I had first heard about the event, when Aryaketu had mentioned it in the car on our way to a semi solitary retreat in Bihali at the beginning of the month. We had initially hoped to take this retreat at Bordharan, which is much closer to Nagpur, but the centre had been fully booked. My interest was immediately piqued then, not only for the prospect of another opportunity to see Bordharan, but also because the retreat would be led by Subhuti, one of Triratna’s most senior Order Members and one of founder Sangharakshita’s foremost disciples. I had listened to recordings of Subhuti’s talks online and had read some of his work too, but even though he is president of the London Buddhist Centre, as he spends up to six months of every year on multiple trips working in India, the chance to attend not just one but a whole week of his talks in person seemed a very fine Christmas present indeed. At the very least, I’d be guaranteed to understand a percentage of the programme. Although a majority of it would be in Hindi, a common language for many of the young people who would be gathering from states all across India, Subhuti gives talks in English with an interpreter.

Despite my initial enthusiasm, for a while it didn’t seem possible. Aryaketu seemed keen that I should attend, but various other people were not so sure it was a good idea;

My first act of settling in was to make a note of the programme for the days ahead in my diary, as listed on a printed programme I borrowed from Neha. Though subject to change, it gave me a good starting point. I also quickly realised exactly why the event was being referred to as a conference rather than a retreat! Each day started at 05:30, when we were encouraged to ‘wake up’. Tea would be served at 06:15, followed by half an hour of Chi Kung at 06:30. This preceded an hour of meditation at 07:00, with breakfast between 08:00 and 09:00. The day then really got going with the main talk (by Subhuti) at 10:00. Each day had a different, related topic; How to Think, Transformation, Equality, Social Responsibility and finally, Being an Activist, then after the 90 minute talk, we would split into discussion groups. Some days followed this with a ‘Q&A with Subhuti’ session planned before lunch at 13:00. 14:00 to 14:45 was generously scheduled as ‘rest’ before more chai and a series of ‘floating sessions’ at 15:00, which I soon learned meant somewhat impromptu study and/or discussion sessions. From 16:30 until 18:00 would be debates, panel discussions or seminars related to the theme of the day and after supper (served between 19:00 and 20:00), there were talks, presentations or celebratory activities leading up to the close with a puja at 21:30. The schedule kindly timetabled ‘sleep’ at 22:00. I began to see that the week would slip by very fast indeed.

It was as well I rested; the opening ceremony was a high energy affair with a re-enactment of one of Dr Ambedkar’s most famous acts of civil and spiritual disobedience, which clearly stimulated the already excited crowd to even stronger resolve with regards to their purpose for the week. On December 25th 1927, Dr Ambedkar had publically burned a copy of the core Hindu text, the Manu Smriti. Subhuti explained that though this was often presented as an ancient script, it was in fact relatively modern and had been written by Brahmins (Hindu high caste community), containing within it the primary justification for caste discrimination in the Hindu religion. Burning this document was one of the first public steps Ambedkar took in renouncing the religion of his birth and the entrenched injustices that so many were subjected to in its name.

I realised then that this was not ‘just’ an opportunity for young people to learn about Buddhism and meekly deepen their practice. Many of those attending this event would be children of Ambedkarites, social activists born and bred, possibly even descendants of those who were at the original mass conversion 60 years ago. Many, though not all, would be from Scheduled Caste backgrounds and if the flavour of the event (subtitled A Democratic Revolution; from Individual

So it was that I again found myself on a fast track integration process; once more a fish out of water socially, politically, culturally and spiritually. This was heightened by the anticipated number of very curious and excitable teenagers, many of whom had never seen a white person before and thought nothing of making comments such as ‘when I first saw you I thought you were an albino because we’ve got them in our village but actually it’s OK because now I know you’re a foreigner’ (read awed emphasis on that final word). I had enjoyed a surge of confidence since my post-Bihali spiritual rebirth experience (as discussed in my last update) but I now found myself reacquainted with a more withdrawn and introverted version of myself. I did not wish to appear unfriendly and wanted to be sure I was giving a positive first impression, where it was being taken, on behalf of modern Western people (no pressure there then), but I needed to remain equally true to myself and at the time, this was a self of study, observation and introspection. I skipped around the edges of multiple social interactions, like a pebble not yet committing to the lake and tried to politely take my leave as quickly as possible.

After the first full day, I realised that participating in the afternoon events was probably not the best use of energy. As they were all in Hindi, I would understand only a tiny percentage of the material and so I was glad to carve some space for myself each afternoon while the ‘coast was clear’ for reading (I’d brought some texts), rest and yoga (I’d also brought my mat!). The daily highlight for me was without doubt the main talk by Subhuti and as I waited in the atmosphere of hushed excitement for the programme to begin on the first morning, I sensed I was not alone in this. I really felt myself to be at the ‘cutting edge’ not just of my own personal practice but of the work being done in the Triratna Buddhist Order; and at the front of the Dharma itself, as if we were at the driving edge of a weather front gradually sweeping across a landscape of change.

Following these main talks, we quickly gathered in our discussion groups and I was fortunate to have several people in mine who spoke some English, Prachi especially, who kindly took on the role of interpreting. Diksha, NNBY co-ordinator, and Raul facilitated the discussions and always made a point of trying to include me wherever possible. I wasn’t always able to completely follow the discussion and sensed that on occasion the translated content of what I had to contribute wasn’t entirely as substantial as the thoughts I’d tried to convey, but nevertheless, I really enjoyed the opportunity to engage with a smaller, more controlled group of convention participants. That we met over the course of the week helped too, as I could actually begin to develop a sense of individual personality in a sea of faces and deepen my friendship with them.

Meeting Shraddhavajri must be recorded as one of the high points of my week, and has furnished me with yet another inspirational female figure to add to my growing collection since becoming involved with Triratna. Living and working in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, she teaches Physical Education as well as running Dharma classes, youth groups and supporting the Ordination processes of six young women. At least that’s everything I can remember. I suspect that’s only about half of it. She vividly described a talk she’d recently given on gender equality, how shocked some of her teaching colleagues had been by it and how much negative feedback she’d received in the aftermath. She’s a couple of years younger than me but by Indian standards that’s apparently very old to be unmarried. Still, she’s holding off the constant social pressure, but for how much longer she’ll manage, I’m not sure. I’ve often refused to call myself a feminist because those I have encountered in the west who describe themselves as such seem more interested in female supremacy than real gender equality, but listening to her made me realise that in India, I have absolutely no hesitation whatsoever in planting myself very squarely in a proudly feminist camp. I only wish I knew how to support such a remarkable woman, who is to my mind ploughing on in a strikingly selfless and admirable fashion to blaze a much needed trail and set a firm example to the women around her that their future need not be dictated by a default assumption of gender typical roles.

Neha is another of these inspirational women with whom I consider myself very privileged to have become friends and though she was busy much of the time, we did manage to sneak some moments for conversation, which further strengthened our spiritual and social bond. As well as discussing her feelings in the run up to her own wedding, a conversation I found very difficult at times, she kindly gave me a good chunk of her afternoon one day to tell me her story. Having written the life stories of Saccadhamma and Sheetal, I felt it was very important to share Neha’s. Not only is hers another tale of overcoming significant disadvantage, as an alumni of Aryaloka, it also details just how transformational the opportunities offered at the education centre can be. I knew it would be a good story but even I didn’t expect some of the details and I’m looking forward to sharing it as soon as I get a chance in the coming weeks. As a dedicated member of the Lord Buddha TV team, she is often behind the microphone when interviews are conducted but, she told me, I was the first person to ask her for an interview. That may be the case, I replied, and lucky me for getting there first, but I am absolutely sure I will not be the last. Such is Neha’s sparkling energy and selfless determination to spread the Dharma, she has found herself with the dubious privilege of being additionally stretched with the demands of being one of Subhuti’s most trusted assistants. And it is a privilege, but a hard earned one and though she clearly treasures his guidance and friendship with a great respect, this does mean she is often taking on a good deal of extra work. Without wanting to exploit her contacts or her good nature, I’d asked if it might be possible to arrange a meeting at his convenience; I didn’t want to assume special treatment, or that I’d be a priority in a busy schedule but it seemed like I would be missing an opportunity if I didn’t at least ask. True to form, she did what she could and told me that at 4pm on Thursday, I would be welcome to visit Subhuti for a chat.

It’s a strange thing to meet for the first time someone with whose appearance, speech and mannerisms one has become already familiar. Such had been the depth of my engagement with Subhuti’s talks that I almost felt as though we’d already conversed and Neha had described him as having such a kind nature that I didn’t feel at all uncomfortable taking myself up to the hut behind the Stupa where he was staying with Maitriveer, another Order Member Ratnakumar, and possibly one or two others. We were soon sitting on a small, basic, concrete veranda looking out on to a jungle scene of faded teak leaves and dry grasses. To describe the scene as a riot of beige might not be wildly inaccurate but seriously undermines it and perhaps tawny, amber, gold and sienna would all better describe the colours that shone out of the winter landscape in the warmth of the late afternoon sun. I’m not sure if it was because of this complimentary contrast or because they have this colour all of their own, but it particularly occurred to me that this otherwise visually unremarkable elderly gentleman to whom I had presented myself, had a pair of the most strikingly blue eyes I’ve ever seen. If the eyes really are the windows to the soul (though of course the existence of a fixed soul is not reality to a Buddhist) his radiated a wisdom housed in such clarity and depth, yet tempered with so delicate and light hearted a demeanour it that was hard not to feel an almost instantly affectionate respect for this person that I really only knew through very indirect means. Perhaps that he reminded me slightly of one of my uncles influenced this too. It’s probably no surprise that our conversation meandered its way into the realms of art (I think I sort of summarised how I’d ended up with Triratna and where I hoped to go next, but I’m sure we enjoyed all sorts of tangents along the way) and though I’m normally cautious not to bore people by forcing them to look at photos of my art on a first meeting, he did seem so genuinely interested that before I knew it I’d pulled out my tablet and broken my own social taboo. Time is famous for its elastic properties, especially when ones experience of it is particularly pleasant, and as well as thoroughly enjoying the depth of our conversation, I was also relishing the rare opportunity to speak so fluently and with such rich subtlety of vocabulary with a fellow Brit, so one might have expected time to have flown characteristically. This wasn’t how it seemed to go though, and when I was very courteously dismissed to make allowance for his next appointment (though ‘go away please, I need a rest’ would have been an equally acceptable termination) I was neither surprised not expecting to see that a full hour had passed. I could have happily carried on chatting indefinitely and know there would have been plenty more to discuss, yet I did not feel that I had had to wind up early, or that there were unexpressed thoughts left wanting. Perhaps that is how one experiences time when a genuine presence in the moment has been achieved and it’s true to say that such was my absorption that for not one second of that hour did my mind wander to mundane musing of things that had happened earlier in the day, or anticipation of events to come later. It was, then, with mild shock that I returned to my room to find my semi-written notes for the evening talk awaiting a swift conclusion.  

If I’d not felt glad to have met him earlier that day for just about every other reason possible, I was suddenly very glad that this wasn’t our first introduction. I’d expected nothing of this part of the proceedings and as I was standing only slightly awkwardly to one side trying to work out how to participate appropriately while being urged to join in with the ritual, the gentleman acting as MC, calmly informed me that I had five minutes to speak. I equally calmly explained that I had planned for up to twenty. He didn’t seem to realise for one moment the conundrum that this presented me as he then pointed out that as I’d need to allow time for interpretation, what he meant really was that I had about two and a half. I decided to quit while I was ahead before my slot was reduced any further and placed incense on the shrine before participating in the ritual bowing and taking my seat. ‘Hello again’ is a much easier sentence when finding oneself suddenly on stage with someone than ‘nice to meet you’, and this did calm what would otherwise have been an increasingly fraught situation. ‘What are you talking about?’ Subhuti politely inquired as the audience settled. ‘Well,’ I began, ‘I was supposed to be discussing Why I am a Buddhist but I’ve just been told that the time I’d planned for has been reduced by about ninety percent.’ ‘You talk for as long as you like’ he replied, and so whilst I felt it would be a good idea to be as succinct as possible, I dispensed with an instinct to rush. I abandoned my A5 sheet of bullet points and instead began the monologue that I’d internally rehearsed in various parts throughout the preceding days.

I think I managed to get the bulk of what needed saying across by simply dispensing with my autobiography, which, whilst I’m sure my audience would have been delighted to hear, really wasn’t the most important point at all. Despite my slightly unprepared rambling, it seemed to go down well. I felt more confident when spontaneous applause erupted in response to one statement and when I returned to my seat next to Subhuti, he gently leant over and simply said ‘nice’, demonstrating perhaps more effectively than I had just done, exactly how much it’s possible to convey really very succinctly indeed. I relaxed as he then introduced the cultural night, explaining the importance of creativity and enjoyment, before our chairs were moved to the side of the stage and the stars of the night stepped up to take their places. I was relieved to be off the stage but still felt a little awkward to be sat with the lead team and was keen to reassert my position as ‘one of you’ by returning to my place in the audience as soon as possible, so I snuck back at an appropriate pause to enjoy all the performances with occasional interpretation from Neha and Raju.

Raju later persuaded me to sing but I'm not posting the video of that bit. I’d been very reluctant at first as I felt I’d already had my share of the limelight and I’d earlier resisted invitations by my discussion group to read a poem. I realised though, as I sat there, that whilst I may feel uncomfortable because of it, like it or not I did represent something bigger than myself, I represented an international connection, and for young people who had perhaps never left their village before it was more important to utilise this than to try and demonstrate its lack of substance. I realised being seen to share in the event was more important than attempting to retain the illusion of dignity, so I agreed, and hacked my way through the same song I’d appeased the community girls with a couple of times; the only (appropriate) song I knew all the way through, a favourite from my teens and one that I realised as I sung it was strangely dharmic; Spaceman by 4 Non Blondes. I’m pretty sure I sang at least half of it flat but Hindi singing sounds like it’s in a different key or something to me anyway and no one seemed to mind, judging by the number of people who came up to me the following day and told me how ‘beautiful’ my singing was. Of course I suspect they’d have said that even if I’d pulled out my old party trick of gargling the Beatles ‘When I’m 64’ but I must have done something right. The most significant feedback I received; however, was from those who told me they’d felt moved, or touched by the talk, especially the comment ‘I didn’t realise someone from a different background, a foreigner, could feel the same way about things as me.’ Uh huh. There we go. Box ticked. Job done.

That might all sound a bit grand. So much the better. I’m sure Subhuti hardly needs it from me, but I couldn’t have approved more of his closing lines. It’s important to have a long term goal but to get there, we must be skilled in applying the principles of Dharma to the situation around us; the Dharma is something to be lived. The Buddha is the ideal activist, Subhuti explained, and if you want to be an ideal activist you must become more and more like the Buddha.

So then, after a week in the jungle with it, how can I describe the National Network of Buddhist Youth? In the first, most practical instance, it’s an organisation run by young people identifying as Buddhist, which seeks to make connections through common spiritual practice, spanning the different Indian states to achieve a goal of social equality and freedom from caste as inspired by the work of Dr Ambedkar.

Really though, it’s so much more than that. It’s a vehicle that empowers young people, regardless of their background to realise the confidence and tools they need to reach their full potential. It enables its members to see not just through caste distinctions but beyond them, to recognise that they are united, not divided, by something far bigger. It provides opportunities for social development, for spiritual evolution and practical skills acquisition. It’s also the biggest bunch of friendly, energetic, dynamically excited young people I think I’ve ever met and I feel quite reassured, because if the future of the Dharma Revolution really does lie (at least partly) in their hands, then it’s definitely going places.

Though I have been clear that the purpose of my time in India is to be a volunteer teacher and that therefore the professional standards I would apply to such responsibilities in the UK are paramount, I did also feel it would be a shame to come all the way to India and have no other experiences. This trip to be involved in a Buddhist social project is also an important part of my spiritual development and so I was delighted when it was suggested for me to take a week of ‘semi solitary’ retreat. My first two months were entirely limited to the busy, noisy, polluted Nagpur city centre and the opportunity to get away for a few days and see some Indian countryside was a real attraction. I was also aware that despite living in a community that made Dharmic practice and study really very accessible to me, I had become somewhat mechanised in my spiritual and daily routine lately. A chance to have a rest, recharge my batteries and reengage with the Dharma was an important opportunity and could not have been timelier.
The plan was for Mark and me to take a week off teaching while Shakyajata ‘held the fort’ on a week of reduced classroom contact. It would be a good chance for the students to demonstrate their learning so far with some independent assignments and assessment activities. Aryaketu would drive us to the retreat centre that had been booked for us and would join us there, taking some time for himself too, not often an easy thing for a busy order member and centre director to facilitate. We would not plan a set retreat schedule and would in fact take as much of it in silence as possible. We’d not be totally solitary as we’d all be in the same retreat centre but we wouldn’t practice together or communicate unless we really needed to for any reason. We’d take some fruit and oats and coffee for breakfasts but our lunch and supper would be delivered to our doors each day by the family who lived in the local village and ran the retreat centre. There would be no one else using the centre, set in a remote valley just outside a tiny village called Bihali, near the jungle hill station Chikhaldara.

There would be lots of time for reflection, walking (maybe even running!), meditating, reading… and not much else. Time to explore the jungles of both the physical and mental landscapes. I was keen to avoid over-prescribing my time here. I have a tendency to be a real planner, I’ll schedule things down to the last five minutes if given half a chance (I guess that’s teaching for you!) but I find I frequently become resentful of this self-imposed structure, struggle with motivation to complete the tasks yet find it difficult if I am unable for any reason to complete the things I have planned, regardless of whether or not it would be more appropriate for the plan to change. This is a point of tension in me that I really want to work on and it seemed like a great opportunity to do just that. Plan nothing. Do as little as possible, nothing at all if I felt like it. Forget trying to feel productive. A chance to really still my mind and listen to what was needed. No more, no less. Of course, I knew this would be a valuable experience to record, for my own benefit as well as to share more widely and so I began to keep a daily diary, which I found formed an important part of my practice as I used it as a tool to focus my reflections. I have decided, that rather than try to summarise, or ‘write up’ this diary, the most simple thing to do, which would happily also involve the least amount of additional (unnecessary!) work, is to simply publish it as it is. An honest and open record of my experiences and reflections, as it felt right to record at the time. This can then be accessed in a similarly fluid way, as and when anyone may wish to explore it. I’ve scanned the pages (it seemed less tiresome than typing it all out!) so I hope my writing is legible enough to be accessible!

The retreat was, in the most part, a rich and rewarding experience. I benefitted from it greatly and achieved some genuine insights in to myself and my spiritual practice as a Buddhist. I am returning from it with some valuable discoveries and glittering mental treasures. I feel obliged to warn anyone who may be interested in perusing it further; however, that there was one day when I encountered an unpleasant experience during a possibly ill-advised walk away from the retreat centre.

That’s not to trivialise her other roles though and I was fortunate to realise the opportunity afforded us by the optician’s waiting room to begin hearing and taking eager notes on Sheetal’s Story. Sheetal is Aryaketu’s wife and mother to 15 year old Ojas. She admirably fulfils all the functions expected of her in this role, preparing three meals a day for both the men in her life as well as us, the visiting teaching team, often cleaning up after us as well as undertaking the housework required to keep her home functioning. She supports Aryaketu unquestioningly in his work for the order, even when this brings him home late or takes him right out of the country for many weeks a year. She gently, yet persistently encourages Ojas to make the most of his studies, patiently bringing him back on track when really, like many other 15 year old boys the world over, he’d rather be playing Assassin’s Creed. Her life is by no means limited to the domesticity ascribed to her by Indian society; however. She is also fully committed to Dhamma herself and attends weekly chapter meetings on Tuesdays with study classes on Saturdays in her own progression towards ordination into the movement. This process often takes far longer for women than for men in India as it is much harder for them to secure time away from domestic duties to study, attend retreats and deepen their practice sufficiently. Still undeterred, she carries on. If this doesn’t already sound like a full schedule, Sheetal is also Centre Manager for the Bhilgaon Campus, responsible for not just teaching important parts of the critical MSCIT (Maharashtra State Certificate in Information Technology; a government recognised qualification that is a basic requirement for any individual wishing to obtain good employment in a wide range of sectors beyond physical labouring) but also for the pastoral care of the young women, their spiritual development and harmony in their community, as well as a myriad of administration tasks that come with the job such as managing course fees from the non-residential students and making sure the registrations with the exams office are regularly maintained.

Sheetal was born in Nagpur on the 2nd of September 1975, the first daughter of three, into a very full house. There were four uncles, three aunties and three of her grandparents as well as her mum and dad, all living together when she arrived into the family. The house was noisy but not just because there were so many people in it; situated on the Kamptee Road, one of the main routes to and from the city centre, there was constant traffic rumbling past and even more, she tells me, during her childhood than there is now. The Kamptee Road is the ‘main drag’ from Aryaloka Bhilgaon to Aryaloka Indora, where the other half of our teaching takes place and a trip up it is a challenging experience full of dust, fumes, noise, trucks, mopeds, blaring horns, auto rickshaws, coaches, cows, people, bicycles, vans, you get the idea. One needs to allow a certain amount of energy just for the journey before teaching has even begun and so it is hard to imagine living right next to it when it was even busier. Thankfully, it was only the backdrop for the first three years of her life and when her father was successful in applying for a transfer in his government job as auditor for the railway, she moved with her parents and her 18 month old sister to a rented house in Jabalpur, Madhya Pradesh. These were happy times and she describes this part of her childhood with a buoyant vigour as though somewhere a curtain has opened to let a ray of morning sun play across her face. She shines as she speaks of it, despite the gloom of the eye hospital waiting room. After her second sister was born, her mother’s mum came to help the family and she enjoyed the walks to school, sometimes with her grandmother, sometimes with her dad. When she was five, her father was successful in applying for a government house and this looked out onto a big playground, which was the scene of many a joyful evening, playing with friends after school. They were happy and healthy here, very well looked after by a mother who took the wellbeing of her family very seriously. She left nothing to chance in meeting their needs, researching nutrition to ensure they were well fed, attending school for regular updates, helping with homework. Yet there is no sense that this was in anyway strictly enforced and it seems she was able to balance this with equanimity, taking care also to provide the love, freedom and emotional strength her family needed to flourish. Sheetal describes her mother with so much love and admiration that she really does sound like a model parent and it is perhaps no surprise to learn that when Sheetal’s aunt and uncle ran in to marital strife and began quarrelling, two of her cousins moved in! Preferring the warm, loving environment to their own home, this irritated her mother’s sister intensely.

Such a significant disadvantage combined with a lack of tuition would surely result in disaster, they were adamant. But they underestimated Sheetal. She studied hard, just as she said she would, and this seed of determination fertilised by the love and support of a remarkable mum, blossomed in to Passes with Distinction for Marathi, Science and Social Science. This may have surprised and impressed her detractors, but success following hours of home study was hardly a new experience for Sheetal; her mum had spent the summer holiday of 1984 coaching her to a good standard of English before she even began studying it formally at the age of eight. Academic success, just like the formulation of an adequate diet, was never taken for granted or left to the chance of received wisdom, she had been raised to beat her own path to her goals.

After her exam success, she took admission to the famous local Sindhu Mahavidyalaya College for 11th and 12th Standard (sixth form or college equivalent). This fame was mixed; the college had a reputation for excellent teaching but also for troublesome and disorderly pupils, especially among the male cohort. This couldn’t have been further from Sheetal’s own temperament but she resolved to put her education ahead of her own sense of personal security; a significant risk following her provincial girl’s school background. Of course, mum was as supportive as ever, coming along to see her off at the gate on her first day. Concerned to avoid unwanted and inappropriate attention from the opposite sex, Sheetal went out of her way to be as unattractive as possible and deliberately dressed in unflattering clothes. ‘I oiled my hair!’ she tells me, demonstrating by dragging her hands down the sides of her head, flattening her now henna-enhanced tresses.

Despite her academic success, these years were not easy for Sheetal’s family. Having moved closer again to the conflicted home of her aunt when returning to Nagpur, the impact of the rift that had driven her cousins to live with them in the first place became ever more apparent. Sheetal’s aunt came to their home to argue with her sister several times and this affected the whole family with unpleasant rumours spreading around a very difficult situation. Her mum’s health began to suffer and she became very ill, experiencing chest pains and other symptoms of anxiety in the wake of constant harassment. Sheetal’s sister, equally academic, was studying a pharmaceutical course and contacted a doctor she knew for advice. With this treatment and a lot reciprocal love and support from the immediate family, her mum rallied physically but still she was suffering with mental illness. One family member who saw through much of the gossip and regularly visited to support the family was Sheetal’s maternal grandfather. He lived in an area of Nagpur called Mahendra Nagur and suggested his daughter try attending meditation classes with him on Thursdays at a centre just a one minute walk from his home. It would help, he assured her and asked her several times to come with him, but Sheetal’s mum refused, saying that she had done nothing wrong and it was her spiteful brothers and sisters who should go and learn to live a better life! One night, which was coincidentally a Thursday, Sheetal’s parents were invited to her father’s house for dinner. They were asked to arrive at half past five; too early for a meal but with plenty of time to chat and to go for an evening stroll around the neighbourhood before eating. Lo and behold, their local stroll ‘just happened’ to take them into a local Triratna centre. Despite her misgivings, when she saw the shrine in the open space, the flowers and the Buddha rupa, she felt immediately impressed and enjoyed the meditation and puja that occurred that night. From that day on, says Sheetal, her mother never stopped her Dhamma work. This was in the March of 1998, Sheetal’s final BSc year, and in April she finished her exams. With her time now freed from study, she went along to a Dhamma class with her mum. She was unimpressed when she walked in and saw a young man in a kesa on the stage. ‘I thought, this is the wrong man! How can he teach? He’s too young! I thought, young people go to the cinema and enjoy themselves, they know nothing about spirituality!’ This man; however, gave a talk that impressed her so much with relevant examples that seemed to come from her own life and experiences that she felt he knew her already even before her mum introduced them, post talk.

One day, after teaching at the hostel, she came home to an animated reception from her sister who told her that a very exciting thing had happened and that she should try and guess who had visited! Jija, Aryaketu’s mother and also a Dhamma Mitra, had come for chai, along with another mutual friend from the order. It is with some amusement that Sheetal continues the clearly oft-recounted tale; apparently Jija had actually left the room to use the bathroom when the family friend formally suggested that Sheetal and Aryaketu made a good match for marriage! Sheetal was already well known to Aryaketu’s family; she’d attended Dhamma classes run by his father, dancing classes and retreats with his sister. She was pretty, educated to a good level and dedicated to Triratna. There weren’t many more boxes left to tick. Aryaketu was certainly happy for them to suggest the union, though was apparently unconvinced that such a standard of young woman would be interested in a man who did not have a government job or family house. Sheetal’s wider family were certainly not impressed, but when she heard the news, Sheetal was every bit as delighted as her mum and dad. She had always dreaded the day when she believed she would inevitably have no choice but to marry a man with money and status; not something she wanted, fearing that such a husband would be free with his money, his affections and possibly, his fists. Having been brought up by a family who encouraged her to have her own opinions, stand on her own feet and make her own way in life, the thought of winding up in a housewife’s role with little else to occupy her but a demanding husband, filled her with fear. She felt she could trust Aryaketu however; he would not be a philanderer or a wife beater with a commitment to the Dhamma as strong as demonstrated in his talks. As someone so well known in the order, he was unlikely to have any hidden motives or distressing personal secrets.

In 2012, the Bhilgaon branch opened and she then became centre coordinator and teacher. Sheetal seems surprised as her narrative catches up with her present life, that she has so much to share. ‘I thought I had no story!’ she tells me again, having dismissed my request to write it in the first instance by saying there was nothing to say. She never imagined, she tells me, that she would live as she does now, in such a big house, with a car, a television, all the symptoms of wealth. Of all three sisters, she was always the one least interested in professional or material gains, in possessions or status, and yet, she tells me, she believes herself to be the happiest of all of them. Her sisters are not unhappy, she explains further, and have good jobs, good husbands, houses, in many respects the lives they always wanted; but they are not as happy as her. She is pleased, she mentions too, to know her parents do not have to worry about her. ‘Oh, Annabeth, I am really very happy!’ she announces, with an air of grateful surprise. She seems mildly taken aback too when I reply ‘Good! You deserve to be!’ But I do not believe for a moment that it is because of the house and the car, the status of being married to an order member or being the coordinator of a school that she is happy, nor do I think does she. Sheetal is an eminently kind woman, a thoughtful and sensitive person who takes the happiness of those around her seriously. She works hard, unceasingly in fact, to maintain this happiness and wellbeing, just as she describes of her own mother. In the short time I’ve known her, I have come to professionally and spiritually respect and personally very much like her. She is now, and I hope will always be even when the miles separate us, a trusted friend. Her faith in her practice of Buddhism goes far beyond the flowery rhetoric of devotional text, or acts of kindness for the sake of fulfilling a precept.

For the ‘lay’ folk, dana, or giving, was important and they would make new robes for the ordained to go off in. This was partly gratitude for the teachings they had received during the season and partly to make their own contribution to helping spread the benefits of Dhamma teaching. For modern practitioners in Triratna, these activities are not so relevant but there is often the opportunity to ‘reaffirm’ the vows one made when becoming a mitra or member of the order. I had received an invitation to one such ceremony in London, but of course would be unable to go, so when I heard that Sheetal was going to a reaffirmation day at her local Triratna Centre, I was immediately keen to attend; not just as it would be my first opportunity to visit the Mahendra Nagar Centre but also to participate in the puja. It would have been an enjoyable activity in the UK but here it seemed like a really quite important thing to do. Not only would I be able to reaffirm my commitment to my own mind, I could do it publicly and let my adopted Sangha see that I was genuine in my ‘Going for Refuge to The Three Jewels’, alongside them and in the same manner that they do. As I’ve mentioned before, though there is much that is at least similar enough to feel familiar in Triratna in India there is also a lot that is really very different as well.

After we arrived at the centre, I was able to relax and enjoy watching the shrine dressing activites. Of course, we’d turned up absolutely on time to an event organized in India so we had at least 45 minutes to wait before much happened. As it turned out, things finally kicked off merely an hour and ten minutes late. I knew I was going to have difficulty following a lot of the day as it would be conducted in Marathi but thankfully, the day started with chants in Pali (which I know, whew!) and a period of Metta Bhavana meditation, which I am familiar enough with to follow the stages of sans guidance. I focused on a few people from Triratna in the UK. I feel part of both Manchester and London sanghas since my move north to south, so I had plenty of people to pick from! Such is the nature of genuine friendships I think; it doesn’t matter how distant you are, those bonds remain true, so happily you don’t really lose such friends, you just accumulate them. After this, there was a full-on talk that I actually couldn’t follow so I made time to make lesson planning notes and jot down some thoughts for myself about the nature of Sangha and the re-commitment I was about to make. Thinking about Sangha seemed especially apt in such a situation, finding myself as I was, suspended in limbo almost (if you’ll pardon the analogy from an alternative religion!) between Indian and English sanghas. Occasionally, I could grasp bits of what the speaker was discussing, especially when he began referencing the Five Precepts using the Pali terms we chant every day. Unfortunately, my studious air and feverish scribbling apparently meant everyone assumed I understood Marathi (I constantly underestimate just how scrutinized ones actions are here; if you do something, you can guarantee everyone’s not only noticed you doing it but drawn about a hundred corresponding conclusions before you’ve even finished.) This explained their confusion and disappointment when I was unable to respond to their attempts in conversation!

Lunch was a predictably delicious affair of rice, dhal, chappatis and subji and we had a full hour to eat it, which I was grateful for as previous experiences led me to assume it would be a bit of a rush! When the ceremony began, I was excited to learn it would be a Sevenfold Puja thinking I knew it well enough to follow under my breath in English; so much for that. It was completely different and I just couldn’t work out which stage we were doing beyond about the third. There was no Heart Sutra and no final mantras. Hey ho.

The actual reaffirmation involved so many people that even just this section alone took over an hour! The Mitra Ceremony involves making offerings to the shrine of a flower, some incense and a candle (representing physical impermanence, the all-pervading nature of the Dharma and the illumination of the enlightenment mind) so you can imagine that for nearly every person in attendance (Sheetal and I estimated about 150) to do this takes some time. Buddhists aren’t best known for rushing things either; it’s a bit at odds with the 'calm and mindful' job description!

Sheetal was keen to know how the numbers of mitras compared with the UK but I found it so difficult to say. It certainly seemed like a greater percentage of those attending were mitras than I might expect in the UK but then it was a day for mitras and India is generally a society in which spirituality is infinitely more normalized. There are four Triratna centres just in Nagpur. Even London only has three. Comparing any aspect of India and England (and I know this is a strange analogy coming from a vegan) is a bit like comparing finest matured Stilton to processed ‘cheese food slices’. They’re sort of the same in a great many ways and yet at the same time, couldn’t be more different. Notionally, one might be qualified to have superior qualities to the other and yet there are times and places where only the ‘inferior’ will do. If that makes no sense to you then that’s fine. I’m still equally confused about really pinning down the differences between my home and adopted cultures so that makes us just about even.

That evening, I had agreed to take our community of young women round the corner to Nagaloka where the esteemed Dhammachari Lokamitra was giving a talk for Sangha Day. He has a great deal of experience in India and is one of the founding members of Triratna (or FWBO as it was) in the country so he is very much respected not just as a senior international Order Member but as one who really understands the local community here too. He spoke at length (though I know it was just a summary) on Dr Ambedkar’s approach to Dhamma, detailing his assertion that it was a way to achieve empowerment, a method for overcoming barriers between people and a key factor in effective governance. Lokamitra discussed each of these from the perspective of how we operate as a Sangha. He concluded by stating that if we are honestly practicing the Dhamma on an individual level and as a community supporting each other in our ideals, we should be an example of the most effectively functioning community possible. This in turn renders us empowered to break down barriers in society and utilise our human commonalities to facilitate the effectively radical, and not just tired old prescriptive governance that is required to really build a better world. To build the world we speak of when we greet each other ‘Jai Bhim’, and call to victory for Ambedkar’s vision of a truly equal society.

So I’d like to say that after a day of all that intense focus on Sangha, the community I live and work with, those individuals who together form one of my three key refuges in a practice that ultimately pivots on cultivating universal, selfless compassion, I’d like to say I came away overflowing with metta (loving kindness) and bursting at the seams with warm, friendly positivity. I’d like to say that because it would be appropriate, it would be ‘nice’ and it would mean I could stop writing this increasingly lengthy update; but it wouldn’t be very truthful.

Actually, I came away wondering. One of the first questions in the year one mitra study course (and one Sheetal, Shakyajata and I had recently considered in a very fruitful study session) asks which of the three jewels we feel most strongly attracted to. For myself, it’s always been Dhamma (or Dharma if I’m in UK brain).

Not just in terms of the teachings but also in another more subtle use of the word that refers to what I interpret as a universal flow of energy of which we are all a part, once we transcend our own egos. This energy, I do not believe to be unique to Buddhism. I think some religions call it God. Some people who might be broadly spiritual but not ‘religious’ per se call it ‘Mother Nature’, or even more abstractly ‘Love’. I have an inkling that physicists call it ‘Dark Matter’ and rather enjoy baffling themselves by trying to pin aspects of it down in particle accelerators. I suspect we may eventually find out it’s simultaneously all and yet none of these things. You can probably tell from this paragraph that I’m rather fond of thinking about it. So, my ‘one’ of the three (not that it’s really possible to separate them, of course) is not Sangha. Don’t get me wrong, I feel communities are critically important regardless of your culture and I spent much of my time while I qualified on an MA trying to develop ways through an Art and Design practice to strengthen community, find commonality, empower people and breakdown barriers. In terms of my spiritual life though, it’s not the most important one. And having heard and thought so much about Sangha, having been embraced so warmly into this new one, I felt really awkward about about that.

So much for quietly hiding in my shell until I’m ready to once again present the version of me that I’d like people to think I am all of the time. And this means that I cannot hide it from me either. I am living right up against the surface of myself and can’t indulge my belief that I’m just a little bit superhuman any longer, not even fleetingly. I’ve never been so aware on such a minute by minute basis of all my mundane shortcomings. Occasionally, I’ve been excruciatingly aware of some huge glaring flaws in my personality but I’ve done rather a lot of work on those thanks to several years of counselling and I find them really quite manageable these days. Until now though, I’ve never been so aware of all the tiny, trivial, apparently unimportant ways that I’m not quite as I’d like to be. I feel as if I am staring into a mirror, 24/7. Not just a mirror of my physical form either, but worse, a mirror of my inner psyche. Sound harrowing? It is. And I find that maybe this is why I am not as enamoured with Sangha as I might have thought I would, or should be. Maybe it’s all just a bit too raw, but maybe it’s exactly what I need to be doing. Six months of life at the cutting edge of my (very new) spiritual practice was never going to be all about lighting candles and arranging flowers on a shrine to the heady scent of incense and the pleasant chanting of melodic mantras.

So, for my own part, my Sangha Day practices have finally amounted to confession, in the sense of acknowledging that I am not always quite the person I’d like others to have to be around and then dana, in the sense of my genuine commitment to give all of that person to both my spiritual community and to those I work with on a mundane, worldly level. It’s also a commitment to give all of myself to my efforts to realise my will to enlightenment for the benefit of all beings. Giving myself completely to that cause means withholding none of it. It means giving myself entirely with both my features and my flaws, my strengths and my weaknesses. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. It won’t always be pretty, it won’t always be dry or hygienic, but it will always be honest and it will always be safe in the knowledge that even when I am feeling at my least acceptable, there will always be a Sangha there ready to not just accept but to actively expect that honesty. And there I find a place to build my faith in the third jewel. Yes, I believe I can, with enough effort, eventually attain what the Buddha attained. With that faith secured, I believe wholeheartedly in the Dharma as a process for getting there. But can I trust those around me to really be there and support the whole of me on the back of three and a half decades of worldly conditioning that have taught me humans aren’t really always that trustworthy?