from there to Geneva.
How did he come to know that UG would be in this place? Something funny happened. While he was sitting in the train station wondering where UG might be and how he could meet him, another person came, sat on the bench and apparently started muttering to himself, “UG, UG.” That man had just quarreled with UG and left in anger saying, “I’ll never see your face again, I won’t step in this place once more!” When Chandrahas asked him about UG, he relented and took Chandrahas over to UG’s place. But for that man, Chandrahas wouldn’t have been able to meet UG. He said, “Such things always happen to me coincidentally, without my will. I came to this town to meet UG. I was determined to see UG. It’s all due to UG’s kindness.”
He took a 100 franc bill, placed it in front of UG, and said, “UG, you have given me the ability to return 100 francs to you for the 100 rupees you had given me before,” laughing loudly. He then took several more hundred franc bills and piled them in front of UG. The day before yesterday it was Guru Purnima (full moon day). Chandrahas was overjoyed that just on the Guru Purnima day he had the opportunity to offer ‘a gift to the Guru’ (guru dakshina). UG touched the money and said, “I don’t need this; you do. Keep it,” and gave the money back to him. Chandrahas replied, “I piled all that money in front of you with the hope that you would touch it. Now that you have, it will multiply a thousand-fold,” and gladly stuffed the money back into his pocket.
Chandrahas encountered a lot of hardships in Switzerland. He made friends with some girls and got into trouble. He picked quarrels with his girlfriend’s parents and doctors over their admitting her to a lunatic asylum. “None of you can do anything to me. There is nothing you can do to throw me out of this country,” he challenged them. He keeps going on a tirade against the doctors in this country. He fights with the psychiatrists. Watching his behavior, they too got scared of him. I wondered how they could tolerate him for seven months in this country. I think the girls get romantically attracted to him. Apparently, he used to charge 150 francs per hour for his treatment. What treatment! They only want one thing. He enchanted them with his good looks and made a lot of money. But the man has gotten quite emaciated. He has grown a thick beard. He says, “The youth of this generation is becoming a bane to this country.”
* * *
July 31, 1999 (Saturday)
It’s only a quarter till six in the morning. It’s all silent outside this house, and it’s silent inside. However, the factories in my head have been working tirelessly, out of control. I can’t stand their raucousness. I can’t tell the difference between waking and sleeping. The wheels keep turning constantly. Hammer strokes. Incoherent thoughts. This pen is drying up; I mustn’t buy this sort of pen again.
Is this Switzerland where I am? Am I in that Switzerland whose air rich people and people of status pine to breathe, the beauty of whose mountains people all over the world race with each other to worship, a country whose excellence is not equaled even by affluent countries – am I in that Switzerland? What a wonder! I am not worth a penny, yet how is it that I roam the earth? How is it that I could promenade in this most beautiful Gstaad? How has it become possible? You cannot appreciate too well these mountains, trees, valleys, flowers, the wooden mansions on hill slopes and the colorful flowers decorating them. These eyes are not adequate to see them. You can see so much variety only in the colors of flowers in this country. I can’t describe how pleasurable and enjoyable life is here. When I look at the comforts here, I cannot but contrast them with the conditions in India.
By mistake Julie tossed Suguna’s watch out the window along with some trash. It’s forbidden here even to shake off a tablecloth from the window onto the street. But she did it. She went down looking for the watch after realizing her mistake and got the watch back. Someone carefully picked up the watch which had fallen from the third floor and turned it in to the shop downstairs. Such a thing would never happen in India. There, who would not pocket a watch found lying on the street?
* * *
Srinivas
On our first day here, on his walk, Moorty ran into a man called Srinivas. Srinivas is a Tamil who was born in Rajahmundry and grew up in Madras. When Moorty told him about UG, he was eager to see him. As he promised, he came the next morning. He is probably around 45 years of age. He may be older than that but he looks pretty healthy. He is tall and his body size fits his height. His complexion is light brown. He doesn’t speak Telugu very well. Maybe he speaks Tamil well. He works as some sort of a history teacher in an American school in Holland. Apparently he worked in the diplomatic service for a while. As I was wondering why he quit such a good job, I learned in course of his conversation with UG that he had discarded many riches. The Krishnamurti Foundation has invited him here to teach yoga.
I am not sure if he had heard of UG before, but once he started talking to UG, he couldn’t seem to stop and leave. And soon after he came, his self-confidence, his self-assurance and his pride that he ‘knew it all’ evaporated. He showed signs of agitation and confusion. I could see expressed on his face the feeling of being lost in what he was doing or looking at. In spite of UG warning him repeatedly that it was getting late for him, the gentleman was reluctant to move. I thought he was caught in a snare. He will surely come again. Such is the taste of UG. UG invited him for lunch and ate with him. His background and the things he talked about were quite interesting.
It will take a whole book to describe these things, especially what he said about Jiddu Krishnamurti. He was close to JK once upon a time. However, he didn’t care for JK’s style and found contradictions between what he had said and what he had done. So he moved away from him, probably in 1980. He worked as a teacher in the Rishi Valley School. He was surprised at the special attention JK gave him during his dialogues with the teachers that year. JK granted him, without even his asking for them, goodies such as eating meals with him, going for walks with him and having intimate conversations with him. It was all grand at first. When JK advised him to change his accent of English and acquire a British accent, he tried to cultivate it for some time. But he got tired of the task and decided to stick with his Madras Tamil accent. We were once again reminded, in the context of his eating meals with JK, how much of a glutton JK was. We found that Douglas hadn’t exaggerated a bit.
Srinivas did not care for the method of teaching they practiced in the Rishi Valley School. He didn’t quite understand what was so special about Krishnamurti choosing only wealthy children, creating all sorts of comforts for them and then educating them. The ‘yes’ men who had gathered around JK didn’t let him breathe. Srinivas knew all of them – Pupul Jayakar, Achyut Patwardhan, Nandini, and others. Srinivas at last got out of that cage. As he felt he was obligated to JK for the special fondness and attention he received, he worked for such a long time at that Foundation.
Once during a public talk he had asked JK a very irksome question regarding the eradication of poverty: “How is it fair to live in such luxury in a country in which the poor suffer and are unable to afford a meal? What’s your answer to this?” he had asked point-blank in front of the many people in the audience. He threatened those who then tried to stop him. “You are all his lackeys; you just shut up,” he shouted at them. They calmed down. “Mr. Krishnamurti, please answer my question,” he insisted. Although JK was startled at first, he composed himself slowly, said something in reply, closed the meeting, got up and left. After that he did not let Srinivas near him nor did he speak to him until Srinivas felt sorry that he might have pained JK, went to him and apologized. After that JK again showed fondness for him. But Srinivas did not like working in that school, so he quit. He is still fond of JK and respects him. But he admitted that like all holy men he too did not practice what he had preached and that he was a womanizer and had relations with some women.
* * *
Exactly one hour has passed. Outside, the sky is showering morning light. In this country they wash the roads with a detergent. Across the street the tennis courts look deserted. All day long children play in that wide space. They practice riding their bicycles; some also go around on their skate boards. It’s not morning for any of them yet.
UG was reading aloud all yesterday from The Letters of Gold to everyone. He read the extempore lecture he gave on Theosophy in Rendsberg. Then he read the letters Arundale and Jinarajadasa wrote to him as well as the letters he had written to Mahesh. Moorty, who had been listening to all this, thought that the letters should be included in a biography of UG. “These letters are quite useful. When Mahesh was writing your biography, I didn’t know about these letters,” he said addressing UG. I was surprised. Who stopped all these letters from getting into the book?
* * *
Time: 9:30 am. It’s now 1 o’clock in India. I just returned from chatting with UG. The assembly started at 8:00 am. It will go on again from 3 o’clock in the afternoon till 7 pm. Now Nataraj, Mitra, his girlfriend, Nataraj’s sister, Manju and his girlfriend are still here. Larry Morris, Susan and Claire left yesterday morning. Apparently, an engine from their plane fell off. The accident happened on their way from Atlanta to Albuquerque. The pilot brought the plane down carefully in Dallas. I never heard of such an accident of an engine dropping off before.
Larry Morris had a difficult time parting. I don’t understand what the attraction is. “He is a real goner,” says Claire. He sits in front of UG all day long. Those who have witnessed it say that when he stands on the pulpit in his church he is a completely different man. Once he sits in front of UG he forgets the whole world. Lakshmi says Guha is the same way. He forgets his own existence. I never felt that way. I used to be like that before when I sat in front of Shau. I never feel that way when I sit in front of UG. Sometimes I feel “That’s enough, let’s go;” but I never forget myself. Why?
Maybe that’s the case with some people. A man thinks and feels the way he imagines. But it has nothing to do with who is in front of you. That’s true even if God stands before you. It all depends on what we imagine. Devotees worship God only by imagining His presence. If God is omnipresent and omnipotent, then the very breath that moves in me is God. The pen that’s writing and the thoughts that are spilled on the paper are all driven by God. What’s there that could be called mine? Where is it? I just think that I exist, that I have a form, that I have a shape. If I don’t think these things, then who am I? And who is there for me?
* * *
UG’s words kindled memories of Valentine. Tears rolled in Suguna’s eyes. Nine years have passed since her death. Tomorrow is the 1st of August, Valentine’s birthday. It’s the National Day, the day of the formation of the nation of Switzerland. They are decorating the whole town for the celebration. Flowers and colors everywhere – it’s great! At night there will be fireworks, sounds of firecrackers, dances, songs and bands – there will be a big celebration.
When I think of living, I mean living in the past like this. Even thinking of tomorrow is living in the past. Where does the ‘I’ exist except in memories? This book is filled with shit. This writing is full of shit. Shit! Shit! Culture Shit! Shit! Shit! Stinking shit! Just as I feel relieved pooping out the shit from the guts in the mornings, I transfer the shit that has accumulated in my head to these pages. Then the head becomes a little lighter. Then once again shit gathers. As I empty the head, wash it out, the shit gathers again and again.
* * *
August 1, 1999 (Sunday)
5:30 am. It’s still hazy outside. Today is Valentine’s birthday. This is her last birthday in this century. It is the Swiss Independence Day. I wonder from whom they had gained independence. As a matter of fact, historically this county has always been independent. Although the country doesn’t have an army, every citizen must undergo military training. The law here requires that every citizen must go through military training for a couple of weeks every year. But the Swiss are not warmongers; they are freedom lovers. They can’t tolerate being subjugated by another nation. The country suffered seriously in both the world wars of this century. Apparently, they used to give a ration of 1½ egg per person per day. There was no electricity. In the winter time Valentine had collected twigs and branches to make fire for warmth. Although they had cars, they couldn’t get petrol. For some reason Hitler did not attack this country. He did not touch this nation. It remained neutral and did not interfere in any other nation’s affairs. England too did not attack Switzerland. After the end of WWII in 1945, this country has taken off. In 1950, the Indian rupee and Swiss franc had the same value. Now you can’t buy a franc even with 30 rupees; it has gone up so much in value.
* * *
Just as I expected, Srinivas appeared again yesterday at 10:30 am along with two friends of his. This time UG spoke as rudely and abusively as he had spoken gently and respectfully the other day. Srinivas stayed for almost two hours. He was curious about the bodily changes that UG had gone through, the strange changes in his glands. But whatever UG said sounded to him like JK’s words. “You are speaking exactly like JK. He too says the same thing,” he claimed. It’s clear that Srinivas was still deeply rooted in JK. No matter how much he tried to convince us by saying, “I don’t believe in anyone. I don’t worship JK,” it was obvious how much his words imbibed JK’s spirit. “If my words are similar to JK’s words, it’s only because there are no other words in the English language. We were both schooled by the same teachers. But you are not the same,” answered UG.
“Perhaps I won’t understand you unless I undergo the same kind of glandular changes that you have gone through,” said Srinivas. No matter how harshly UG spoke and belittled him, Srinivas held to his manner of respect and humility. When I watched his behavior, it became clear to me that he was truly trying to understand UG. “I am barking like a dog here and you are creating meaning for those noises. You are trying to understand,” said UG. When UG said, “I have no way of knowing that I’m alive. If you ask me, I will say, ‘Yes, I’m alive,’ but I really have no way of knowing that fact for myself,” Srinivas admitted his inability to understand. “How can you understand? The existence of ‘you’ will not want to know your existence. It will safely continue through noticing similarities in words and deeds between JK and me; or else, you will ‘die’ right here and now. But you can’t bear that.”
“You can’t be interested in this. How can you be interested?” UG asserted repeatedly. No matter how many ways Srinivas tried to argue with him, UG would nip his arguments in the bud. When UG said, “Man needs two ‘F’s – food and fuck. This body is not interested in anything more – just survival and reproduction,” Srinivas asked, “Did you succeed in using the second ‘F’?” UG replied, “I am 82 years old. What do I have to do with sex? I have become old.” However, he didn’t reveal that his sex urge was burnt out forty years ago. He explained that sex was not possible for him, citing his conversation with a Nobel laureate. “It’s not just to know in words that there is no space or time. Where will your woman be if there is truly no space? How will sex be possible?” was UG’s question.
Srinivas was flabbergasted. He said at last, “I don’t understand you. But when I observe you, you look marvelous. Even though you are older than 80, you look so energetic. I won’t be able to understand you unless those glandular changes happen to me too.” UG showed him a video tape of Douglas’s skit about JK. In the tape, Douglas acted out with words and gestures depicting how much of a glutton JK was and how much he appreciated things like sex.
Srinivas is leaving tomorrow. Maybe he won’t see UG again. But the fire which has been kindled in him by UG will not die; it will continue to burn. It will consume him head to foot. I am wonderstruck when I think of how many thousands of people UG has helped like this. I am noticing all kinds of links on the Internet. Hundreds of people are anxiously seeking to know about UG. UG’s command to us is not to let people know of his whereabouts. What I feel is that recently UG has been losing his patience. He knows that his end is nearing. He feels that he mustn’t waste his time with groups. He cannot help everyone, especially groups. Maybe one or two individuals, those who have been burnt and consumed with intense yearning — for those one or two UG has been waiting patiently. Someone like me is thick-skinned. Not much has been ruffled in me in spite my thirty years of acquaintance with him. There has been no effect. I haven’t lost my desire for these toys yet. I collect them and never think clearly, “What do I want?”
* * *
August 1 (Continuing):
I feel as if I am living to write this journal. There is nothing else. What I am living for? For myself? What must I do? What must I achieve? Am I truly alive? Or is my life living itself? I say ‘my life’ – what is my life? Just words. A lot of hot air. Meaningless, useless words. I just use them mechanically. I just think I understand them, but if I look into them, they are hollow.
* * *
After lunch and before dinner, Moorty and I were out for our routine walk. For about an hour and a half we went along the mountain paths, chatting. We pick a different route each day. One day we leave from behind the Palace Hotel; another day from the front of it. When we walk along the paths we notice many wooden buildings. We saw a mansion built in 1650. The Palace Hotel has ten floors. I wonder how many hundreds of years old it is. It was world famous even in the beginning of this century. A Rolls Royce car was parked in front in the porch. People here are hard-working. They serve the leisure class of the world. From many countries people descend into these valleys, not seeking rest but tired of routine life. How many hundreds and thousands reside in this valley! Hundreds of wooden chalets. They are behind the trees, not visible from outside. Apparently, ‘Gstaad’ should be pronounced as ‘Staat’. Moorty and I were remembering Chalam and the friendships of those old times.
Aruna and Venkat are planning to come here. We talked to them at length yesterday. They both will come on the 27th and we will all travel to India on the 30th. They will have to tour Switzerland in two days. I am not sure if Julie will still be here. Meanwhile Mr. Raju will arrive. Mittu and Guha will also come.
* * *
UG invited everyone to our room for lunch with the pretext of Valentine’s birthday. Nataraj, Maria, Lisa, Lakshmi and her children, Julie and us two – we all had lunch together. UG and Moorty had their lunch in their apartment. There are many apartments in Ludi Haus. UG and Moorty are in ‘E’. Lisa and Mario are put up in ‘F’, we two are in ‘M’ and Lakshmi’s family is in ‘P’.
I showed UG the dedication in my journal, which is to him. He merely said, “How can you write such a thing?” That’s all. He read it all and returned it.
After lunch, Suguna and I went with Nataraj and Maria to see the place where Nataraj is living. It’s near Saanen, near the tents where JK used to give his talks before. The rent is 600 francs a month.
* * *
There are mountains all around us. If you have to go anywhere from this valley, you must cross the mountains. The peak called Diablaret is very high. There is another mountain called Eggli. Each mountain has its own name. I don’t know all the names. I must find out. Mont Blanc has the highest summit in the Alps. I am so surprised that Aruna and Venkat are coming. It’s a strange coincidence that we come here and they come here too after planning to travel to India. I can’t believe this.
* * *
UG used to be friends with a Polish youth called John Piatras when he lived in Chicago. Piatras used to talk to UG everyday. He attended UG’s Philosophers’ Corner to listen to his conversations and discussions. UG’s wife Kusuma had a liking for him. UG lost touch with him after he left the US. But John kept himself informed of UG’s news for some time - the hardships UG had experienced in London when he was penniless, his wife’s death, the news of his children having to seek shelter in relatives’ houses, UG’s helpless state – he had learned of all of these events.
About the same time, he had developed an interest in JK and tried hard to meet him in person. He squatted in his car in front of JK’s house and obtained an interview. When he talked to JK, in passing he mentioned UG. When he narrated UG’s condition in London, JK was unable to contain his sorrow and cried out loud. John met UG again after almost 30 years and related this incident to him. After the web page was created for UG on the Internet in 1996, John chanced to see the website in 1997. He sent e-mails to Julie and Moorty enquiring about UG. At that time he was in some high-level position in the computer field. When he heard about him, UG gave him his address and phone number and invited him to Palm Springs.
One day, John came with his family to Palm Springs to see UG. Lisa and Mario were also present on the scene. UG was surprised that JK had cried aloud when he heard UG’s sad story. Many years ago, when JK had asked him, “Have you ever shed tears, sir? Have you ever cried?” UG replied, “I never cried in all my conscious life. Maybe I cried when I was in the cradle or in my mother’s arms. I can’t remember.” “But I feel like crying for you,” said Krishnamurti. “Be my guest. Cry. Who stopped you?” said UG bluntly. But when we learn that JK had really cried for UG for fifteen minutes, sobbing, “Oh, that poor chap, oh, that poor chap!” we can understand how much JK was attached to UG. When John was relating this story to UG, Lisa, who was sitting there, couldn’t restrain herself from crying. “I too was about to cry when I was listening to him describing that,” said Lisa today when UG was recalling and relating that old incident. JK must have liked UG so much. Or else, why could he not let go of his friendship even when UG was so critical of him? UG says now, “I now understand that JK was using me as his mirror. He tried to look at himself in me and tried to correct himself. My thoughts and ideas were useful to him to shape himself.” That was why JK was fond of UG’s friendship and of arguing with UG.
* * *
August 2, 1999 (Monday)
Experiencing...
It has already been a week since I left home. It feels as if ages have passed. That’s how it is when you visit new places; when you travel, you get feelings like that. How about when I exit this world? I just imagine time passing slowly, but is there any reality to those feelings? How do I know for sure that I am here? What’s true and what’s false? If something is true, how is it true? If it is false, how is it false? If you remove all measurements and beliefs then what will remain? How many millions of people have thought like this before me? What happened to them? Did they gather any wealth? Did they leave any mark? Are their names remembered on this earth? Why should their names remain? That’s another absurd desire, the greed for fame. If I haven’t hooked to this name while I am still alive, how happy would I have been! Valentine’s name, fame and her possessions have all disappeared right in front of me.
But everyone is attached to life. A man becomes a zombie when his memories are burned up. The ‘turiya’ state is nothing more than that, says UG, the state in which you remain without the self. There are no thoughts, no anxieties, no worries. There is not even a thought that one is alive. What greater fortune could I wish for than that?
But... but... if I don’t experience that state, then of what use is it? If I don’t know that I am happy, that I am content, then what good is contentment? I must clearly experience it. If I have to know it....I must stand apart from it and be able to experience it. Just as I watch and enjoy these mountains and beauties, I must relish my blissful state. Everyone must think “How lucky you are, how happy you are!” Then it means something. What will it mean? The next moment you will start worrying and then slide into an abysmal hell. That too you will experience. In this way, you will hop and jump from one thing to another as a monkey jumps from one branch to another. But the ‘you’, the permanent ‘you,’ that thing you will never experience. It’s just not possible. However, you can’t but long for it. If you do experience it, that means you are hanging onto another branch. To stand without any support, without any branches, is something beyond the monkey’s imagination. I can imagine it, but it can never be a fact for me.
* * *
Swiss Independence Day
Last night, we all went out on the streets. It wasn’t very cold. It was quite pleasant to go around with a jacket on. Children and adults, everyone, lighted firecrackers. All around on the mountain peaks they lighted big lights and bonfires. At 10:30 in the night there were fireworks by the Palace Hotel. The sky sparkled with the colorful lights for 15 minutes. Different sorts of firecrackers. Not so much bombastic noises as clusters of colored lights that were jetting around feasting the eyes – it’s something that can only be seen and not described. We all wholeheartedly enjoyed the Swiss National Day along with Shilpa and Sumedha. UG, however, stayed in his apartment.
* * *
I discussed separately UG’s behavior with Moorty and Julie. We can notice an increased energy in his speech and action. But his movements have diminished. From morning till night he sits on the sofa. Except for going into the kitchen or bathroom or onto the balcony, or climbing the stairs to come to our room or Lakshmi’s room, he is not moving anywhere. Occasionally he goes around in a car. I wonder when he goes to the post office. He steps into it just for a second and gets out. Just to tease, two days ago, Moorty invited UG to go for a walk with us. But he was adamant and said no. Yesterday, we all went to Chalet Sunbeam along with Julie. UG, of course, didn’t come.
Lisa and Mario
When we think of our past, we have old memories. Memories are themselves old. Why call them ‘old memories’? Whatever stirs in the mind stinks of being old. Whatever moves in the stomach is old food. “UG is withdrawing from outdoor activities,” said Moorty. Indeed, neither in his words nor in his actions and movements does he concern himself with anything.
But he seems to have a strong wish to get Lisa to have plastic surgery to make her face more attractive, with the hope that at least then a ‘fat cat’ might fall in love with her. He doesn’t accept Mario as Lisa’s partner. He rejects him saying, “You are a coolie. You are no match to her.” Mario complains, saying that Lisa is his wife. UG denies that. Lisa is attached to Mario. It appears that UG is trying to separate the two. But it also appears that they two are getting closer to each other because of the influence of UG’s words and actions. I think that as their suppressed desires are brought out into the open, their attraction to each other has become clearer and they have gotten closer to each other. There is a bond between the two. Lisa wants a child with Mario. Even UG says that her desire will be fulfilled soon.
UG doesn’t care about our measurements and values. But he never subverts them. He may condemn them and ridicule them, but he will never violate them. We become conflicted by looking upon these values as great, on the one hand, and bewailing that we can’t fit ourselves into their framework, on the other. That conflict is the main source of our restlessness. We might get interested in other women; our mind regards social values as false and prompts us to rebel against them. But our intellect tries to prevent rebellion; that’s where our disguised warfare starts. At some level or other these conflicts occur in everyone at any moment. If we can prevent them as much as possible, then there is a possibility of harmony in life. The effect of UG’s words and deeds seems to be such that they are preparations to lead us exactly to that state. We can’t take them. They make us hop and jump around like a monkey whose tail has been stepped on. In the final analysis we may find that our conflicts have disappeared without our knowing it. Gradually, the organism will find ways of living without any interference from those values. That’s the effect of UG.
* * *
This morning at 9:00 am, Moorty and I went out for a walk. There is a path leaving from the side of the Palace Hotel that goes alongside Saanen River. The river was flowing fast under the shadows of the tall pine trees on the slopes of the hill; on the other side, there was a cool breeze coming from the meadows on the slopes of the hill. If you follow the path, you can get to Launen; or you can go back to Gstaad. You can see the Hotel Parkview on the way; it’s a big hotel.
On the walk, Moorty mentioned UG’s letters again. He too thought that it would be nice to write a biography of UG inserting letters and photos in the middle. If anyone writes UG’s biography, it must be Moorty. He told me that he set a condition with UG to write one. UG must live for a hundred years. He promised UG that for his 100th birthday he would write and publish a comprehensive and definitive biography. He will include in it letters, accounts of meetings with UG and photos. The big book might amount to about 400 pages. Just like the effort of Rajasekhar. But if Moorty undertakes it, it will surely shape up into a biography which no one in the world has seen or heard. But how is his condition going to be realized? Can UG guarantee that he will live for a hundred years? Why should he give such a guarantee? A hundred years for the body? Why just a hundred years? He could live for even 500 years. But what about his form? Would he be in the same form? I can recognize him in this form for only a hundred years. That means that Moorty also must live so many years.
* * *
August 3, 1999 (Tuesday)
Leboyer
By the time I woke up it was 6:30. It’s 7 am now. The town is still asleep. It doesn’t get busy with people until 9 am. You don’t see many people except on Saturdays and Sundays. When we went for a walk, we ran into a familiar face near the Rialto. He is a doctor. I couldn’t recall his name readily. He is a famous doctor who has done research and written many books on natural childbirth. Suguna prompted me with his name. Dr. Leboyer. He has been a friend of UG for almost 25 years. He has taken many photos of UG. Although he saw us, he didn’t show any sign of recognition. He looked at us as strangers and shook us off like insects and passed us. Moorty said a couple of words of “hello” and remarked after he had passed, “He is one of those pompous ....” It’s not just Leboyer; few have that broadmindedness to treat other men, especially those who don’t measure up to their status, at least as fellow human beings if not as their equals. You see this trait in some of the people who visit UG. They can’t be inclusive of people. It’s rare to see noble persons who can take people in without any prejudice or question about their race, religion or caste and respect them. Chalam was such a man. I see UG the same way. There are many who cannot live on that level and mingle with common folks; they are blinded by their power or their money. Moorty and I talked about many such people.
* * *
UG was playing dice with Sumedha yesterday. In one game, he cheated. Sumedha detected it and complained, “You cheated!” UG didn’t agree; he said, “I played straight.” Sumedha couldn’t contain her anger and said, “You may be a very great man, but you are the greatest cheater in the world.” She got up and lay down on a sofa. We all laughed. UG pleaded with her to come and play, but she wouldn’t.
* * *
Lisa brought a picture postcard with the caption “What’s on a Man’s Mind” and gave it to UG. It had the picture of Freud with a naked woman’s body on his face. If you look closely you find the picture quite significant. I thought it was quite interesting and wanted to get it copied; but instead, UG gave the card to me.
* * *
I spent the whole day looking into the UG sites on the internet. You can find hundreds of links connected with UG’s name. Lisa is cataloging all of them. It’s a pretty complex task. Yesterday, Nataraj’s sister, Maria, has left for the US. I too went with Nataraj and Mario up to Zweisimmen in Mario’s car. From there Maria had to go on to Zurich by train.
Today Leboyer came. Denise also came and ate lunch with us. She stays in the Christiania Hotel. She will be here for a month, as long as UG stays. She brought a couple of cashmere sweaters for UG.
* * *
August 4, 1999 (Wednesday)
About 6 am. Today Guha and Krim are arriving from the US. Lakshmi, UG and the children are going in Julie’s car to receive them. The car is big enough to hold all of them. It may be late afternoon by the time they all come back. Lakshmi’s mother is ill. These must be her last days. Lakshmi wanted to take her whole family to India, but UG insisted that the children shouldn’t step on Indian soil. So Lakshmi is leaving for India by herself on the 6th and will return on the 20th from Delhi. Both her children were born in the US and they grew up in that environment. UG forbade taking them to India, thinking that if Guha and Lakshmi expose them to two different cultures and traditions, the children wouldn’t know which one to choose and would be confused; as a consequence, they will not belong to either culture. There is a lot of wisdom in what he says. At first, we didn’t quite understand why he was forbidding them from going to India. Now I feel he is right. “They become neurotic when exposed to two different cultures and traditions,” he says. Shilpa and Sumedha will stay here with their father. They won’t have any problem as UG is with them. Lisa is also here to help.
* * *
Leboyer at Dinner
It feels like the days are picking up speed. I have the illusion that time is flying. UG invited Leboyer for dinner last night. He asked that the foods made by Suguna and Lakshmi to be brought downstairs. Leboyer is French. UG asked Moorty to eat with Leboyer alone. Leboyer was hoping to eat with UG. Later, Moorty related what happened at dinner.
UG didn’t even sit with them at the dinner table. He left Moorty and Leboyer at the table and came upstairs with the pretext of finding out what we were all eating. “Julie made a salad again?” he asked. He doesn’t like salads. He had prohibited her from making salads. For that reason Julie has not been making salads, but Suguna, Lakshmi, and I made a salad of carrots and cucumbers. We cut them up into small circles and sprinkled a little salt on them without pouring any olive oil. I was filling myself up with them. UG came upstairs and saw pieces of papads. He put two or three pieces in his mouth in spite of our warning that they were hot. He said, “I don’t know that it is hot unless you tell me it’s hot. If you don’t say they’re hot, they’re not hot.” He took a few more into his hand. Back downstairs, when UG was about to hand one or two pieces to Moorty, Moorty snatched them all. He was worried UG wouldn’t be able to tolerate all that hot stuff and would vomit again. UG said, “I already ate six of them upstairs,” and then went into the bathroom and threw up. Once he finished with that process, he stayed in the kitchen washing dishes. Moorty had to keep Leboyer company alone.
The French don’t like to eat their dinners at the table silently. It’s customary for the host to converse with the guests while serving food. Moorty had to pick up some conversation and entertain Leboyer. But UG didn’t bother about his guest. Moorty said Leboyer seemed to like the Indian dishes. Soon after dinner, Leboyer got up and left.
I remarked to Moorty that this looked like some Zen dinner. Leboyer likes the style of Zen. Once, when he came to India in 1973, he had stayed with me in Sastri Sadan. I can’t remember if UG was there with us or not. He used to practice Tai Chi in the mornings. He is now 81 years of age, exactly the same age as UG. As he was born in November he is younger than UG. I told him, “In another three months, you will have your thousand moons completed.” He didn’t quite understand what that meant; UG explained to him.
All yesterday they read to UG the numerology and astrology written by Satyanarayana. After hearing everything UG said, “Saku, saku[3].” The seven-year stage of Kuja is going to be fantastic, according to Satyanarayana. “The mission for which UG has come down into this world will be fulfilled in these seven years. The climate for that has already begun in the Chandra[4] stage.” If we watch the links on the internet, it is evident how many thousands of people are influenced by UG in so many ways.
* * *
Moorty said while we were walking, “Leboyer is terrified of dying.” The fear of death is at the root of all fears. The ‘I’ that I have known of ever since I have been conscious suddenly won’t be there one fine morning! Will the world still be the same? For whom will it be there? Who cares what happens to this world when I am not there? Chalam thought of this a lot. He used to say, “I detest death.” In his last days, he was unable to bear the possibility of his own non-existence and shrunk with fear like a little bird. “I too am afraid of death sometimes. But I surrender to the fear completely whenever it arises. Then it goes away,” Moorty says.
You must give yourself over to death. UG is not a person. He stands for our ending. UG is a compassionate being who can help us taste death by ending things then and there.
Moorty was playing a card game alone on the computer. When I asked him what he was doing, he said, “I am playing a game just to spend time.” I quoted a Sanskrit verse from Bhagavatar to the effect, “One must not indulge in a pastime; each moment, your span of life will be shortened and Yama won’t take pity on you. It’s better to sing the praises of the Lord.” “That’s nice, I understand,” said Moorty smiling.
I feel that sitting in UG’s presence is the same as singing the praise of the Lord. We don’t need to do anything. It’s enough if we just sit there and take in the words he speaks. Sometimes they pierce into our bones like thorns. At every opportunity UG presents death to us. In his presence, the fear of death itself gets terrified!
* * *
August 5, 1999 (Thursday)
Today it’s already 6:30 am. As I went to bed late last night, I got up late in the morning. Suguna has not woken up yet. Last night I talked to Aruna before I went to bed. They have booked their tickets for the travel. Apparently the airlines staff told them that there is no problem with the baggage as they can carry up to 35 kilos each. I asked her to make sure by enquiring again. Before, when I asked a travel agent here she told me you can’t carry more than 20 kgs. I must ask Julie to find out for sure. I guess we could just look up in the Swiss Air schedule. They would mention all that information there. Will that apply to us too? How much luggage can we carry? I guess I must ask Air France people because we have Air France tickets.
As soon as I got up this morning I have had no other thoughts but these. Why do I think them? Outside, there is a truck going on the street with a roaring sound. Normally you don’t hear such sounds in this country. Even trains run quietly. The sounds don’t last very long. They stop pretty soon after that start. Maybe because of the thick growth of trees on the mountains, the whole valley is quiet. When I went for a walk yesterday morning, I felt like dissolving into that silence. I didn’t feel like moving my lips. Today Moorty and I talked about my relationship with Baba[5] when I was little. We also chatted about Chalam. Walking along the mountain paths, we went almost as far as Schonried and returned to Gstaad.
* * *
Francis
Guha arrived yesterday; also Krim. A Swiss friend of Chandrahas called Francis came. After he sat around UG for a couple of hours, we invited him for lunch at UG’s suggestion. UG sometimes asks us to invite people, especially those who are here the first time. Francis spent his time from 12:30 to 3 pm with me. We talked a lot. When he told me he was only 48 years old I couldn’t believe. You can’t estimate his age. Apparently his sister had introduced Chandrahas to him. Everyone in his household was fascinated by Chandrahas. They thought he was a yogi. Francis asked me, “How do you regard Chandrahas in India? Don’t you consider him a yogi?” I explained to him “that true yogis don’t publicize themselves. As much as possible they don’t let things about themselves be known to others.” Poor folks! They are easily deceived by appearances. Chandrahas is taking advantage of them. He has exploited them all. Now they are trying to be cautious about him. They seem to be prepared to help him with money, but are not ready to sponsor him by inviting him to Switzerland.
Francis has two sons. They are still studying in school. Francis used to work in the Swiss government as an officer investigating refugee problems. He lost that job. He said he has an interview for another job today in Bern. He worries that there may be situations in his work in which he may have to act contrary to his conscience. In contexts where he had to be harsh with the refugees, his superiors found fault with him even when he carried out his duties. This hurt him.
The troubles began in Berlin in 1984: when the Wall was brought down and West and East Germany were united, he was given the responsibility of examining refugees coming to Switzerland. In that situation, no matter how reliably and responsibly he conducted himself, in the end his superiors blamed him and found faults with him. That discouraged him. He felt humiliated when the Swiss police admitted their defeat before some arrogant refugees and admitted them into Switzerland as if they couldn’t do anything else. But what could he do? He suffered silently.
He says that there is no problem with the refugees from Sri Lanka. Only the refugees from Yugoslavia are creating havoc; still the government is lenient with them. It hesitates to take action against them. So this is his problem. The Swiss nationals are caught in the middle. He says, “I wouldn’t be surprised if there is a civil war in this country soon.” Some condemn the government severely and some others support it. I told him that such a situation exists in every country. I reassured him saying “it will take a long time for a civil war to develop.” Francis is a sensitive person. I feel that police work doesn’t suit him. I don’t know what he will do today. But after all these years this Swiss man got caught in the ‘snares’ of UG.
* * *
Krim
Last night, I chatted with Krim for an hour and a half. His whole life is a tale of sorrow. He got caught in mire when he was only 25. Now he is 41 years old. He saw UG for the first time in Switzerland when he was 16. That means 25 years ago. Later, when UG was in Mill Valley and Krim was about to go for a walk with a Russian girl named Elena, UG warned him, “Make it a short walk.” Not heeding that warning turned into a curse for him. Becoming close friends with Elena, spurning the help of friends who tried to extract him from that mire when he was struggling to get out of it, and foiling all UG’s efforts to get him out – all these events prove the influence of planets on him.
Next year, starting from this coming September, there must be a change in his fortunes. His life must take a turn for the better. He now has a daughter with Elena. That crazy lady has tried to keep their child away from him. Krim’s father is Russian, and Krim visits Russia now and then. I looked at his palm and told him that there are indications that his life will change completely in the future. If he has the grace of UG, everything will be set right. Coming here after so many years is indicative of his good fortune. If he leaves everything to UG at least now, his life will get better. Am I leaving everything to UG? He is bending my back and kicking me on my butt, pinching my ears and hitting me on my head. If he didn’t, would my stubbornness go away?
* * *
It’s 4 o’clock in the afternoon. I have a little time to write in the diary. Everyone has gone downstairs. Today Leboyer gave UG a ride in his car. Denise went with them. Leboyer has had open-heart surgery; so he is still scared of climbing mountains and heights. “I have confidence if you are by my side,” he said and drove UG up to Les Diablettes. UG complimented him for his driving, saying, “I give five ‘A’s for your driving.” Pleased, Leboyer bowed his head. Later, everyone dined in our apartment. When Denise was about to sit at the table, Leboyer forbade her, saying, “Women can’t sit at this table; this is just for men.” Denise felt humiliated and sat down on a sofa away from the table. UG didn’t know about this.
A little while later, UG came upstairs into our apartment after finishing his meal. Krim, Guha, Leboyer and I were eating and chatting. Guha said, “UG, we are eating without you.” “It’s uncivilized to eat food at a table. I never do that,” UG said and started attacking Freud. He condemned psychologists and doctors. It was all aimed at dealing a blow to Leboyer. The great doctor didn’t raise his head. He worships Freud as a god. That’s why UG tears Freud apart. Fed up with UG’s scolding served with the dinner, Leboyer got up and left. That’s how UG invites some people and serves them.
* * *
UG is talking about a lot of things. I note them down with the idea that my notes may be of use for the definitive biography Moorty may be writing. Shall we write it together?
` * * *
January 26, 1950, the first Republic Day, was an important day for India. On that day UG gave a lecture in Andhra University. In it he criticized Gandhi on occasion. Apparently he had said that Hitler was instrumental in bringing independence to our country. He quoted Shakespeare in that talk and said, “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and on some greatness is thrust. Tagore was born great, Gandhi achieved greatness through his effort, and greatness was thrust on J. Krishnamurti.”
* * *
He met Tagore twice in the period between 1939 and 1941 in Santi Niketan. Tagore presented UG with a volume of his complete works and inscribed a special poem in it:
The shy little pomegranate bud
Will burst forth as a passionate flower
When I am gone tomorrow....
I think this poem is from Tagore’s First Gathering. I should look it up. UG has a great respect for Tagore.
* * *
August 6, 1999 (Friday)
The alarm rang at 5:15 am. I decided to get up then.
Some days, the pen writes on its own without my involvement. Chalam used to say that he used to feel a great joy when what he wrote was printed. Perhaps that was true. But how could printing this writing be of use to anyone? What’s there in it to learn from or to change oneself? How is it different from writing the same thing over and over as in ‘imposition’? In olden times they wrote ‘Rama’ thousands of times in rote. There was no meaning in it. If I were to write it so many times, I guess the sound ‘Rama’ would be imbedded in my thoughts like a drone sound. Maybe the sound of ‘Rama’, like the sound of ‘Om’, would resound in my background behind whatever I did or whatever I looked at. If the way to escape from this world is to write ‘Rama’ thousands of times, what I am doing now is just that.
There is noise inside me. Outside there is silence. I make the effort is to bring the internal noise out. Do thoughts exist only in my head? How do they get there? How do I get