HYDERABAD AND GOOD

Well, Hyderabad turned out to be a city of contrasts! I've been here a day longer than I expected thanks to a miscalculation with dates (which seems to dominate this whole later period of my stay here) and its been a time of the most amazing contradictions.

First impressions didn't augur well. I arrived here at poohead o'clock in the morning after an all night ride on a Sleeper Bus from Bangalore. This was ok, but only allowed for fitful sleep, and given that the bunks meant you couldn't sit up it meant I was forced to lie down for twelve hours. This made for a stiff and achey waking up, bleary-eyed and dehydrdrated. I got off at a stop in Hyderabad, thanks to a helpful woman who wanted to make sure I didn't get off at the wrong place, and was immediately accosted by Rickshaw drivers promising the Heavens. I climbed onto one and the following dialogue took place as we chugged off:

DRIVER: Where too sir?
ME: Sai Prakash Hotel, please.
DRIVER: (as if no such place on earth existed, or at least not in this town) Sai Prakash?
ME: Yes please.
DRIVER: No Sai Prakash here, sir.
ME: Yes there is. Sai Prakash Hotel, please.
DRIVER: Where sir?
ME: Station Rd.
DRIVER: Station Rd?
ME: Yes. Sai Prakash hotel, Station Rd.
DRIVER: Hotel closed sir.
ME: No it isn't.
DRIVER: Yes sir.
ME: No it isn't. I spoke to them yesterday. Sai Prakash Hotel, please. Station Rd.
DRIVER: SAi Prakash?
ME: Yes. Station Rd.
DRIVER: Sai Residency?
ME: No. Sai Prakash.
DRIVER: You go here sir. Very nice (proffers card for MEENA HOTEL).
ME: No thank you. Sai Prakash.
DRIVER: No Sai Prakash.
ME: Yes there is.
DRIVER: No. Meena, sir.
ME: No. Sai Prakash. If you don't want to take me to Sai Prakash you can let me off here.

I had expected this in Agra or Delhi but not Hyderabad. I was too tired to get angry or frightened and just hung on like a stuck record. The guy made a huge show of driving down wrong streets and asking for directions and trying to leave me outside dives so I eventually said 'Take me to the station', which he did. I then got out and started walking to where I thought Sai Prakash was. He then reappeared looking craven and apologised, offering to take me there. And so he did. And thank God he did cos I would never have found it. He was very young and helped me with my stuff into the Hotel.

Sai Prakash was a bit bleak. It was comfortable, indeed luxurious enough and there was no poo anywhere but it was very 70s, monolithic, made of marble and dimly lit. When I got to the restaurant, which is similarly styled, the worst music in the world was playing. If I have to hear BARBIE WORLD by Aqua or MACARENA again (I have a sneaking suspicion they are putting it on for me when I come in) I will probably explode and become the incredible hulk. Meanwhile my room, the bathroom of which took some getting used to (comedy toilet flush, non-turnoffable taps etc), had a splendid view of a yellow concrete wall, rather like the scene in the Matrix where they get trapped by the Agents and can't get out through the windows (sorry it was on telly the other day in one of my hotels. Still fresh in my mind). I was tired and still feeling wonky after my illness, so feeling a bit mis and cut off from the energy of Puttapharty and Tamil Nadu, went to bed.

Watching Hyderabad from the rickshaw was miserable too. It seemed like a grey, dirty, depressing city with little to raise the spirits. Two days of it did little to improve this impression. Think of Birmingham without the charm, or Coventry without the period chic. Its vibe is completely different from anywhere else I have been in India. Instead of vibrancy or madness, there was just misery, or so it felt. Its primarily a Muslim city, so doesn't really feel like India at all, more somewhere Middle Eastern. There is poverty again, but its different to the other cities I have seen. And the people seem or seemed less friendly, more taciturn and hostile.

Maybe this was just me. I was feeling the lack, as I say, of the energy and vitality of what had come before, the spiritual connection etc. I still haven't learnt how to transcend my surroundings, but let myself off because these surroundings were pretty glum. Thank God I stuck with it though, because it yielded up its secrets, although not without looking!

There are two reasons why I am here. One because its where my Grandparents were stationed for part of their time in India (well, near here, anyway), two because before I came out I was supposed to be teaching in a Steiner School in the city for a month thanks to the sister of my friend Shobna Gulati, Hema, who works out here. That plan never really materialised, but I decided to come anyway to meet Hema and see the schools. Hema met me with her husband, Proful, on my first evening and we went out for a lovely Chinese meal. Funnily enough, just as the Indian and Chinese food we eat in the UK isn't Indian or Chinese but catered to our tastes, nor is Chinese food in India. Its basically Indian Chinese food, but nice anyway. It was good to have a change. It was the first time I have eaten meat out here in ages (necessity has forced me into being a virtual veggie and teatotaller during my time here, which is going to be interesting when I get home because I have felt so much better for it) and was a good change. We all hit it off and Proful and I got into a lively conversation about India and its history.

Its election time here and Proful explained to me the problems with democracy in India now - how its all about Coalition Governments and so nothing gets done, how corruption is rife, with politicians buying votes with beer and food and how Police are now everywhere to try and enforce fair play (as he said this we saw a squad of uniformed soldiers file past the car with sticks. Didn't look very reassuring to me.). He also spoke about the relationship between the Muslims and the Hindus in the past, how there couldn't have been two more contrasting religions in one place - one harsh and disciplined, the other celebratory and chaotic. We talked about the contrast between the greatest of the Moghul Emperors, Akbar the Great, who instigated religious tolerance throughout his Kingdom and tried to create a new religion which synthesised every other and the original fundamentalist (as Proful put it), Aurangzeb, who suppressed everyone who wasn't Muslim and left the scars
which still cause trouble between the communities today. As we drove past the enormous artificial lake which is at the heart of Hyderabad and viewed the enormous Buddha statue in its middle, he explained how the Mayor who had sponsored it was not so much honouring the Buddhists as sticking one to the Hindus by not chosing a Hindu God for it, after which we drove past a trophy tank from one of India's wars with Pakistan, making one muse upon intercommunal relations in the region...

It is fascinating being in a predominantly Muslim city in India. The energy IS completely different, as I said earlier during my stay here. It confirms, for me, how a culture or religion shapes peoples' Consciousness for better and for worse. We are all effected by it. We in the West are as defined by our Christian history as anyone else. I don't say its good or bad, just fascinating and rather wonderful to breathe in a different atmposphere. But the sensation of not being in India remained...

The next day Hema took me to the Steiner Schools. A novice driver who seemed never to have ever come to Hyderabad meant that we arrived very late for the first one and had to skip the second. I have always been interested in Steiner but find him hard to read so visiting a school was exciting for me. I saw two, one outside the city, the other in the centre. The first was for ordinary kids, the second was for special needs kids. Both were very small, the first still under construction. I was struck by the quiet focus and discipline of the children, their maturity and the crackling intellects and energy of the teachers. It lacked the warmth and sheer delight of the Children's Project but was very impressive. The second school moved me almost to tears. I was put in a room with a group of young boys all suffering from different disabilities while the teachers, with infinite tenderness and patience, took them through a performance for me. It was heartbreakingly moving, not just the commitment of the teachers but the purity and simplicity of the children. I had never really been among Special Needs children before and I realised then the immense dedication it involves from the teachers and the immeasurable importance it has for the kids who would otherwise be left to fend for themselves (especially in India). All of this was in keeping with Steiner's belief that although the body may be impaired, the Soul and Spirit is not and deserves every opportunity to grow and experience as much as anyone else.

I really liked Hema who was incredibly generous to me and enjoyed sparring with Proful who was lively and fun to be with. But Hyderabad was getting me down. I was missing the magic of everything else I had experienced. Nevertheless, I was determined to make the best of it and set off for the Salar Jung Museum which the Rough Guide describes as 'unmissable'. And so it was. Although the drive through Hyderabad was unnourishing to say the least, the Museum is incredible. A huge complex with treasures from all over the world - from Ancient Egypt to Napoleonic Frane and England - and artefacts from Buddhist, Hindu and Christian cultures, it was a wealth of sensory experiences. I was particularly drawn, again, to the Jain sculptures which were of a simplicity and unfamiliarity that I couldn't help standing in front of them for a while. There were three images of Mahavira, all of which made the Buddha look like an egomaniacal exhibitionist poseur. In keeping with the pure Jain ideals, he just stands there, still and naked, with his arms dropping either side, smiling simply at you. Its humanity at its easiest and most uncomplex. In one image, an enormous snake, symbolising all the earthly cares which bind us, was unravelling around him, enabling him to stand free. I discovered that Mahavira did not believe, as Buddha did, that one sought Liberation from this world in Oblivion/Nirvana but that everything had a Soul (Jiva) which was Divine and potentially God-like. The aim of the Jain is to release that Soul so it may become fully divine. Delusional or not, its a beautiful idea.

Salar Jung lifted my spirits a bit, but the battle with the Hyderabad Blues didn't pass until the next day. Demoralised by the bleakness of the streets and endlessly having to deal with dodgy rickshaw drivers (made harder by still being a bit ill) I hired a car for a day and set out to the famous Golconda Fort. It was amazing. My Grandmother had recommended I go and she was right. The Fort, which was the seat of the Qutb Shah dynasty which ran Hyderabad until Aurangzeb ended an eight-year seige there thanks to a traitor opening the gates one night, it is a vast, ruined complex of walls, halls, mosques, gardens and palatial chambers atop a huge rock formation. I spent the whole morning clambering around it, taking shots and experiencing, once again, the strangely un-Indian atmosphere of the place. I was struck by how India had been host to the Muslims/Moghuls for several centuries before being invaded by the British and had only been in charge of its own affairs for 60 years or so since Independence. Some leeway can be given for its many social problems, perhaps. In many ways, India is still searching for who it is - Hindu, secular, Western, Eastern? Maybe this search is what makes it so special.

Golconda was followed by the awesome Tomb complex nearby, where all the Qutb Shahs are buried. There are 82, apparently, and I couldn't see them all, but wandering around their maginficent splendour and vast onion-domes was a pleasure. The function of a building always defines its atmosphere. The Fort was so clearly a place of war and luxury, this was a bridging place of the living and the dead. I was struck by the contrast between the Mosques I was seeing and the Temples I had seen in Tamil Nadu... But more on this later.

All this lifted me, but it wasn't until I went to see the Charminar, Hyderabad's most defining monument, that the awe-inspiring sense of wonder that I have come to associate with India returned. Quite simply, it is utterly beautiful, a four-towered triumphal arch in the midst of Hyderabad's overwhelmingly alive and bustling Old City, which transports you right back into a time when this city must have been on of the glories of India. Markets are everywhere in this country, but this is something else. Utterly Muslim in character, one feels one is in the Middle East or Jerusalem or lost in the Arabian Nights. Colour, sound, character... A dwarf selling trinkets, a guy with warped legs chasing after you down the street with a big smile on his face hoping for rupees...

I got out of the car and entered the Charminar. At first I just stood beneath it and just looked at the incredible energy around me. Then I climbed the narrow stairs and looked out over Hyderabad. Suddenly what had seemed ugly appeared filled with minarets and columns, bursting with life in all its abundance. As I had done in Thanjavur, I found myself slipping back in time, blanking out the traffic and rickshaws and imagining what it must have been like centuries ago. Totally spellbinding.

From the Charminar's heights I could see the Mecca Masjid, one of the largest Mosques in the world, so called because it has red stones brought from Mecca embossed in it. Its a mighty building. I went down and made my way across the traffic inside.

I was taken round by a guide and fleeced by various Mosque authorities for 'donations' but who cares? It was fascinating to wander around the complex, walk in the Mosque and wonder at the majesty of this bygone age.

And so Hyderabad took me somewhere else, deep into the Islamic heart of this country. The flavour was, as I say, completely different to elsewhere in India. Perhaps when I have some perspective I will be able to explain why. I didn't like the endless women in black wandering around - and aspect of Islam which is a dealbreaker for me - but I could not help acknowledging that when the real pulse of energy was flowing through this culture it was a great one.

I was also struck by how Western it was. We Judeo-Christians like to think of Islam as 'the Other' and historically we have been foes, but its architecture, its physical expression in the landscape has everything in common with us and little or nothing in common with Hinduism or any other Eastern spirituality. I was struck by how monolithic and austere the Mosque and its surrounding buildings were in contrast to the openness and 'connectedness' of the Hindu and Buddhist Temples I had seen. Fascinating.

We are all living in the ruins, the echoes of these spiritualities now. All the world's religions had their high water marks a while ago and left huge impressions and imprints on the world and our inner landscapes which we now only partially understand. There is splendour in them and Mysteries we still need to remember, honour and understand, but I don't know if we can ever revive them as they were. Perhaps our problem is that we have grown out of or rejected them but we haven't replaced them with anything other than materialism and if we are honest with ourselves, it is that abject, all-consuming materialism which has brought us to the crisis we are in today. Religion didn't cause global warming or the nuclear bomb, what came after did.

So what do we do? As I say, I don't think we can turn the clock back, but perhaps we can carry what was special within what was and transmute it into something else...? Something more life giving which can revive in us a sense of purpose and value and splendour in our own lives and those of others?

I don't know. All I know is that as I approach the last few weeks of my time here being immersed in all this is incredibly enriching. I thank my stars I have had the chance. And well done Hyderabad for turning itself round!

Tomorrow, very early, I head off to Agra and the Taj Mahal, where my Grandparents fell in love and of which I had an unforgettable dream before I left the Royal Exchange. Let us see what happens.

Bon voyage!

BANGALORE, PUTTAPARTHI, HYDERABAD -AGH!

Sorry for short delay in keeping you all up to date as to what is going on. A bit of a whirlwind few days. I say 'days' but its very easy to lose track of time out here. I am not that clear what day it is today, in fact!

Since I last wrote, lots has happened. I am no longer in Bangalore but am in Hyderabad in Andra Pradesh. I am here because my Grandparents were stationed near here during the Raj and, er, well, its a bit of a poohole. Noisy, ugly and polluted. At least that's all I have seen so far. Perhaps I am spoilt by the wonder of everything I have seen so far - Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, Kerala... We shall see!

So rewind... Bangalore was great, although as I say, it was a shock to see. Once again, India pulled a fast one and presented another entirely new facet of itself. Bangalore, the capital of Karnataka, used to be known as 'the Garden City' until recently because of its laid-back atmosphere and many beautiful gardens and parks. E M Forster set A PASSAGE TO INDIA there.

Well, its not like that any more. Thanks to the economic boom and Bangalore becoming the hub of India's IT and Silicon industry, it is now pretty much a prosperous Western city. It has none of the horror of Mumbai. If anything, it reminds me of Manchester since it started on its own property and IT boom in the 1990s. There is money everywhere. Massive stores, huge posters and ads, Malls, luxury hotels, apartment blocks, money money money. The streets are busy but well maintained. Its bursting with the good life. Everyone looks well fed and healthy and very Western. Sarees are hard to find on the streets. It feels like here India is ditching its Indian-ness and racing towards becoming like us.

Coming from the wonder of Madurai, Tiruvannamalai, Thanjavur and Pondicherry with their spirituality and humanity, I was initially shocked and really upset by Bangalore. Once again I had to face up to contradictions. Those cities were amazing, the people had a kind of wonderful solidarity, spirituality was real. The biggest buildings, those which towered over everything, were the majestic temples where everyone was allowed to enter. In Bangalore, the biggest buildings, the focus of everything, was shopping malls, businesses etc. It is a place of pure materialism. The God on offer is Mammon. And one has to ask - why not? The Indians have lived in shit for so long, have struggled and suffered for so long, why shouldn't they have a bit of the cake as well?

I suppose what dismayed me was the sense of there being no other way of doing things. Was the alternative to the India I had seen in its beauty and squalor in the other cities just being like us? Although wealthy and safe, the Bangaloreans lacked any of the togetherness that I saw in Tamil Nadu or Kerala. I could feel the weight of Gravity there just as I did back home and didn't like it. But who am I to judge? I am just a foreigner, a guest passing through.

And yet it feels so strange to have come from one city where there is poverty to come to another where there is abundance and so much is wasted in the shops. Bangalore is the capital of the same state as Madikeri, the run down one-horse town I knew from the school. How can all these different ways of living exist in one country? But then I suppose disparity of wealth has been a feature of Indian life since the Caste System divided everyone up.

But is the future of India just to be like us? What would that be like? Is there no other way of doing things?

Of course, none of this wealth on show stopped me being offered some splendid bargains by peddlars on the street. Did I want, for instance, an articulated wooden snake? Just the ticket for my mantelpiece! Or perhaps a game of chess (or as the guy put it: 'Chess, Sir? CHESS!' as if I was an idiot who didn't realise the incredible opportunity I was passing up). And look! Yes! Another person trying to sell me a flute! Along with the plastic guitar I had been offered in Pondicherry (how useful for my band!) and the endless drums ('For your children, sir? You take back home?') in Fort Cochin I could have started a veritable orchestra in the UK. Only problem was - where would I put it in my bags? Well, who needs clothes and medicine? Out with all that, in with the knick-knacks! Damn! Why didn't I buy that plastic toy autorickshaw by the Chinese Fishing Nets in Cochin? Mind you, would I eventually have been able to get all these treasures past customs or would I have suffered the indignity of a strip search in Heathrow Airport, or, God forbid, Istanbul Airport??? Aaargh! The mind recoils...

The journey from Tiruvannamalai to Bangalore in another rickety bus banging across dramatic scenery had been livened up by two magnificently incomprehensible Hindi films from the 70s which the driver showed us on the way. The first involved an overweight Snake Goddess killing a series of overweight and badly dressed (think John Travolta in SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER after too many biryianis) brothers who had shot her overweight Snake God lover by mistake. I was not sure how it ended but I think the one not overweight brother caused her to drop from a great height from a construction wire (great plotting). This was followed by another equally incomprehensible movie. To be fair, I had fallen asleep at the beginning so had no chance of following the story, but it seemed to involve a slightly less overweight action hero beating a lot of people up and being saved at the last minute time and again by a superpowered goat which was his sidekick (I kid you not. Geddit? Kid you not? But seriously, the selling point of the movie was this hero goat who suddenly appeared when he was cornered, leaping through the air to save the day). Suitanly entranced by these excellent adventures I arrived at Bangalore bus station, or at least one of them. I had to make my way to Whitefield, where some of my friends of the school were staying. Little did I know that Whitefield was miles out. Battering my way through rickshaw drivers trying to spin me yarns about how hard it was to get to Whitefield and how I should really go with them I ended up at the Majestic Bus Station, where I boarded a bus the conductor of which promised me would take me where I wanted to go.

Whitefield is where Sai Baba has a second Ashram for when things get too hot in Puttaparthi. I was dropped off in the middle of nowhere outside one of Sai Baba's hospitals, nowhere near the Ashram at all. The area looked like an industrial estate. I had no idea where I was, although the sunset was breathtaking. Stranded, I wandered up and down looking for a rickshaw and ended up phoning my friend Julia who had promised to meet me. Julia had been at the school during the first week of my visit and we had said we would meet up. She put me straight, found me a rickshaw and got me out of trouble.

My time in Whitefield was extended because I was finally brought low by stomach troubles. It was horrible and very painful. I had managed to last two months without anything and was feeling pretty proud of myself, so it was horrible to be struck in this way. And it was bad. Really bad. Like, can't-walk-for-the-pain bad. If any of you come out here and have any history of having a wobbly botty, bring whatever medicines you need, as you ain't gonna find them without a struggle out here. Most chemists are like holes in the wall with a guy behind them who doesn't speak much English, much less knows his way around the finer points of the pills he is offering. Be prepared, you weak-stomached Western types!

Fortunately for me, it happened in a place where friends were about. Julia and also Michael and Aleli from the School, plus a woman called Jennifer, the mother of Will at the School, all came to my rescue, helped me, supported me and gave me medicines. I have to say, I have never felt so supported, their kindness, their friendship, their readiness to go the distance and help was second to none. Love and thanks to them all.

The kindness they were to show didn't end there. I spent a lot of time with Julia and we chatted about many things, before I moved on to Puttaparthi, a day or two late alas. There I was met by more friends, this time a guy called Peter, who introduced me to his friends, who I found myself watching playing volleyball on my first night! Puttaparthi is the town where Sai Baba resides. After all my contact with his followers at the School and here in Whitefield, I felt I had to go and have a look.

Sai Baba is regarded as a living saint in India and has followers all over the world. His devotees believe that he is an Avatar, or Divine Incarnation, more than merely human, an expression of God, like Christ or Krishna. He is said to be able to perform miracles, including materialising objects from thin air, and is followed by people from every Faith as well as those just looking on their own. He was born in a small village called Puttaparthi which is now a huge city built around his Ashram with hospitals, universities, sports training halls, music schools all built and funded by him and his devotees. And this is not all. Similar projects exist all across India, including the School I worked at in Koorg. So in terms of Good Works, Sai Baba is very active.

Puttaparthi is very HOT. Driving there from Bangalore I was struck by the arid, red, baking landscape. If Tamil Nadu was like Spain, Andra Pradesh was like the Wild West or even Mars. Red landscapes stretched everywhere with surreal rock formations, some looking as if they had been placed there by some enormous child, quietly grilling away in the sun. I had been warned that Puttaparthi would be hot - it sits in a valley and the heat just rests there, hence Sai Baba leaving for places like Whitefield - but this was REALLY HOT. You could almost eat the air it was so heavy. Phew!

The town is essentially one long strip outside the Ashram, with the bigger buildings, including an airport, further out. My car drove me to the block of flats I was staying. Julia had very kindly allowed me to stay in hers there for my stay. I got out and was greeted by Peter who showed me up. I was massively grateful. It was spacious and comfortable and had its own fridge so I could cool my own water!

That night Peter took me to a gathering of friends who were having a volleyball party. Still not feeling one hundred percent I sat and watched. In other circumstances, I would be thought of as wierd, but everyone was so laid back and relaxed I was instead welcomed at once. There was a mix of Americans (one of whom was nursing a baby bat which they had rescued from death somewhere), Poles, Australians, South Africans and me, the token Brit. I felt very relaxed and at home.

The next day, after a deep sleep, Peter took me to the Darshan (Glimpse of God) that was happening that evening. Earlier in the day I had wandered the Ashram a little. The contrast to Ramana Maharshi's or Sri Aurobindo's ones was massive. Sai Baba's was huge and milling with people, whole communities of them. Later Peter was to show me around properly and I saw how the site was on hectares of land, with a supermarket, flats, shared accomodation, canteens, libraries, study halls and everything. The atmosphere was like a maelsrtrom, hot and boiling not just physically but spiritually, with people from all over the world walking about, some on their spiritual quest, some just getting by. It was overwhelming. Very different to the quiet atmosphere of the RM Ashram. This was a Crucible, and the heat of the air was mirrored by the nuclear energy of the heat the people were giving off energetically. I described it to Peter like a kind of 'spiritual hospital' and he knew what I meant.

The Darshan Hall, in contrast to that of the SivaShakti Amma, was enormous, lavish and adorned with wonderful awnings, carvings and paintings. The night before we had caught a glimpse of Sai Baba from a distance, a tiny orange speck on the horizon. Today we were in with the crowds, sitting near the front. Women were on one side, men on the other. Security guards milled around encouraging everyone to be silent but the murmur of voices was everywhere. Time passed and Peter told me that if Sai Baba didn't show before 5, Bajhans (sung prayers) would begin without him. The hall was gradually filling up. Ultimately thousands of people would be there. It was very hot.

Then suddenly a voice started singing and Sai Baba appeared. As he is over 80 now he was in an electric chair flanked by aides but the moment he entered the crowd turned towards him. It was very dramatic. He is a striking figure to see, small (although he doesn't seem small), always dressed in an orange robe with a startling black afro hairstyle. As his entourage moved among the crowds and right by us, people called out prayers and praise and leaned forward to press letters into his hand, presumably to hand him petitions for his blessings or miraculous powers. As he passed us he struck me as on the one hand very ordinary, on the other very remarkable. He was hard to look at properly, as if he was surrounded by a haze. He looked EXACTLY as in his photos.

He passed us, circled and was wheeled onto the main platform, the crowd moving as one to find a good viewing point. What followed was a slight disappointment, as I was hoping to hear him speak, but instead a group of singers came up and performed a tribute song to him and his mother. A LONG tribute song. Even Peter thought it was too long (I imagine Sai Baba himself thought it was too long!). After that Darshan was over and he left.

The experience was fascinating but confusing. Perhaps because I had heard so much about him from everyone it was impossible for me to get anything clear from the experience, as I didn't hear him speak, nor did I have anything like the close relationship with him some of the peopl I knew had had (some had had one on one conversations, others group sessions with him). I didn't get the same result as I had done with the Amma. This was much more a mass event, an enormous, hot, confusing thing taking place of which I was only a tiny speck. With the Amma, I was one of ten people in a small room. Here were thousands in an enormous one.

Afterwards, as I say, Peter showed me round all the grounds of the Ashram. As I said before, it struck me as a very intense, cluastrophobic place, a real hothouse of crossfiring energies. I don't know that I would like living or studying there. Too many people. And I wasn't clear what the process there was. But later as I had dinner and then breakfast the next day with Peter and some of the others, the process became clearer.

What I did get from the experience was acquaintanceship with an array of wonderful people, all of whom felt like kin. It was wonderful to be somewhere where, once again, you could talk openly about things which one can't anywhere else without being mocked. The liberating feeling of this was massive for me.

And it would have to be, as I am now on the last leg of my journey home, with all those questions looming again about how on earth I am going to fit in back in the UK? I simply don't know. We will have to see.

I am in Hyderabad now, which is a hot, noisy, stressed, polluted city without, so far anyway, any of the beauty or energy of the other places I have been. After this, Agra to see the Taj Mahal, then Delhi and then Koorg again before home. North India is very different to south India I am told, and Delhi will be interesting (and challenging!) after Mumbai! It will be interesting to see how I cope with it three months on from that traumatic experience! Tonight I am meeting the sister of my dear friend Shobna Gulati for dinner. Hema, as she is called, lives and works out here and has promised to show me round. Should be nice. My hotel is pleasant, if a little 70s and gloomy, but I miss the light and energy and soul of what I have left behind me. More changes, more adventures, more insights. Let's see what happens!