Osho Day 1

Day 1

The first morning was something of a surprise and shock. From a meditation centre I was expecting calm relaxed people with a laissez fair attitude to life and organisation. Instead we were met with Indian Beaurocracy with a gaunt unshaven German face in the form of Herman the German organiser. Here was the deal. The information meeting started at 9.30 am. Without the information meeting you couldn’t participate and basically had to stay in your room until the next information meeting. There was only one information meeting a day. You had to register before the information meeting and registration opened at 9.00 am. Within the 30 minutes, the group of 35 people (including us) who were from a variety of countries had to

Change money.
Register their details on the system
Take an aids test.
Get the results of the aids test
Pay for the information meeting
Buy vouchers as cash wasn’t handled.
Go across the road and buy a robe.

The sequence had to be done in the correct order. There was no formal guidance prior or during the process and it had to be completed within 30 minutes or we would be spending the next 24 hours doing nothing.

The stress built up steadily as the minutes ticked away and the standard scenes of unstoppable objects (American Tourists) hitting immovable objects (German Organisers) was unfolding. “I just need to check-in to the hotel” said the America. “I will be back in 15 minutes”. This was met with “If you leave zee building, you vill ave to vate until tomorrow for yor tour”.

“But”, said the American. “No buts”, said Herman. “Zeez are zee rules”

We were taken around the resort by a Belgian girl and her female Taiwanese Tonto complete with plated pigtails. Dressed in our burgundy robes, we were were led around. The campus was attractive: a combination of colonial, traditional low rise office buildings and new age pyramids. It was nice but not in the same league of say a deluxe holiday resort. The best description I could give of the surroundings was a down market club med that had recently been renovated. I had expected quiet and isolation. It was quiet but not isolated. It was partly overlooked by low rise residential buildings and higher rise office blocks. Basically you went to the bottom of Pune high street and turned left and you were at Osho.

Then there was our introduction. This included what I dreaded most – group exercises. People were called up to the front of the room according to Nationality. “Ah, you are from Germany. You will dance like German people and everybody else in the room will copy you”. The Germans slapped there ankles and thighs and danced around. The Israelis were called up. Hava Nagila I thought, but no they got Arabic music. Not what they were expecting but fine. The Indians got Punjabi music everybody copied them well. Then there was the call I dreaded “anyone from England.” Me and Joel walked to the front. “You are from England” they confirmed?. “Yes we are” we replied. “Good”, Tonto looked up from the CD case “We have some Irish music that you can dance to”. After a momentary pause while we considered whether there was any point discussing this issue, off we went. Joel and I dressed in our burgundy robes, doing our best Michael Flatley impersonations copied by the on looking group of Germans, Israelis, Indians and the American. If I only I had a photograph. Ah but photographs are not permitted at Osho.

We then did group dancing with masks and were shown an introduction into dynamic meditation.

We sat outside with Sabena and Tonto. Sabena told us of her problems and why she had come to Osho which essentially was a difficult relationship with her parents.

After lunch of vegetarian Indian food, I went to book some one on one activities, NLP hypnotism, core stability training, ayeveda massage. The costs were mounting up. I went to sort out some more cash. Cash was king at Osho. Like a car with a big engine burning petrol, Osho burned cash.

I went to the multiversity booking centre were you booked your courses or sessions. Behind the desk was a Californian called Jim. He was in his late fifties had a good tan and closely cropped grey hair. His sign burns were shaved at angle like captain Kirk and he wore a stylish antique Rolex on his wrist.

“I want the core integration yoga massage, please”.

“OK” said Jim who starting taping into his computer terminal. “We have availability with Mahindra, he is excellent,. Oh here, he is”. I turned round expecting to see a wiry little Indian man. Instead, in front of me stood a huge Scandinavian. He was in his late 50’s or early 60’s. His wild hair and long beard were completely white. He was dressed from head to feet in black robes with a white sash. I had one thought “Osho’s converted Santa to the dark side”.

Mahindra had no bookings for when I wanted. So Jim fixed me up with Devan “she is also excellent”. Jim obviously knew all the staffs’ abilities OR he was over from Osho’s LA sales office and he was demonstrating a standard US sales technique.

I met up with Joel who had booked his self hypnosis course. “I have got a really good instructor sorted for tomorrow”.” How do you know he’s good?” I asked him. “The guy behind the desk told me he is excellent! “

I went back to my room. Joel who had been doing his own thing knocked on my door. He was off to the 4.15 session of kundalini Meditation session. At 4.25 there was a knock at my door. It was Joel.

“That was quick, what happened?” I asked.
“Well, I arrived 2 minutes late, just as they were closing the doors. Apparently he and the group of other people with him were told they were disrespectors and were instructed to leave immediately. “

Twenty four hours hadn’t yet passed and Joel had been branded a “direspector.” I was the brother of the “disrespector.” This could have consequences.

I had spent most my day people watching. Despite the uniformity of the maroon robes, you could still differentiate between various groups of people.

There were the obvious Indian yogis. These were small wiry men with long beards which varied from dark black to shining silver grey.

There were the top “big issue” sales people. Not your average straight corner sellers but, your hard core high volume movers who had won the right to be here. Despite the standard robes - the woolly hats, unkempt beards and dodgy shoes gave them away. These were rarely seen.

There were the Japanese, small dark haired. But their distinguishing feature was the Nike or Adidas logo on the maroon techno fleece gillets or jackets worn over there maroon robes.

There were the Germans who combined socks and sandals.

Then there were the Italians. Their robes were different from everyone else. Perfectly pressed, a slightly different shade of maroon, coordinated with the right shoes and sunglasses, jewellery and bags. Somehow the robes just looked better on them. “Hold on one minute their robes were different”. There were no silk or linen robes or coordinating linen trousers in the Osho shop. They had there robes made for them.

Finally there were the backpackers – flip-flops or no shoes.

I understood the idea of the robes - uniformity, removing materialism from the campus. But it didn’t work for me. Why ? Jewellery, Sunglasses (see the paragraph about the Italians) shoes, (ditto the previous point). There was plenty of Channel, Cartier, Gucci and Prada on display even before 8.00 pm when the robes came off.

I had only been at Osho for 24 hours but I was already forming a view of the experience.

Joel told me I had to suspend my natural scepticism in order to get something out of Osho. He was right of course, but I was already struggling. None of the 3 osho people I had met that day had given any reason to believe otherwise. It hadn’t taken the German out of Herman. He was still as uptight as any of his countrymen. The Belgium and Tonto had both folded under easy questioning during the Welcome meeting. “One of the Israelis had asked for explanation and instruction into the mediation.” The response he got was to be pointed to where he could buy Osho books, CD’s and magazines about meditation.

This was not what I was expecting. Some of my friends had been reborn into the Judaism. They were won over people by philosophical debate, reasoned discussion and by a hard sell from experts; men who had studied their stuff over decades. Not an emotional troubled ex-Sabena stewardess who lacked the ability to answer the simplest of questions. There was no history, no context, and no debate. There was simply activity followed by inactivity.

Osho allied itself with many crank therapies that were on offer as paid courses. Reiki, constellation training, cranial biodynamic, post reichan therapy, tarot, colour therapy. All of these were available as paid courses within Osho

There were a lot of Israelis staying and working at Osho. What had happened on Yom Kippur I wondered?

Joel talked to me about changing my mental state. “You know when you are doing something and you are not concentrating on anything in particularly. Your mind is blank then a thought just pops into your head…..” I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

This was an extremely important comment that gave me an insight into Joel and the differences in our mental processes. Joel’s mind was always completely prepared for inactivity.

I on the other hand I was always thinking something, well to exact always worrying about something…things I had to do, work tasks, plans, ideas chores. I always did at least two things at once. I watched TV while working on the computer, I read books while listening to music, I ate lunch while reading or walking.

I couldn’t think of a time when my mind was idol. Joel was permanently relaxed and I was neurotic.

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 !