Yet, growing up was not always easy…

London’s East End in the 1980s was a tough place. It’s always been a working class neighborhood. People worked hard to provide for their families, and fought hard to protect what they earned. When I was a teenager, this hard-edged attitude was becoming mixed with a touch of xenophobia. More and more immigrants were arriving in the East End, competing with and crowding up against older, more established residents. Lines were drawn. Turf was established.

And gangs defended what they considered theirs. It wasn’t the ideal place for a sensitive Indian kid who preferred the silence of meditation to the questionable comfort and safety of a gang. On good days, I was ignored. On bad days, I had to fight to survive.

As I grew, life on the streets seemed a long way from Ba’s meditation room.

Until, one night, my life changed…

It was the early hours of a Sunday morning. Unwilling to go home, I was walking to a club to continue the evening. I was nearly there, when I was jumped by three drunks. Yelling racial slurs, they threw me to the ground, and began kicking and punching me. Luckily, the bouncers at the club knew me and saw what was happening. They broke up the fight and helped me to my feet. Shaken, cut, and with a bruised body and ego, I was still unwilling to head home. I went to yet another club. Once inside, I was confronted with another fight.

This time, guns were involved. Soon, the place was surrounded by the police. As in a hostage situation, everyone in the bar was individually escorted from the club. I needed no further message from the cosmos. I headed home, both literally and figuratively. Rediscovering the spirituality of my childhood, I packed my bags and entered an ashram to rediscover the truth of who I was.