My So-Called Reincarnation

Babaji left last night.

It came as a shock. Though, had I understood more Hindi, I may have been able to see it was coming. At yesterday's morning practice, Swamiji said much in Hindi. Much was directed to Babaji. Much seemed to be about persistence, constancy, the path of the yogi. But I have to tell you, much also seems to be Swamiji's attachment. Of course, that's my projection. And I've been told several times that's my struggle. Like, what do I need, flashcards?

And I don't need Hindi to understand when Babaji says "Mira, I go. My ashram. I go."

Me: When Babaji?

Babaji: Train eight o'clock.

I immediately think, damn this, this insane way of telling time in India and ask "Today Babaji? Train TODAY?"

And of course, it was. He'd been arguing with Swamiji about whether he would stay and continue his yogic studies. So I took some pictures, and then we went back and caught him just as he was going, to get pictures with Sarah.

I had to say good-bye, which is just about my least favourite thing to say in the world. This is why I love the translation of Namaste. This is also why I love the Italian word ciao, used for 'hello' and 'goodbye'. And maybe you know from Elizabeth Gilbert or etymology elsewhere, but ciao came from the word schiavo: slave. So back in the day, it translated "I am your slave" Think whatever you like, but I still prefer it to "good-bye". Like what's so good about it?

So I said "Babaji, thank you, thank you for practising with me, so good to practice yoga with you. Take care of yourself, Babaji."

He said "Mira, yes. You dot com address give Swamiji."

Oh, can't wait to see his email address: wandering-saddhu-not-an-englishman@something-somewhere-on-the-subcontinent.com

Just a wild guess. Perhaps I neglected to mention Babaji's other favourite expression when confusion would ensue: "Me not Englishman!" Or, when he wore pants, he would point to himself, laugh and say "Me Englishman!"

We watched him leave, Sarah and I, watched him walk across the ghats and watched his orange form disappear, out of sight. (That's another thing, who wants to watch anyone leave? Nobody, that's who. Good God. What I've put my father through, again and again.) Then Swamiji talked to us. I felt heavy with sadness, and felt like crying watching Babaji leave. We both found it hard.

Then Swamiji is asking us how much longer we're staying. Jessie's departure date has been know from the get-go, this is it, like they say in the Indian Railway biz: the end-of-the-time. Ours, not so much. Sarah's ready, I'm ready and waffling. How could I be such a Charlie Brown? But we did tell him, it's soon. Very soon.

Did I tell you? Swamiji once mentioned that "Sure we know each other form previous life, all holy books say so. And if this life practice yoga, was before too." And, there's definitely been for me during all this time, the comforting and crazy feeling of family. He's a father figure for many. And what I believe doesn't matter, I felt pulled here and compelled to stay, and now it's time to face the sitar music: attachments, desire, craving, need for rest, need for change and need for familiar, wanting my path to be extremely well lit. And figuring out Indian train or bus schedules.

Soon, very soon.

"Yes?" he says, nodding his head to the side "but good time we passing."

We agreed.