Cartwheels in a Sari (10 page)

Besides the two monkeys that lived in a special cage on the front porch, and the dogs—now there were two—the rest of the creatures that comprised the Madal Zoo, as Guru named it, dwelled deep belowground. Since they were so far below the main floor where Guru spent his days, Guru eventually stopped visiting or keeping track of them.

The Madal Zoo was the one area where Prema, Isha, and Alo all agreed—wishing it never happened. Noises, messes, and stenches were not looked on with great delight from any of them. Alo, a person who never had an affinity for animals, was appalled from Guru's initial purchase of Sona, his first pet, and warned Guru to stop all the nonsense with the creatures. But Guru always knew how to charm Alo. One day when I was at Guru's house, Alo stormed downstairs, furious to find her best sari torn by Sona, shouting that the dog must go immediately. Guru artfully diverted her attention by gossiping about a disciple who was causing him trouble. In an instant, she quickly forgot her original gripe about the illegal zoo, and hunched over, listening intently, hoping Guru would ask for her advice.

Since Prema and Isha were nearly full-time inhabitants, they made it clear to Guru that his divine plan of having them be the official caretakers of the zoo was not acceptable. Guru's vision of keeping both Prema—in charge of small mammals—and Isha—caretaker to the birds—quickly backfired, and they quit.

The basement crammed with Amazon creatures then became a highly coveted space—not for any more birds or
animals—but for disciples eager to work for Guru inside his holy residence. Beneath Prema's and Isha's unchecked top-notch status were endless tiers of disciples who served Guru via Prema or Isha. Each had her own clan of followers who, through their allegiance to Prema or Isha, found a shortcut to Guru, and since there were now openings at the zoo, these were the ones summoned for this special blessing, just as I was.

One Saturday morning in July, after my mother dropped me off at Guru's house, I stood beside the side door patiently waiting for someone to remember to unlock it for me. We were told to avoid the front door, so as not to disturb Guru if he chose to lounge on the porch, his usual spot during hot days. Exhausted, as was my normal preteen state, I leaned against the Guru-blue shingles. Through the exterior, I smelled the rank cloud of stale rot, oozing from below. The thick humidity and lack of clouds meant it would be another endless sweaty Queens summer day. I closed my eyes, trying to remember if I got any sleep from when the meditation ended the night before to when I was awoken by my father at 5 a.m. in order to pray for Guru's Nobel Peace Prize victory. While the normal time to rise for morning meditations was 6 a.m., I was invited into a special club, created by Guru specifically for the purpose of praying each morning for the Nobel Peace Prize committee to award Guru their highest honor. These prayer sessions were highly coordinated global events. Groups from Bonn to Buenos Aires actively used prayer power to convince the Oslo officials that Guru deserved the prize. In addition, selected disciples, like my father, wrote letters to esteemed Nobel laureates and world leaders with the great news that they could nominate Guru for the Nobel Prize.
After years of either no replies or curt notes requesting my father to remove their names from his mailing list, Guru reassessed his chances of winning, deciding that for all his contributions to humanity, his best chance to win was through his pivotal role at the United Nations.

In 1971, Deepal, a waiflike Argentinean native who worked at the United Nations, became Guru's disciple. When Guru learned about her profession, Deepal quickly received her spiritual name and entrée into Guru's inner circle. Guru had always wanted to be connected to the world's most powerful international organization, and he asked Deepal to discover a way to introduce him into its folds. As it turned out, the United Nations had a collegial atmosphere, offering its employees many clubs and activities in an effort to foster a close-knit community from the myriad foreign nationals. Two signatures of full-time employees was all it took to form a club, and so Deepal and one of her friends created the Sri Chinmoy Peace Meditation at the United Nations club. Guru was official.

Twice a week, Prema or Isha chauffeured Guru to the circular entrance of the Secretariat Building, where he was escorted past the ambassadors and dignitaries into a small room for a meditation for any interested members of the UN and greater diplomatic community, which usually consisted only of disciples. Wanting his presence at the UN to grow, Guru decided his mission needed to be better represented at the world body, and he instructed anyone who wanted to be a “good disciple” to obtain a job at the UN. To please their master, scores of disciples applied, obtaining positions as low-level clerks or secretaries. What was important was that they were in, and so was Guru. For maximum exposure, Guru instructed
all his women disciples to wear saris to work at the UN. While there were many international employees who were garbed in their native dress, it was more unusual for tall, blond women to show up at their office in saris and sneakers. After Guru's connection was firmly rooted, he promoted his UN position at every opportunity, announcing that he had been invited by dignitaries of the global community to be the official meditation leader and Peace Ambassador of the United Nations.

Chandika, my father's sister, who had followed her big brother's lead and become a disciple, obeyed Guru's mandate, landing a job as a secretary at UNICEF, to her great delight. Soon more than one hundred and fifty disciples had infiltrated the hallowed halls, and they began to make an impression. The Secretary-General at the time was the Burmese statesman U Thant. As a dignified and devout Buddhist, U Thant was well versed in the ancient traditions of Eastern philosophies, and he was far from objecting to the presence of non-Western faiths in the pantheon of beliefs represented at the world's leading diplomatic epicenter. In a show of his commitment to a broad definition of international faiths, he received an invitation from Guru to attend a special gathering in his honor. When Guru heard that U Thant's secretary had confirmed his acceptance, Guru was elated. He quickly phoned India to brag to his sisters and brothers. Guru knew that since his siblings were still residents of the Sri Au-robindo Ashram, his impressive news was guaranteed to spread quickly and eventually reach his old critics. Within a large portion of the ashram, his pursuit of a career as a guru in New York City had been viewed skeptically, as proof of his unholy ambitions. Guru wanted his doubters silenced. To
Guru, U Thant's visit signified his acceptance not only at the UN but on the world stage. Not every Bangladeshi immigrant was invited to the UN to become its Peace Ambassador and host the Secretary-General. Guru was ecstatic, and so were we.

The preparations for U Thant's visit lasted for weeks. The event was to be held on an old rambling estate, complete with a running brook, windmill, and large fields just outside the city. Guru micromanaged all the extensive arrangements, but when the greatly anticipated day finally arrived, rain poured on the festivities.

U Thant, the ultimate diplomat, sat stoically beneath an umbrella held by my father for the duration of the endless, soggy event. Through songs and poems and plays, Guru pulled out all of his charms to honor U Thant. I spent the hours huddled underneath a garbage bag fashioned into a poncho. Wet and cold, as the hours trudged past I concluded that I hated the UN and wished it would just go away so I could go home. Guru, on the other hand, was elated by the visit. Soon the photograph of Guru and U Thant bowing with folded hands to each other was being publicly distributed along with typed comments excerpted from U Thant's kind words.

Guru used the photos and comments so much that U Thant's office was notified by some high-level officials who had been keeping close watch. Several top executives viewed Guru as a charlatan who claimed his role at the UN was of an official capacity, and urged the Secretary-General's office to keep their distance. Thus began the long-standing game that sometimes felt like Risk and sometimes like dodgeball between the Secretary-General's office and Guru. Certainly no Secretary-General after U Thant ever spent hours sitting in a wet field with Guru again. They had learned their lesson. But
nonetheless, with the ongoing efforts of his disciples, Guru became a permanent fixture as he continued to expand his role and presence at the UN.

The side door finally unlocked. I opened my eyes. I napped so often now, I wasn't even aware when it happened. All of my Nobel Prize prayer sessions inevitably ended in my jerking awake and peering at a clock that registered that hours had passed. This happened in meditations with Guru as well; I felt as though I had caught the contagious disease that caused many disciples to conk out at a second's notice.

Gitali stood with an extra large smile on her sweaty face. Her frizzy black hair was tightly pulled into a bun, and she wore a sari and yellow latex gloves. I must have been standing outside for at least an hour, waiting for her to open the door, but she didn't acknowledge that fact, as she handed me a stack of garbage bags, informing me that I would be cleaning the birdcages today.

I knew Gitali adored the zoo; with it she had a purpose and need—a way to belong to Guru's coveted domestic space. Gitali, like the majority of Guru's disciples in the New York area who did not work for disciple-owned businesses, or “divine-enterprises” as Guru called them, was employed at one of the UN branches. Even with permanent contracts, high pay, great benefits, and the ability to meditate with Guru twice a week on their lunch hour, most disciples, still longed to be with Guru, every day, all day, as full-time devotees. Gitali, a full-time UN worker and part-time Madal zookeeper, was no exception. She was in Guru's special close circle, assigned to Isha's friend pool. Since Gitali worked at UNICEF during the week, which she claimed as her spiritual
sadhana,
having to deal with outsiders for eight hours a day plus ride
the low-consciousness subway, her time at Guru's zoo cleaning bird droppings was her refuge.

I put on a pair of mammoth cleaning gloves that were itchy from bleach. Even before opening the door to the bird zone, the thick stench and their shrill squawks clawed through the basement. Always a fan of soft, cuddly animals, I neither understood nor liked birds. Their unblinking eyes and pointy beaks, coupled with their reptilian talons, made me wary. I didn't trust them. When I walked inside, I felt as though my eardrums had been ripped out. Caws, shrieks, whines, and whistles collided at a shattering pitch. Maybe because they never saw sunlight, or were forced to live in cramped conditions, all of the birds seemed extra neurotic, pacing in mad circles in their own messes on the floor, or furiously pecking at the cage bars.

“Nice birdie,” I said, tentatively reaching my arm inside a cage of black mynah birds that had been smuggled by a disciple from Indonesia. Some of the creatures stood their ground, staring me down, as others flapped spastically on metal perches.

“Okay. Nice birdie,” I said, keeping an eye on the one that seemed about to dart in my direction, at the same time pulling out the newspaper sopped with white, green, and black puddles of creamy waste.

After wiping down the concrete floor and relining it, without ever losing sight of the black beasts, I safely removed my arms and locked the cage again, with great relief.

When I first received word from Guru that I was allowed to join my older sisters and be their assistant in the zoo, I was thrilled. I loved going to Guru's house, and anytime Guru included me with the grown-ups, I was especially proud. I
smugly enjoyed being the only kid invited into such exclusive society. I imagined that helping with the animals would involve sitting in a comfortable place petting a furry cute friend.

“There is a dead finch in the finch cage,” Gitali had said on one of my first days in the bird zone, coming up from behind, scaring me. She had to repeat herself three times, until I could hear her over the deafening squawks.

“So?” I shouted.

“There are little Baggies up near the washing machines. You can use one of those.” She smiled and continued on.

I soon realized that my special blessing of being with the grown-ups in Guru's zoo was not what I had imagined. Far from being a perk, this felt like purgatory.

I moved on to Raj's cage. Raj was the scariest of all. A massive parrot that looked like it belonged perched on a tattered pirate's shoulder, it seemed to wait for me, daring me to even unlatch the lock, before lunging at me with his broad beak that ended in two points like the ends of a protractor.

“Hey there, Raj. You like me, right? Sure you do. Nice Raj.” As soon as I unfastened the lock, he puffed out his feathers as a warning.

It was now late afternoon in the bird dungeon. I imagined way aboveground, the bright sun shone on people on earth. I looked at my sari, soaked and stained with various bird body liquids. I peeled some damp feathers off my arms. By now I could not even hear the desperate calls of the birds, and the stench, too, seemed normal. On my knees, I sighed, imploring Raj just to give me a break. He was my last cage.

As soon as I reached in, he flapped his wings, lifting them back, prepared to strike. I tried to rip the paper up, but it was
stuck to the floor. With a yelp, Raj swooped down, latching onto my pinky finger.

“Motherfucker!” I screamed.

My free hand grabbed my dust broom, and I whacked Raj.

“You fucker! Let go of my fuckin’ finger!”

I smacked Raj over and over until he loosened his clamp and hobbled away to a corner of the cage. I stared down at my bluish finger and wondered if it could still bend.

“Are we finished yet?” Gitali asked, appearing out of nowhere carrying a bucket of bird seed and wearing a smile.

I looked up, holding my finger. Suddenly I hated her.

“You know, in a few years, when you finish having to go to yucky school, you will be the luckiest person in the world because you will be blessed by Guru to have the opportunity to become his full-time bird keeper. How wonderful.” Gitali smiled, looking wistful. “For your whole life, every day, all day, you will get to be in Guru's blessed world and work only for Guru alone. You will never ever have to enter the outside world.”