Osho has arrived in the form of Mike. His friends call him Niraj.

 

Mike top - Osho bottom. [Photo. Kate Grafton]

‘Rajneesh (born Chandra Mohan Jain, 11 December 1931 – 19 January 1990), also known as Acharya Rajneesh, Bhagwan Shri Rajneesh, and later as Osho, was an Indian godman, mystic, and founder of the Rajneesh movement. During his lifetime, he was viewed as a controversial new religious movement leader and mystic.’ [Wikipedia]

The Sunday Times: '100 Makers of the Twentieth Century' said:

‘Drawn from a variety of ideologies and religious traditions, but bearing their own stamp, Osho's teachings are uncompromisingly radical, anti-rational and capricious. They invite the individual to free his or herself from all the social conditioning: the only commitment is to be open and honest, to enjoy life, love oneself.’

Last week his doppelganger Niraj came to stay. Oh dear… please be patient.

I have heard many times ‘One day I will write my life story’. I can now understand why this rarely happens; it takes time, effort, discipline, structure but, most of all, it requires a reason. It also requires no interruptions or doppelgangers.  You may recall my daughter Emily, Xmas present 2010, gave me the book Write Your Life Story (Click here if you missed it) by Ann Gorthorpe. She says, ‘Writing a life story is a time-consuming business so before going any further it makes sense to clarify why you want to do it’. Yikes, a difficult question, not really thought about it. Ann’s book provides a list, including:

• Cathartic

• Therapeutic

• Benefits of your experience

• Urgent story to tell

• Putting the record straight

• Fame [Ego is another word]

• Kiss and tell

That lot looks like seven good reasons to write my book so, ‘the show must go on’ as Freddie Mercury famously sang. The show must also adapt to life’s new, Covid driven, surroundings. As Spock said to Captain Kirk in Star Trek, ‘Its life Jim, but not as we know it’.

Saturday 25th October 2020.  Osho arrives in the form of Mike. He is staying this next week before flying off to some hippy retreat in Lanzarote to strut his stuff. We have known each other some fifteen years from my exploits into the world of tantric sex, biodanza and spiritual festivals. A fellow Tyke, both enjoying Leeds United’s swashbuckling brand of football and sharing stories of growing up in Yorkshire and our unfolding lives. 

How did Mike become Niraj? I wondered…

Mike is a single man. Japanese wife for four years in his 20’s. He quit life as an estate agent (Thamesmead, 35 minutes London Bridge station) aged 42, let out his home, possessions in storage, they still, are and embarked on a fifteen year spiritual journey taking in the Trans-Siberian Express to China,  volunteering in Tanzania, travels in India, Thailand and Peru  before ending up back in the UK, here in Dorset.

Osho Leela is a spiritual retreat some 20 minutes’ drive from here in Gillingham, Dorset. It is where I met my wife Sheila on 30th December 2015. That’s for later. It is a residential retreat centre where I have stayed, danced, cried, and met many wonderful teachers, attending their workshops.

I loved Biodanza. The teacher was some guru called Niraj.

Biodanza is the Dance of Life, a dance-based integrative system concerned with whole health, human potential, education and social change. Its impact on the wellbeing of individuals and groups is supported by scientific theory and research. Due to its multidisciplinary nature, Biodanza has much to offer to clinical, community, education, environmental and corporate organisations. It improves vitality, confidence and joy of life, using vibrant, uplifting music from around the world [biodanzaassociation.uk]

Mike lived at Osho Leela for eight years. After eighteen months took Sannyas (change your name and start a new life) and became Niraj. He established the Dorset School of Biodanza, took it worldwide and until lockdown would switch continents like I change counties. Full calendar so a rare chance to catch up.

He looks exactly like the guru he is, shoulder length dark hair and an exceptionally bushy, dark but greying, beard. He is fit, athletic and tanned, a fine specimen as a modern-day rugby player or lead guitarist in a rock band. He is often on stage, with hundreds of drooling followers, using his bone-dry sense of humour to bring joy and laughter to his audience.  But in Cheap Street, Sherborne on a wet, Tier 1 Covid Saturday in October 2020, he looks like a tramp! One man jokingly asked, ‘are you from Glasgow?’ Others avoided him and assumed he must have escaped the Yorkshire lockdown. I lived in Dartmouth, Devon for ten years before Dorset. There were many such gurus in town.  They lived on yachts in varying states of repair. Some extremely wealthy and others not so. What they all had in common was the title, ‘Blow Ins’. They blew in from the sea and they blow out again, some stayed days others are still there. A great bunch, I made friends and learnt about a different life.  Niraj is a ‘blow in’ and about to leave.

Thursday 29th October 2020.

Booking a farewell meal in a restaurant was maybe, in retrospect, not such a good idea. The Oak Tree was once a pub, rough one at that, in a quiet part of town away from the high street with easy parking. Two years ago, it was refurbished and minimalised, even before social distancing.  It now has crisp, clean lines, pastel shades, wood floors (noise could be a problem if ever properly full) and wooden tables 2m apart. A closed outside dining area to the rear, perfect for long summer evenings. Our table was booked for 1830 but I dropped Mike off early and went to Sainsburys for loo rolls, just one pack.

Mike was already at our table, eating a starter. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall as he made his grand entrance, Guru like and confirmed our reservation. The managers anxiety level would have been raised a good ten minutes before I arrived; very Sherborne like, dressed by Barbour with boots, jacket and hat. Grey jeans, matching fleece and top all by M&S, as was my underwear and socks. An interesting fact about two ‘ee bah gum’ lads having a conversation is… We start speaking Yorkshire, our words change as if slipping into an old pair of comfortable shoes. I must therefore confess we also spoke in a strange language, not Glaswegian but just as confusing.  Fish for me, burger for Mike. He enjoys two pints of larger, two pints of apple juice and soda water mix for me. Food lovely and would happily return. Therein lies the problem, I now appear to be banned! 

Not once did I scream, ‘bludy-ell luv, av sin bigger bludy sticklebacks in Brid ‘arber than t’fish thing ye brort mi’, even though I had thought it earlier.

I had also visited the restaurant two days earlier for a business meeting. One of my plans is to start a men’s group and contacted interested locals. Our first meeting took place in the same restaurant. Comfortable and spacious, a possible meeting venue for a men’s group, methinks. In a former life there was a dance floor at the back where I have enjoyed many a leap about, late into the night, plus a fag (?) or three, on the now outdoor dining space. I pictured it as a perfect base for meetings and activities.  What better way to explore further than to take Mike there for our farewell dinner? Oh dear.

It had never occurred to me that Mike, in this setting, was a fish out of water and even though he radiates love and light, he also looks, in Sherborne, like a tramp. I did wonder why folk were looking at us, they always smiled when I caught their gaze. We decided upon ice-cream from Waitrose, rather than a desert and asked for the bills. I did think of ice cream in Sainsburys but it would have melted.  My bill shows apple juice, 4 x £2.50 = £10, Mike’s bill overcharged him by 50p for his starter whist waiting for me to arrive. We politely enquired to our waitress, if our bills contained an error. The waitress said sorry to Mike and changed the amount. I was told £5.00 was correct for a pint of apple juice and soda water even though a pint of lager was £4.50. Her words were, ‘that’s what it is’. Bit abrupt but I smiled and paid. A few moments later the manager arrives and says, rather loudly,  ‘your meal is free, I saw you in here yesterday [he meant Tuesday], in a meeting, now go and don’t come back here again’. I pointed out I had already paid for my meal, which had been lovely. He left, returned seconds later slapped £10 in front of me and asked us to leave.

In truth Osho was asked to leave many countries, so a single restaurant is small fry really. Hey ho.

And the point I am making is? 

One’s life story is often written for you. All you need to do is observe and reflect.