Vajra Guru

When I returned from the Far East in 2005, I immediately stepped into a role as coordinator for a program much like AfL. Following the massive cross-country expedition, I returned to Washington, DC, pretty spent and unclear where my next step would take me. It was the moment I had put off for about 5 months and it finally crashed on me hard. I began a slow crawl to the job search market, exploring the development field with a heart to continue some kind of service to humanity.

One day, I walked through the old Initiatives of Change office in Washington (where I worked for two years after college) and bumped into an old colleague. She asked about my plans, where I was headed and what I wanted to do. I had no response other than to say that I had been chasing up some leads at development agencies in town. Without any further prompting, she looked at me and said, “Chris, you are a natural teacher. You love learning, you love people and you can communicate ideas effectively, creatively and with passion. You should look into teaching.”

It hit me like Dearest Sree’s breakfast cart on my flight to Mumbai. Stung awake from a vocational slumber, it took a breath for me to grasp it. Teaching. She planted a thought I’ve been unable to leave since that day. The next morning I plotted a new course.

In retrospect, I’ve never been able to place that moment – when it happened, who said it, why she said it. But I knew why it happened. And from that point on I’ve always been interested in the people who seem to come in and out of one’s life so gently, but say the small things that seem drafted more from the universe than from the human conscience.

**************************************************************

My pursuit of education brought me full circle to join in the coordination and training of my current program. The bulk of the training will start in October, but recently I got a very welcome invitation to begin my tenure as a guru a few days early.

I met Prabakhar the first day I arrived at Asia Plateau. I felt his generous smile fall easily on my face and I returned it with my own. There are few things better than a good smile, the kind that comes more from the chest, or even the stomach, than the brain. His steel-rimmed frames brought focus to his gentle eyes and his graying goatee matched his hair, in a slow fade into old age. With his name, he shared his beautiful baritone voice, one well-practiced on the radio stations and theatre stages of Kohlapur. It saturated my ears with riches as I soaked it in like a small boy drinks in the call of his doting grandfather.

His name popped like a poster. I’d just finished reading Shantaram this spring (a recommended epic tome by Gregory David Roberts about life on the lam in 80’s Bombay), in which the protagonist makes his first friendship with a warm-eyed Mumbaikar. The endearing man went by Prabhakar. My favorite character from the book, I couldn’t help but be taken with my new friend.

A couple nights later, my friend Suresh asked me to play a few songs for a small group here in Panchgani. Prabhakar attended and followed me up after I finished. He suggested that I teach him to play the guitar. Clearly, I am like putty in Prabhakar’s hands by now, so I agreed, planning a time. He asked if we could start a day later.

“Why?” I asked.
“Because,” he responded, “If we start the next day, it will be Vajra Guru. The day in India when we honor our teachers. It’s a most sacred day and fortuitous for my pursuit.”
Perfect.

**************************************************************

When we sat down for the lesson, we both did our best to fill our roles. He took off his shoes and touched my feet in a sign of respect. I blushed and almost shooed him away before recognizing his sincerity. In turn, I sipped chai and lent him my guitar for the lesson, which he cherished with careful hands. We worked the basics and made slow but steady progress. His patience struck me. It’s unusual for a grown man to take slow growth with such grace and unwavering persistence.

We concluded the lesson. He was concerned my chai had run cold. I assured him there would be more chai to drink later. He apologized that my focus on the lesson drew me from enjoying my tea. I laughed. Recognizing my sincerity, he laughed too.

**************************************************************

The next day he asked me into his office, a small room with painted cement walls and one medium size window made just a little too high to be enjoyed while sitting. We had just finished a lunch of roti, dal and aloo gobi.

“I want to share with you my favorite music,” he said. “This is Ustad Bismillah Khan. He’s a famous Shehnai (like an Indian oboe) player from Bihar. He spent his study in Varanasi, playing in the Hindu temples along the Ganges.”

We listened for several minutes, the tables providing the steady background for the instrument as it floated from the long strides of introduction into the furious ornamentation and flash of the finish.

“Prabhakar, what does Ustad mean?” I asked.

“It means maestro. But unlike for Hindus, who use the term Pandit, Muslims typically use Ustad do denote a true master.”

“So if he was a Muslim, it was still okay for him to play in the sacred Hindu temples in Varanasi?”

“Ha. Yes. You see Chris, music can transcend even religion in India. It is common for students to take gurus of different religions. In their study, they will learn the songs the master knows. Often, this religious music will have been passed down from his guru. Hindu students will learn songs in praise of Allah while the Muslim students will learn devotions to Shiva. The music operates both inside and outside of religion in that way.

The power of music can even reshape the sturdiest walls of identity. Ustad Bismillah Khan learned his craft and preformed at the foot of the Ganga, the most sacred river in Hinduism. At the time of partition, he was encouraged by his fellow Muslims to move to West Pakistan. He refused, saying, “If I were to leave India for Pakistan, I may gain you as my neighbor, but who could replace my Varanasi? Who would be my sacred Ganga?”

**************************************************************

In my pursuit of education, it’s always wonderful to learn the old lesson that I am always in the learning, even when I teach.