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FILM SHOW IN SAKORI    OCTOBER 24 2006

I got up yesterday morning, and saw that it was 6:10 am. I didn’t know if I had slept in or got up early, as my sleep patterns here in India are all askew. But I know that I didn’t miss my 7:30 deadline for taking off on my motorbike, across 90 km of Indian road to Sakori, the Ashram of Upasni Maharaj. I knew I needed to start early to hopefully avoid both the traffic and the hottest hours of the day.
There is no speed limit on the Indian roads, at least not that I can see. Most signs are in Hindi, and some in English. But one place where I do see a sort of speed limit, is on the rear bumpers of trucks here. The trucks in India, the supply trucks, the shipping trucks, are almost always painted on the back bumper with the same three words. HORN, OK, PLEASE. And then some vary in their remaining signage. I have noticed recently that 40km has been appearing on the backs of trucks, so I think that this is a communal way of telling others how fast to drive. If so, it is wishful thinking on their part, because without official speed limits, without traffic lights, without police trafficking and issuing tickets, without stop signs, everyone here, especially the truck drivers, drive like a bat out of hell.
They seem to be on the Indianapolis speedway, most of the time neck in neck with each other as fast as they can go trying to pass each other. The concept of staying on your side of the road has never caught on here, although many roads do have painted dotted lines down the center, indicating that traffic flow should go both ways, drivers here have never seen any sense to that. If the opposite side of the road is clear, even for a moment, why not try and pass the person in front of you. So they do, and a series of continuous passing takes place. If the opposite side of the road has an oncoming truck or bus approaching they will sheepishly merge back to their side of the road, temporarily, although it seems like a waste of time, but as soon as that bus or truck passes, off they go ahead, trying to win the Indy 500. If instead of a bus or truck, a small car or, heaven forbid ,a motorcycle is in the opposite lane, well, that’s no reason to stay in your lane. They are simply no match for the weight of a truck or bus. Either the small car or motorbike will have to find an inch or two on the edge of their side of the road, or simply be run off the road onto the gravel, because such a small obstacle should not interfere with the passing game.
I unfortunately ride a motorcycle, so, although in the pecking order I rank a notch above a bicycle, I am still down at the bottom rungs and therefore have to get out of the way of any moving vehicle larger then me. I have noticed in America, the smaller you are on the roads the more weight you are given. A walker has the first right of way. A car will do everything possible to give a bicycle room on the street, but in India, the larger you are and the more weight you have, you are king of the road and everyone else must scramble to avoid being hit. This is reinforced by the horn. If a car, bus or truck is behind you, and going way too fast for common sense, but just about right for the Indian roads, and you are in front of them, they will not slow down. They will lay on their horn to let you know you better get out of their way. This would be reckless even criminal driving in the States, here it is a way of life. And that’s why they paint on their bumper HORN OK PLEASE, meaning, please blow your horn when you are barreling down on me, so I may have a chance to get out of your way. And so, having been run off the road multiple times, usually once every 20kms or so, and having seen my life pass before my eyes as a bus carrying 80 or so people comes barreling on the wrong side of the road directly at me, I thought I should try to avoid the traffic as much as possible and leave early. So I did.
But not early enough. In India, there are simply too many people. They are everywhere, there is no quiet time on the roads. Even at 7:30 am the traffic game is in full swing, so, with full concentration, I set off on my journey.
One other thing needs to be explained about India. They do not have the concept of personal space. In the Sates we need to have our space respected, at least 2 feet or so to be comfortable, when someone moves into the invisible but real circle around us we unconsciously talk a step back. If someone drives 3 feet from us, while we are in the car, we feel like we are being violated and blow the horn with great fury. In India, probably because of the immense population, that concept had to be abandoned, so although if an Indian bumps into you, they will apologize , if they come within an inch and do not touch you, then that is normal. In driving the same applies, if one is hit, terrible, if one comes within a breath of end but doesn’t get hit, then what is the crazy American getting upset about? It’s true, hard to get used to, but true.
Sakori is the Ashram of Upasni Maharaj, one of Meher Baba’s masters and one of the five perfect masters of the first half of the 20th century. Upasni Maharaj died in 1941, leaving a successor named Godavai Mai to run the ashram. Upasni Maharaj was the only one of the 5 perfect masters in Maharashtra, India in the first part of the 20th century to leave writings behind. Through these writings we can get to know a little about his life and thought. When I first visited Sakori in 1990, I met Godavari Mai , his femaile successor and bought a set of Upasni Maharajs writings. In 2003, I started making a film based on Upasni Maharajs writings, entitled, Be As It May, The Discourses of Upasni Maharaj. I was now, going back to Sakori to present them with a copy of the film and seek, not “copyright permission” as we would say in the States, to use his writings as the basis of my film, but “their blessings” as would be a more descriptive way of saying it here. Of course, I really was seeking copyright permission, but that would be too crude here. Copyright permission would not be granted formally, but informally, if they liked me, if they liked the film, so I came seeking their “blessings”. And I told them so. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Even though the speed limit is informally posted as 40km, it is almost impossible to go 40km an hour here. Forty km an hour is equivalent to only about 25 miles an hour, but I found that that would be an ideal speed to maintain. Why? Well, besides the fact that every few minutes or so I need to get out of the way of a speeding bus, the pot holes on the roads become the second deadly factor in the speed equation. The way Indians drive is unbelievably dangerous in itself. But the combination of the way Indians drive and potholes is a formula for an early grave. The reason is that even on a good road, the concentration level is already high in order to get out of the way of bus and trucks coming directly at you in your own lane, coupled with the maniacs blowing their horns and driving like bats out of hell behind you, but factor into the mix that every 10th of a mile or so, a giant gaping hole appears in the road with smaller ones scatted everywhere, and the motorbike driver has to gingerly weave its way around all three of these obstacles, while everyone else on the road is also weaving around these holes, and the concentration level required to drive goes thru the roof. Which is why trying to maintain 40km an hour becomes impossible, which in turn makes getting anywhere fast impossible. It simply takes a very long time to go a short distance in India. And I am not even going to bring up the dogs, goats , cows, and water buffaloes, that meander lazily across the road. They belong there after all, that’s what gives India its charm.
Sometimes the stress level is so high, that I explode on the drivers, I yell at them, and use foul language, they don’t seem to care, but it lets off some steam for me. And, the Indians do not seemed stressed out at all as they drive, what to me, is a literal death race. It is something to behold. They can come within inches of their own death, countless times a day while driving, and yet are as serene as can be, not comprehending at all, why the white man is yelling at them with his eyes bulging out of his sockets. The mystery of the East.
I got halfway to my destination , 37 km and came to the small town of Rahuri. Meher Baba once set up a small compound here where he brought people who became abnormal due to their intense longing for God. Meher Baba worked much of his life, traveling all over India looking for these kinds of people, they were like saints who had become unhinged because of their proximity to God. Now Rahuri is just anther small dusty town in India, with people and cars and cows and carts everywhere trying to make a living, to keep going. One distinctive feature of Rahuri is that they have a large sugar cane factory here, which boils the sugar cane plants down to make white sugar. Sugarcane is a cash crop that is grown widely in this part of India. In the same way that America has migrant workers harvesting crops, so here too there are bands of traveling migrant workers who harvest the sugarcane and then place it into carts to be taken to the factory. On the road one will see caravans of wooden carts with wooden wheels pulled by two ox, or as they call them here; bullocks. They often decorate the bullocks with garlands and colored powder. In the cart there will be a family; mother ,father, and a couple children. In the cart too will be the possessions of the entire family in ancient dusty metal chests. They never travel alone, they will travel in groups of 10-20 families. A procession of bullock carts, slowly making their way to the nearest clearing to make camp, where they meet up with other migrants and set up tents and make house and then the next day, go to work in the sugarcane fields. This is their life, this is the way they survive, and they travel all year towards the next crop ripe for harvesting. To see a caravan of migrants moving from one local to another is one of the most picturesque scenes in Maharashtra. There is not a single thread of modernity at these camps or with these workers. They are relics of the past. It is humbling to look at them from my passing motorbike, with my cameras ,DVDs and computer equipment , racing on to my next job.
The down side of the sugarcane factory is the odor that sugarcane makes while it is being processed. If one has never experienced it, one cannot imagine how foul it is. I have gone thru Gary, Indiana and experienced the sulpher that is emitted from the smoke stacks there and have dubbed Gary the ‘Armpit of America’. But Gary smells as fresh as morning dew compared to the sugarcane being boiled. It is like someone formulated a mixture of fresh shit and vomit made into a paste and applied it to your upper lip, and then replenished it from time to time. When the odor hits me, as I drove past, it was like unsuspectingly being hit in the back with a sledgehammer, I reeled and recoiled and wondered what has just happened, life had shifted dramatically towards the cruel end of the spectrum, and how could I have ever deserved this deepest of all hells. But fortunately like all hells, it eventually ended and then the wonderment turns to those few choice ones who have to live and work near that factory. In Chicago, I used to ride my bicycle past a tannery to go to work. When the fresh shipment of skins came in, it did start to approach the horror that boiling sugarcane can make. The irony is that the result of this most foul of all stenches is the sweet taste in the mouth of white sugar, of candy, of chocolate, of pastries and pies. The contrast is indicative of India itself.
Eventually, I made my way the next 40kms to Shirdi. Shirdi is the place where Sai Baba set up his ashram back in the early 1900’s. The current Sai Baba with the big afro claims he is the reincarnation of the orginal Sai Baba. Meher Baba’s cosmology claims that this is impossible. Shirdi and the orginal Sai Baba have become the most popular shrine and Godman in India. Sai Baba was Upasni Maharaj’s master. Upasni Maharaj was Meher Baba’s master. Meher Baba is my master. It was the original Sai Baba that directed young Meher Baba to Upasni Maharaj and Sakori.
Sakori is a small place near a big place, the big place is the town of Shirdi, and being so near a crowded area it is not easy to locate. I stopped a couple of times to ask for directions. In India, one doesn’t really get a full detailed description when one asks for directions. It is as if the Indian mind cannot be bothered with such mundane matters. So instead of any detailed description, one usually gets a raised arm and a wave in a general direction. The wave could mean any number of things, such as ‘ it is just down this road’ or, ‘turn right after going some distance’, or,’ it is 10 km away and then a right and then two lefts and another right’, or ‘I really have no idea’, or’ just get out of here and quit bothering me’. It’s all in the interpretation. Usually I just head that way until I see someone else who may be in a more talkative mood. After two more direction givers I tracked down the place , and made my way toward Upasni Maharaj’s ashram.

As I entered the compound, one very friendly person told me that I could not park my motorbike near the ashram but had to park it near by. I naively thought that he was helping me to follow the rules of the Ashram. As soon as I climbed off my bike, he came to try and lure me into his shop where I could buy low quality photos of photos of photos of Sai Baba and garlands. I told him I did not want them, and then walked toward the Ashram, where, of course, near the entrance, many other bikes were parked.
I looked around just outside the main entrance and there were various merchants trying to sell their garlands, apples, bananas, and various other goods. I made my way past them and then the next battalion appeared; the beggars and their children asking for alms. I made my way past them, removed my shoes and walked into the Ashram. The first thing I saw was the 30 or so people standing in the main hall, performing arti. Arti is a singing worship ceremony; arti is preformed 3 times daily at Sakori ashram. I thought the arti was interesting but didn’t join in, instead ,I glanced to my left and saw the official book stand of the Ashram and walked toward the clerk behind the table. He politely said hi, and then asked me if I wanted prasad, He opened a pot full of a sweetened grain, and put a spoon into it to dish out the prasad. Prasad, I think is like the host at communion, but not as serious and sacred, perhaps it’s more like the candy one gets after a trip to the doctors office. I just looked at him, and said. “I have made a movie on Upasni Maharaj” and I pulled out my DVD with Upasni on the cover and handed it to him. “Oh,” he said, very politely, “you have made a movie”. Yes, I said and I want to present it to the Sakori ashram. “Ok”, he said, and he immediately came out from behind his table and said,” lets go see the Director.” So off we went to the Directors house and we entered and the polite man explained why I had come. The Director looked astonished. “You have a made a film?” Yes, I said and the polite man handed it to him.
In the Directors simple house, there were quite a few people and they were sitting there on a bed, watching the TV. It seemed to be a nice joint family, the Director being the elder, and then two generations under him. One man got up quickly to get a DVD player to attach it to the TV. After a little fiddling with the remote , he started the film. “Has anyone ever made a film on Upasni Maharaj” I asked. No, they said, one had been made of the Ashram but not of Upasni.
I honestly expected them to throw me out when they saw the film. The colors, the music, Upasni talking about being a madman. Who was I to make a film on their Master. But then, it dawned on me how incredulous they must be to have an American walk into their Ashram one fine day and hand them a completed film, the first one ever made, on the life and teachings of their Master.
When the film started, an excitement raced through the room, I could see the wheels spinning in the minds of the Director and the polite man. They spoke in Marathi, the Indian dialect, but said a few words that I could understand, like ‘Hindi’ and ‘Marathi.’ And I could make out that they were thinking they should make a Marathi version and a Hindi version of this film that had been playing only 3 minutes. I was a little concerned about whether they would like the modern style of the film, but they stated, “Ah, it has nice effects in it, the Indians will like it.”, still I wondered how they would like the part entitled ‘Bad’ that has rock music for the soundtrack. But as soon as ‘Bad’ was about to start, the Director cut it off and said.” I have to go now, but I want your contact information, and you take mine, and I want to have the Upasni Maharaj followers in the States contact you, they can help you get it shown there.” “Ok”, I said and gave him my information and together with the polite man left the directors house.
I then left the polite man at the book stall and went to the tomb of Upasni Maharaj, there was a line to get to it, but it went fast. One by one, people bowed to his tomb and placed flowers on it. As I waited in line someone handed me flowers and when my turn came, I bowed to his tomb and placed 4 flowers on it. I thanked Upasni for the inspiration to make the film, and told him that whatever happened with it, I could accept it. Whatever comes, I said, Be As It May.
Near Upasni’s tomb, was a photo of Meher Baba at the Sakori ashram taken in 1954.
I don’t know why, but I started to weep. Something about this whole experience touched me deeply. It was a subtle appreciation of being involved with these Masters and Ashrams. I looked at other photos decorating the Ashram and then was ready to return home.
I got on my motorbike and drove the 90km back to Meherabad, Meher Baba’s Ashram, where I live. I somehow survived the ride back , with just a few close calls,living to tell this tale.
Next week, I am going to take a ride to Narayan Maharaj’s Ashram. Narayan Maharaj is another of Meher Baba’s five Perfect Masters. But the road to Kedgoen is very smooth and the traffic is light, and the ride should be nice and easy. The road to Sakori, indicative of the hard life Upasni lived, and the road to Kedgoan, indicative of the comfortable life Narayan lived. Be As It May.