Guruji was not one to frequently dart from place to place all year long. Instead, he carefully selected his destinations, avoiding those where he knew he would not find comfort.

Nonetheless, his life had been marked by a multitude of journeys. His travels led him to various educational institutions, design and architecture seminars, schools and Gurukuls, Maths across the nation and numerous NGOs. Yet, despite the diversity of these engagements, one aspect consistently vexed him: the arrangement of his talks on stage, standing behind a podium.

With his characteristic humor, he would often remark, “Behind the podium, the speaker is seen only in part and the listener too is fragmented. How can such an atmosphere foster a complete conversation?” Guruji felt a profound ease when seated beneath a tree, where he could engage in true dialogue rather than deliver a mere lecture. Many of his close friends, attuned to his preferences, would arrange the seating to his liking and he cherished these settings. Feeling at home away from home was a singular pleasure for him.

At the ashram, comfortably ensconced in an armchair, enjoying his chai and playfully toying with twigs, Guruji found a sense of solace. This environment, conducive to his contemplative thoughts and perspectives was where he truly thrived. The stage, by contrast, felt restrictive. He could not use his gestures freely, infuse his discourse with humor or take his habitual pauses. These elements were integral to his sense of completeness as a speaker; without them, he always felt diminished.

He always believed that the ease of conversation was paramount and that time should not constrain dialogue. I often witnessed him engaging so deeply with individuals at the ashram, that suddenly he would ask, “Shanky, time kya ho gaya?”, upon hearing, “It’s half past two,” he would respond, “Arre, dhai baje gaye! Time ka pata hi nahin chala – chalo bhai, khana khatey hai” (“Oh, we’ve lost track of time. Let’s eat.”). Such discussions frequently extended into the early hours of the morning, often stretching incredibly long if they took an especially intense turn.

With a touch of wry humor, he would often remark, “There is a distinct difference between a devotee and a disciple. One should aspire to become a disciple; beware of the devotees. A disciple possesses the liberty to question, whenever he encounters a message, whereas devotees accept whatever is said as the gospel truth. So, ask questions; it makes the conversation truly enjoyable.”

His words were often accompanied by a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, as if daring his audience to challenge him. “Bhakton se bachke rehna chahiyeh”, he would say with a smirk, adding an air of curiosity and light-heartedness to his profound insights. This playful approach not only disarmed his listeners but also encouraged a deeper, more engaging dialogue, turning every conversation into an enriching experience.

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One such memorable event unfolded when he was invited to deliver a lecture at Indian Institute of Enterprise, Hyderabad. After the formal sessions had concluded, Guruji found himself seated informally among the attendees. With a long red tilak gracing his forehead and clad in a pristine white dhoti, kurta and dupatta, he cut a striking figure. The audience, captivated by his presence, listened intently as he engaged in conversation, turning the gathering into a scene of profound and mesmerizing dialogue.

In the distance, a man stood watching this scene unfold, his anger simmering beneath a composed exterior. A staunch communist, he harbored deep-seated suspicions about Guruji based solely on his appearance. To him, Guruji epitomized the pandits of the zamindari era, those who had exploited the vulnerable. The sight of people eagerly engaging with Guruji and hanging on his every word made his ire intensify.

This man, Subbaraoji, was a fervent adherent of communist philosophy, unwavering in his beliefs. The scene before him was intolerable and he resolved to move closer to the gathering. His intent was clear: to listen to what this so-called pandit was saying and at the opportune moment, to interrupt and challenge him. With a mix of indignation and determination, he approached, ready to expose what he believed to be a facade and to confront Guruji head-on.

As he approached, Guruji’s voice grew clearer, each word resonating with an unexpected clarity that reached Subbaraoji’s ears. To his astonishment, he was introduced to a perspective entirely novel to him. How could this man so eloquently place craftsmen and artisans at the heart of his narrative, relegating all other aspects to the periphery?
Subbaraoji’s aggressive posture began to soften. The ardent communist within him found a surprising rationality in Guruji’s words. Muscles that had been primed for confrontation started to lose their tension. Suddenly, he found himself entranced, his resolve melting away as he absorbed Guruji’s discourse. The anger that had propelled him forward was replaced by an unforeseen curiosity and he stood there, captivated by the profound and eloquent wisdom emanating from Guruji.

As the informal gathering dispersed, Subbaraoji approached Guruji and introduced himself with a warm gesture, recognizing in him a kindred spirit – a comrade. Thus began an entirely new chapter of camaraderie or shall we call it comraderie!!! Subbaraoji became a frequent visitor to the ashram, often bringing his family along. Leveraging his role with APCOST, he organized several training programs at the ashram, with Guruji at the helm.

Both Guruji and Subbaraoji would later recount the story of their initial meeting and the bond that followed with great enthusiasm. They spoke of how their relationship began, evolving from mutual skepticism to a profound connection that melded them into a unified force.