February 26, 2002 My goodness - time does fly! Here it is March, with no recent cataclysm to excuse the three-month hiatus in these entries. February's last days found me in London, but its latter fortnight I spent predominantly in the two Indian cities I most favor: Benaras and Bombay. I am in many ways a creature of Bombay and Benaras, locales that share little beyond their nationality. Though Benaras (its official name is Varanasi), said to be the world's oldest continuously inhabited city (at least sixty centuries), is one of the planet's intensest locales, thousands of pilgrims still daily defy its perpetual pandemonium, thirsting for consecration in the waters of the sacred River Ganga. In Benaras time is measured by season and festival; space is textured in historical event and spiritual revelation.

Bombay (whose official name has somehow now become Mumbai), India's richest metropolis, barely three hundred years old, measures time with watches, and space in rupees. Like Benaras it never sleeps, but its insomniacs search for gold, not godliness, with a passion that rivals that of its older sibling. The Benaras current grabbed me as soon as the plane touched down, and carried me swiftly through my five days there, assisted by my friends the distinguished teacher of Hindi Mr. Virender Singh; the eminent knower of what needs to be known in Benaras Mr. Om Prakash Sharma; and the notable tabla player, my host during this trip, Mr. Ramachandra Pandit. Ramuji, as he prefers to be known, is also the administrator of the University of Wisconsin Academic Year in India, a mecca for the young in years or at heart who wish to learn Hindi, and my haven in that town for more than a decade.

Benaras is the city of Shiva, the god of death and transformation, and while there this visit I performed a shraddha (the classic death ceremony of India) for the mother of my friend Mr. Ramesh Nayak, and an asthi visarjana (ritual immersion of ashes) for a young American man who died an untimely death; spent a night in the Harischandra smashan; made a pilgrimage to the goddess shrine at Vindhyachal; and visited memorials to the great saints that are the pride of Benaras: Tailang Swami, Kinaram Aghori, Sri Vallabhacharya. Saints have long flocked to this city because of Shiva's presence; it is Avimukta, "the place that Shiva will never forsake," and Kashi, "the City of Light."

Bombay, whose fervor is as palpable as that of Kashi, is instead "Mohamayi Nagari," "the metropolis of delusion." My few February days in Bombay were mainly taken up in the wedding of Alka Singh, the niece of Roshni Panday, Vimalananda's foster daughter. On February 22 Alka wed Arvind Ghadi, like her a Bombay native; they will make their home there as well, living their Bombay lives. May those lives be peaceful and happy!

February 12Though a native of the USA, Shalini Devi (Sallie) Holkar, the wife of the erstwhile Maharaja of Indore, is also since many years a proud resident of Bombay. I met Sallie at the home of William Bissell, the man who has for the last few years been my host in New Delhi. Both Sallie and William are deeply involved in helping develop sustainable industries in rural India, Sallie focusing on weavers in the area around the lovely old town of Maheshwar in the state of Madhya Pradesh, and William centering his activities in marketing wares like those Sallie's weavers produce, through his company, Fabindia, and there several retail outlets in India (and in Kathmandu, Rome, and soon Amsterdam).

William and his wife Anjali, the administrator of one of New Delhi's premier medical institutions, Apollo Hospitals, are keen in their hospitality, particularly towards Westerners who have landed on those South Asian shores (William himself being half American). Richard Celeste, who until recently was the US Ambassador to India, and his family, were also staying under their roof while I was there.

During the three-odd hours it takes to drive from Delhi's wide avenues to Vrindavan's narrow lanes you retreat from the twenty-first into the sixteenth century, back to the time of Sri Chaitanya and Sri Vallabhacharya, the two saints who rediscovered Vrindavan, the childhood home of Sri Krishna. Chaitanya and Vallabhacharya helped "reawaken" Braj Bhumi, the area that surrounds Vrindavan, and promoted the development of the intricate web of lilas (transcendent pastimes of the Godhead) and utasvas (festivals) that compose the Vrindavan year. Srivatsa Goswami, the scion of a tradition that dates back to the times of Sri Chaitanya, has just released "Celebrating Krishna," a pictorial depiction of the festivities that devotees there organize for Krishna's pleasure. The book's photos are by Robyn Beeche, an Australian who fell in love with Krishna and stayed on in India. Robyn's husband, Michael Duffy, a native of the UK whose first job, he told me proudly, was selling fire extinguishers (he used to impress his clients by setting his sleeve on fire, then putting it out with his wares), also became captivated with Krishna. His seva (service) to Vrindavan has been via his organization Friends of Vrindavan, which has (almost unbelievably) removed substantial amounts of filth from Vrindavan's streets. Friends of Vrindavan also turns used plastic bags and varied wrappers into baskets, bags, dishes, and others useful items. Robyn and Michael are at home at gambhira@vsnl.com .

Vasistha Giriji, a 28-year-old sadhu who spends most of his time at Barkot, near the Himalayan pilgrimage spot known as Yamunotri, the source of the sacred River Yamuna, which flows through Vrindavan, was also in Vrindavan while I was there. Vasistha Giriji was born and educated in Allahabad, but from an early age had wanted to renounce the world, and did so when he was 18. Charming and articulate, and well versed in English, Vasistha Giriji may soon be visiting the West. May his travels be trouble-free if he does!

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