Authorities thwarted the movement’s attempts to move to a larger property and denied visas to foreign acolytes. Culling inspiration from Zen, the human potential movement, Gurdjieff, and Christianity, the charismatic guru offered “dynamic meditations,” practices that included dancing, screaming, deep breathing, jumping, humming and spinning.Īmericans and Europeans were attracted by Rajneesh’s idiosyncratic methods, but the Indian government was less enthused. (His vision of the enlightened man was “Zorba the Buddha.”) In 1974, when he opened a center in Pune, Rajneesh’s teachings reflected his eclectic tastes. A fervent capitalist, he hailed science, denounced institutional Hinduism and encouraged followers to leaven their asceticism with sensual pleasure and material comfort.
Labeled the “sex guru” for what were liberal attitudes in 1960s India, Rajneesh, as Osho was known then, was equally contrarian on politics, economics, and religion. In his heyday, Osho (1931-1990) was less about love than the pursuit of happiness.
Two hours into my stay, I was not feeling the love. Tetchy from hunger, lack of sleep and recalcitrant ATMs, I grabbed whatever the salesclerk handed me barely registering that my students were modeling different styles. Eager to calm my rising and very public ire, the registrar allowed us to check in and told me to come back in the morning.īut before we could go to our rooms, we were taken to the Galleria, Osho’s one stop shop for toiletries, souvenirs and mandated resort wear-long maroon robes for daytime activities and white ones for the evening meeting. I knew Citibank could be unreliable, but why was a peace-and-love retreat tormenting me? Returning empty-handed, I vented loudly in the crowded check-in area. Each time the ATM refused my request, my adrenaline surged. Discovering that I lacked the rupees to cover the class’ costs, a serene blonde volunteer taxied me to an off-campus cash machine.
#WHAT IS OSHO REGISTRATION#
First check-in, then blood tests to insure we did not have AIDS, a lengthy registration and payment.Īlthough Osho’s guesthouse and “multiversity” accept credit cards, the registrar requires cash for the resort’s day passes, food and other amenities. But the registrar at the Welcome Center had other plans. Arriving at Osho, my only goal was sleep.
#WHAT IS OSHO DRIVER#
The bus driver went in circles, clocking eight hours to travel 95 miles. When we finally found each other, boarded the bus and found boxed breakfasts of chicken salad sandwiches, I relaxed a bit. After the nearly day-long flight, we still had a four-hour bus ride ahead of us. Coralling and cajoling students, even grownup ones, requires energy and the last bits of mine were drained before I “lost” the group at the Mumbai airport. Unfortunately none of that was available on arrival. The lush environs promise harmony, peace and tranquility. The eating patio opens onto a huge swimming pool landscaped to resemble a small lake. The Osho International Meditation Resort is an urban oasis: an integrated mix of dark, sleek geometric buildings and greenery. So after flying 20-plus hours from Los Angeles to Mumbai and driving another eight hours to Pune, I’d dropped half of the students at the rural Ananda retreat and alighted at Osho with the rest. In fact, both had developed an East-West hybridity that extended from Americans in key leadership roles to a spiritual eclecticism with room for Jesus, New Age and Zen. I had chosen Ananda and Osho for our three-day immersion because they were located near Mumbai and Westerner-friendly. A weekend retreat at an Indian ashram was my go-to fantasy, my hope for healing. My younger brother’s unexpected death had emptied me out, and desperate to fill the hole, I’d taken on too much work.
And for myself? I wanted a break, a chance to rest after a difficult year. On this trip, I wanted students to experience something like that before they started reporting. I’d done similar trips before to Israel and Ireland, but this time I wanted the students to have more than a fleeting encounter with the religion they were covering.ĭuring a previous trip to India, the class had visited one of Delhi’s Hanuman temples, where the synesthetic overload of traditional Hindu worship (yonis and lingams, flowers, sugary prasad, gongs and incense) had left a group of cerebral journalism students with no choice but simply to be. I took my journalism class to India this past spring to cover the role of religion in the recent election. I found a neoliberal heaven that catered to my worst possible self. I went to India searching for spiritual enlightenment.