Osho My Time in Pune

The Virgin stewardess had introduced herself and taken us through the menu. Glasses of champagne and canapes had been served.

In front of us were piled our complimentary Oswald Boteng amenity kits, bags of Virgin cosmetics, duvets, water bottles, blankets and virgin sleep suits. Our chairs were ready to transform into beds at the push of a button. But still 45 minutes into the flight the penny hadn’t dropped with Joel.

All the signs were there: The subtle change of boarding pass at the gate, the attentive service, the seat that changed into a bed, the champagne, the duvets, the offer of a massage on the plane.

“Lucky we got upgraded ay, Joel”. “Upgrade, what upgrade?” came the reply.

We journeyed through the night arriving in Mumbai the following morning. We had a 4 hour wait until our connection, so we sat at the Leela Kempinski hotel until it was time to catch our connection.

My suppliers in India had told me how much the country had changed and developed. I was expecting a change of the magnitude of what I had seen in Shanghai last year.
The airport, roads and Leela hotel were all exactly as I remembered them. Mumbai still ranks alongside Dhaka for the title of worlds most awful international airport (excluding Gatwick of course).

The domestic terminal was a whole different kettle of fish. It was new, modern, light, cool, clean and airy. This definitely was not the India I had seen before.We took our Jet airlines flight and arrived in Pune 45 minutes later.

Pune airport was great. A large concrete ramshackle hut of an airport You got off the plane and stood with all the other passengers by the wing of the plane we had just arrived on. Another plane turned around 100 feet away. It was moving by the force of its engines and as it turned its engines sent a gust of hot wind which blew away the cobwebs, as well as hats and newspapers. We collected our luggage and walked through airport.

The weather in Pune was very mild sweater wearing weather.

Joel having travelled round India the previous year was ready to offer his expert advice.

“Don’t hire the tax from those guys they will rip you off”.

“What do you want to do?” I replied.

“We will get a taxi outside” said Joel. I suspended my natural urge to argue and followed. Joel had done India last year as a backpacker and was now the self appointed India expert.

He strided off towards a motorised Rickshaw.

“Sorry Joel, I am getting a taxi”, I walked off to negotiate with the rip off merchant at the taxi rank. Joel may have done Rajastan, but I had been travelling to Indian for 15 years and I wasn’t spending 15 seconds in an Indian rickshaw

“How much to Osho ?” I asked.

“250 rupees (£3.00) for non air-conditioned and 350 rupees (£4.25) for an air-conditioned car. Sir”.

“See I told you,” piped up a voice behind me”, I have stayed in Hotels in India that cost more than that” he continued.

My week with my brother was going to be a learning experience. I had to suspend my desire to immediately reject his opinions and be more sympathetic to his ways. I would be conciliatory and non confrontational, but how? I had already vetoed his proposal of the rickshaw. Then it came to me. I would order the cab without air-conditioning. That way I could compromise with him.

“No air conditioning please”, came out of my mouth .

Then another thought immediately came into my mind. Why was I was worry about spending an additionally £1.25 because of Joel’s comment? He wasn’t even paying for the taxi.

“Change that, I will have the air-conditioned car”. We jumped in the 1960’s Morris Ambassador and off we went.

” Air con please” I shouted. It wasn’t hot. Actually it was a bit chilly but I was going to prove to my brother that I knew how to get my moneys worth in India.

We got to Osho.

Outside was a hive of activity. A scrum of Caucasians in maroon robes were milling around the entrance.

Here I was. I had travelled 3000 miles and now I was about to join the ranks of the “nutters in schmuters”. What was I doing ?

We approached the Welcome Desk. “We have reservations for 2 under the name of ……….”. Having checked his records the response came straight back at us with standard Indian effiency. “NO”. No ifs, no buts, no perhaps, no rechecking of the register Just “NO”.

Eventually we were granted a temporary pass to the guest house where we staying. I was surprised – it was not what I was expecting. The inside was well styled. It was all white and minimalist. There with white marble floors, dark wood doors and contemporary looking Italian furniture. On the walls were bright abstract paintings. I was sure the rooms would be a let down.

As far as I was concerned from my travels over the last 20 years, even 5 star Indian hotel rooms consisted of badly made mock reproduction furniture and smelt of damp, mothballs and disinfectant.

I was wrong. India had changed. I entered my room. Again more white walls dark wood doors and wardrobes. The dark wood bed frame was built into a unit which was attached to wall, complete with head board and side tables. There was a natural coloured linen roller blind which covered the window and plenty of good lighting. A reading light straight out of a habitat catalogue and a caramel coloured leather chair completed the look. The bathroom was equally impressive. There was a wet room style shower, sink and toilet. The styling was so close to be being perfect except for one thing - the tiling. The floor tiles which covered the floor of the bedroom and bathroom were a puce colour. It looked the contractor screwed up and rather than wait for the correct tiles to arrive they laid them down anyway.

We unpacked and made our way out of the guest house. The campus was deserted.

A sole person was walking towards us. She told us very politely that the evening meeting was in progress and during that time, the gates were locked and as weren’t in the evening meeting we had to stay in our rooms. She escorted us back and very politely told the counter staff not to let anyone else out.

It was Osho lock down and we couldn’t escape. We couldn’t say we were kidnapped. We had volunteered to join and now we were locked in

We waited for the evening meeting to end. We got dinner and then walked across the road. We bluffed our way into the main part of the campus which we weren’t supposed to enter as we hadnt registered. We walked towards the outside plaza. Here there was a group therapy session which was being hosted by a Swiss version of “Frazier”. Watching were hundreds of people.

“Vot question vood you like to ask?” Frazier said very softly through a microphone to the man sat next to him.

“Well”, came the reply. “I want to know why since my divorce I cannot maintain a relationship”.

Frazier then asked a series questions about the man’s life. One of his daughters had died and subsequently his marriage had broken down. As far as I was concerned – game over. The man’s question had been answered. But no….. wait!

Frazier went to the audience selected people at random who represented the man himself, his wife and his children including his dead daughter. The bereaved man then positioned the characters as if on a chess board. Then Frazier would ask him questions about the people assembled before him. He would then ask the assembled people about how they were feeling. The man with the deceased daughter would then move the people around in front of him and Frazier.
“How do you veel ? “ He asked the woman representing the mans wife. “I feel very sad in my chest”, “Exaaaactly” said Frazier. And so the questions went on getting more and more personal and cringful. If this was a TV program you would have watched it from behind a sofa with a pained expression on your face.

Frazier continued asking questions to each of the assembled people. After every response he would knowingly reply “Exaaaaactly” as if he knew telepathically exactly what was going to be said before the words were uttered.

This was Car crash therapy, the worst excesses of Trisha or Kilroy played out live in front of 100’s of people.

I was starting to worry…….

Joel went off to bed. I walked around the resort and read the information provided. The was a wide schedule of activities which included Zennis ( yes Seriously - a cross between Tennis and Zen Buddhism) it involved music, was played while dressed in full length maroon robes, perhaps without a ball !