My teacher Tara Singh with Prime Minister Nehru. I was living in Chennai when he died. I remember going looking for sorrow. Trying to cry. But there was nothing. Just togetherness. Just connected depth. There was no sense of loss. No feeling of a tragedy. No sense of a battle that still needed to be forged.
A few years later I understood what had brought these two men together at a level no one else saw. It didn’t make me special. Not one iota of specialness. But I knew why I had met him. Why I was his student.
Taraji had been meditating in the Himalaya. He saw into the utter self-centeredness of it. But he also saw the madness of the man who tries to fix the world.
Caught between a rock and a hard place what do you do?
Well, out on the plateaus where the lone wolf howls, he went to get a meeting with the secretary of Nehru. He went and booked an appointment. Then he cancels it. Nehru is India’s Lincoln. The British in their arrogance just dump him in the crap and millions die because of it. Nehru is left to handle the fallout.
Tara Singh is drawn to see him. Then, he cancels the meeting. He has nothing to say. The secretary is stunned. But I heard that story and I knew that here was a man of mettle. He won’t be lead astray by a falsity. Such a man is worthy of one’s attention.
You see first the inspiration comes. Like when Tesla was born the night sky over Serbia was filled with thunder. Then the birth happens. Then the ordinary. He makes the meeting. But there’s just thunderstorms. Just brewing calamity. Then life goes on.
He cancels the meeting as he genuinely has no voice. He won’t act until the voice appears. That takes guts. Then, Tesla has the illumination. It’s not the blind inflation of Elon Musk. It’s the real thing. Taraji, in a different sphere, is like that. Both are extensions of life’s wisdom.
Taraji goes to Nehru and he says: (1950s)
“There are 2 billion subsistence farmers on the planet. They don’t know anything about politics. (Then the political genius comes:) What are we to them? How does our voice translate to meaningful action?”
Because Nehru is who he is – he listens. Nehru sent him to check out a dam they were building. The engineers and administrators were squabbling. So many nationalities – so much unnecessary conflict. Taraji says: “I don’t know anything about engineering.”
Nehru says: “Do you think I know anything about being a Prime Minister? The limousine is outside. It will take you to the plane. Please figure it out.”
Later, Nehru sends Taraji to Moscow and the West. He can’t unravel this challenge. But eventually he meets me. He died. An incredible life behind him.
Then I come across the work of Peter Kingsley (and see through his errors), Robert A Johnson and Alan Chadwick (friends of Taraji) and Allan Savory and I put two and two together.
The meeting that day between these two men is a living thing. Because it’s based on logos. Something extraordinarily alive. He died but that living thing cannot die. It inhabits me. My work is an extension of that logos. It heals. Nothing can stop it. There is no sorrow in it.