A special kind of attention

Delhi. Although it was only two months since I last saw Baba, it seemed like two eons. I had an extreme desire to see Him again. Because there were only about fifteen persons this morning when He walked into the room to give His talk, it seemed almost a private audience.

He sat in the chair which was immediately in front of me. We all sat on the floor looking up at Him expectantly. He gazed at each of us before speaking, with one exception: me.

Baba, look at me, I thought. But He did not.

Instead He started speaking. Usually while speaking He rarely looks at anyone. But this morning He smilingly turned His face right and left, melting each heart with His affectionate and highly personal glances.

But He didn’t look at me.

Why? I thought. Did I do something wrong?

Although He spoke in English, I was so perturbed by His behavior that I couldn’t understand a single word. His tender, doe-like eyes rested momentarily on each and every face, but when He turned His gaze toward the center, He either lowered or raised His eyes just when He was about to look at me.

I Ve done some horrible sin, I thought. The anxiety made my head warm.

Perhaps… perhaps it was those harsh words to my office secretary? No, no—that wasn’t very serious. Perhaps it was because I ate sweets unnecessarily? Ah, but He hardly cares for that…

It went on and on: everyone thrilling to the play of His eyes, His refusing to look at me, and my speculations continuing to bubble, heating my spine, tensing my body. What great offense had I committed in these last two months? My thoughts tripped over each other, trying to find the answer. Though the air wasn’t hot, and everyone was comfortable in the fan’s breeze, I was sweating and shaking, feeling hotter and more confused with each passing moment. My thinking galloped at such a pace that it went out of control. My head burned and my heart ached as I stared at this indifferent Baba, tears coming out of my eyes, wondering, wondering.

Suddenly a single thought burst out through the forest of confusion (and these were the exact words): That H e ignores me is in itself a special kind of attention.

Before the meaning of this sentence could even register in my brain, Baba interrupted His speech, sharply swiveled His head around, turned His face directly toward mine, and smiled. I distinctly heard Him say, “Yes,” though His lips didn’t form the word. He kept His eyes glued on mine for a long moment—perhaps five or ten seconds.

Gradually the significance of His message sunk into me, and I smiled back, mentally telling Him. Oh it’s beautiful, Baba. Thank you. By the time He resumed His speech, my soul was swimming in relief and joy.

After Baba left the room, several of the workers and Margis who noticed what had happened came to me, and asked, “Why did Baba treat you like that today?”

I told them what I had experienced, then added, “As to why I was graced with this lesson today, I don’t know. But I hope to remember forever that when I’rn feeling alone and neglected, even then, especially then. He is giving me exactly what I need.”

Dada Shraddhananda’s dry smile

During an official workers’ meeting at which Baba was not present, a serious discussion was held concerning the twenty-eight departments of “Ananda Marga General”. Eventually we came to Tribal & Backward People’s Welfare Section (TBPW).

One Dada from Berlin Sector said, “In my sector there are very few countries having tribal people. Yet we receive general targets from Center applicable for all regions. How are we to respond to TBPW targets in those countries without tribal people?”

There was silence as the workers from Center were thinking what to reply. Then the eldest worker of our mission, Dada Shraddhananda (about 70 years old), said in a dry voice, “In those countries where there are no tribal and backward people, the first work of the TBPW section will be to create tribal and backward people.”

In that sober atmosphere, it took a few moments for us to catch his point. Then we all roared with laughter. 45

Wise, wiser, wisest

Patna. After completing the Delhi workers’ meeting. Baba traveled to Patna, and we four followed Him. We are still waiting for confirmation on the kapalika training. Meanwhile, we are attending the workers’ meetings with Baba.

During such meetings. Baba commonly singles out one worker for scoldings. Although the targeted worker gains the greatest benefit, we all gain some psychic profit by witnessing these scenes. After all, it is His duty to help us diminish our complexes of fear, shame, inferiority, superiority and so on.

The past few days it was usually Dada T who received His tongue-lashings. (Though T is a senior worker, and recognized as one of our best, he nevertheless becomes as nervous as anyone when bearing the brunt of Baba’s “venom”. This in itself I find amazing, because outside of such sessions, T is a superbly confident man—how skillful Baba is in drawing out our deepest hidden instincts.) In front of about sixty workers, T was instructed to give his work- done report. Fully expecting to be rebuked somehow, he was uneasy even before starting to speak.

He stood on Baba’s left side, reading aloud. “Ah … Baba … today the tri¬ offices were increased by seven… rather… yesterday there were 186 block-level tri-offices … and today there are 194, ah … excuse me 192 … and regarding bi¬ offices …”

45 This entry is included to give a glimpse into a lesser known aspect of Dada Shraddha-nanda, who later became Ananda M arga president in 1990. He once told me that Baba personally taught him many things on the science of humor, and that he was thinking to compose a booklet on the subject. Over the years, I occasionally asked him when he would write that booklet, but he never had time.

Some months ago, 1 again asked him about writing that booklet, but he avoided responding.

I nstead he switched the subject by saying," I once met a man living in a very cold region north of I ndia. I was curious about his daily lifestyle, so I asked him about his usual time of prayer, what sort of clothes people there commonly wore, what sort of food he ate, what times he rose in the morning and retired in the evening, and so on. When I asked him when he usually took his bath, he replied, ‘I usually take my bath in M ay or J une." 1

Anyway, if he would ever grab a few hours to make a draft of the booklet, I would offer to edit it.

Baba squinted His eyes, contorted his upper lip, scratched His head, and, looking to His right at His personal assistant, said in a high nasal tone, “What’s this? What does he have for a head? What say you? Does he have a brick for a head? Doesn’t he know how to speak?”

Dada T was sweating profusely.

Closing His eyes, Baba motioned at him using a limp left index linger, and said, “Go on. Go on. Don’t waste the time of all these fine gentlemen here.”

I was sitting immediately in front of Baba, about two feet from Him. It may sound cruel, but I was thoroughly enjoying the drama. In any case, it was for our development.

“Ah … well… regarding bi-offices,” said T, “in 10,337 blocks there were 178 covered today … ah … rather yesterday … bringing the percentage to 2% … and today…”

Baba yawned politely but conspicuously, then gave a wink and a smile toward the workers on His right.

“… and today… there is an increase of seven, bringing the percentage to 2% … what? … yes, it’s still 2% …”

Baba creased His cheeks into dimples as if He would smile, but frowned simultaneously—incongruous and thus humorous for us—turned toward T and said bitingly, “Arraay, read your report correctly. You are wiser enough.”

Immediately I thought, “Wiser? Baba should have said. ‘You are wise enough’.”

Like a rubber band snapping back. He turned His face to the front and thmst it into mine, saying, “Wiser—not wise. Wiser than you!” He had caught my thought precisely!

I exploded into laughter and could not stop laughing for several seconds. Two Dadas tried to restrain me, but Baba clenched His teeth together, turned the corners of His lips into a tight smile, jutted His chin out and nodded knowingly at me, making the whole scene all the more jocular.

He affects us. He helps us. He loves us with even the slightest moves He makes, and with each word He speaks.