From Bombay to Mumbai

From our hotel room at the Taj, I can see the India Gate, the national monument of India, which commemorates the Indian soldiers who lost their lives fighting for the British Indian Empire. It's hard to believe this country was a colony only 65 years ago and, if nothing else, the history of nations reminds us that all things in this material realm are ever-changing.

the India Gate in 2010

Looking at the gate, I was transported back to an earlier time when Mumbai was called Bombay. I was a twenty-six year old Swami, completely enraptured by the country that has kept Yoga alive for thousands of years. It was my first trip to India with my Guru, and as I stared up at India Gate my senses were in complete overwhelm...

Swami Sudhananda (Gary) with Swami Satchidananda
at the India Gate in 1975
(you can see the Taj Hotel and Tower in the background)

The next memory that floated to the surface was three years later. My hair was a little longer, my body a little older, and I was no longer a Swami. Radha and I were on our nine-month around-the-world trip, visiting the Kapoor family in Bombay. Wonderful thoughts danced in my head. It was early morning, and we were watching the sunrise over the Arabian Sea...

Gary with the Kapoor family at the India Gate in 1978

After an early morning full of reminiscences, I had worked up quite an appetite, and Radha and I left the room in search of breakfast. We felt a bit groggy from the time change, but not enough to curb our excitement about being back home in India. Downstairs we bypassed the long table filled with bland English food and headed straight for the South Indian buffet. Idlis, dosas, coconut chutney, udapam with pickles and upma – all of our favorites were there.

We took our plates to a table near the window, and leisurely enjoyed the meal as the sun burned its way through the moist humid air. The monsoons ended just before our arrival, and we chatted some with our server, who was impressed when we introduced ourselves using our spiritual names- Gopal and Radha.

He kept returning during the course of the meal to ask us questions, and we learned that he came from the southwestern state of Kerala, which borders the Lakshadweep Sea. The people of India are kind and gentle, always concerned that you are comfortable, and they treat every guest as God. As we were finishing our new friend proudly announced that he had just asked the chef to prepare a special dish for us - masala dosa. This thin, fermented rice crepe is filled with potato curry and served with sambhar, a spicy tomato soup packed with exotic vegetables and chutney.

Fortunately, we had some room to spare.

From the far side of the dining room an elegant older Indian gentleman dressed in a suit started playing "Moon River" on the piano. Radha and I smiled at each other, acknowledging the contradictions that make this country so unique. We sipped our small cups of South Indian coffee, which makes Starbucks taste like weak tea, and said a prayer of thanks-giving.

Radha listening to "Moon River" at the Taj Hotel