Driving the Guru Mad (Introduction) – Philip Duffield

The following is an excerpt from Phil’s book: Driving the Guru Mad.

You may be aware that one of our Trustees, Philip Duffield, has written a book about his travels around the UK with Swamiji.  He often used to drive Swamiji to conferences and to yoga groups that had invited Swamiji to teach.  Philip often reads aloud one of the chapters of his book during the afternoon on Satsang days. This is the introductory chapter to his book.

“The car is ready. All I need is your good self and we can be on our way!”

“Coming Ji. I will be with you as soon as I have made our tea!”

A soft, yet commanding Asian voice answered my call from deep inside the wooden clapboard bungalow. I used the remaining moments to adjust the driver’s seat and steering wheel, for my height. They were so close together, only the smallest person could squeeze into that tiny space. Even then, I had to remove the cushion on which the elderly owner sat to be able to see where he was going.

I stepped out of the car to be met by a small, grey-haired, olive-skinned, Indian gentleman, whose vibrant face was dominated by a fine silver moustache. His casual travelling clothes were topped by a blue rain jacket and cloth cap. Although his clothes were simple, his manner was dignified.

Holding a large thermos flask, he stood in the doorway of his small unassuming ashram (or Kutir as they are known in India), where the pupil is ‘up close and personal’ to the teacher and there is no safety in numbers.

Swami Indrananda ji (to give him his initiated name), or Indar (as I preferred to call him)  and myself, resembled a family preparing for their annual motoring holiday or musicians about to go on tour.  But this was us, following our regular, well-oiled routine. Embarking, mostly up-country, to stay with people we may never have met, to give seminars to hundreds or perhaps just a handful of souls, we encountered along the way.

I straightened my body and towered over the Guru, all five feet two inches of him: my friend and confidant, my harshest critic, who pulls no punches with me or anyone else. The one who can make me laugh until my sides ache or silence me with a glance.

This small man can fast for days, meditate, chant or undertake rigorous pranayama and purification processes for hours, push hundreds of yoga students well beyond their endurance levels and then make them gasp at his own ability to literally ‘tie himself up in knots’. He has nearly perfect analysis of anybody he comes into contact with and will quite happily debate or talk for hours on spiritual matters, whilst still having a true understanding of the ‘ways of the world’. Indar ji says, in essence, the  only quality  required to  walk the  path of  the ‘supreme  science’ is
genuine commitment, something which he states, rather exasperatedly, is sadly lacking in my own character.
Turning, after presenting me with the flask of tea and a tupperware box of  vegetarian  goodies to eat on our journey, he walked  up to the front door and locked it. He took one last look around at the grounds of his ashram,  that had been set up since leaving  London in 1989, where he had developed a reputation for being one of Britain’s toughest yoga teachers.

Settling into the front passenger seat next to me, Indar quietly announced:
“I’ve done all I can. Only the Almighty can look after the Kutir, while we are on our journey.”

Handing me the keys of his whole domain, I fired the car into life. The heavily laden vehicle full of books, yoga equipment, large hand-carved wooden incense box, portable harmonium, personal belongings, one Guru and his driver, accelerated slowly away from the Patanjali Centre for Classical Yoga towards the known, the unknown and the unexpected.

And who am I?

When Swami Indranandaji commits himself to leading a seminar, course or retreat, more than a couple of hours distant from his Centre in Battle, he requests me to chauffeur him. At an appropriate moment during the seminar he takes time out to thank the organisers of the event for their selfless hard work. He then introduces the tall, thuggish-looking, shaven-haired man at the rear of the hall or arena. In acknowledging me, he delivers the accurate one-liner with perfect timing:

“This is our Philip Ji, my friend and companion. HE DRIVES ME MAD!’

© Philip Duffield – Excerpt from ‘Driving the Guru Mad’