(Adyar) Theosophical Society, Chennai, India

During a discussion recently about landscapes, someone remarked that “the landscape of India is her people”. This is true. No matter where one happens to point one’s camera, one finds someone doing something. Chennai is no exception. The city is literally bursting at the seams. Everywhere, builders are hard at work adding floors to existent buildings or tearing down single family dwellings to make room for apartment complexes that reach to the clouds. Besides its beaches (only second in total ocean frontage to Rio de Janeiro), the city has only one botanical lung. It is the 28 acres along the south shore of the Adyar River, owned by the Theosophical Society. It is said to contain the largest Banyan Tree in the world (one full acre) along with other botanical rarities from around the globe.

Unlike Chennai proper where every house and building has a wall surrounding it - where living and working space is measured in inches - here at the Society the only wall is the one surrounding the property. Inside, there are houses, administrative offices, libraries, places of worship and gardens set randomly throughout its sprawling, overwhelmingly pristine woodsy areas. It brings to mind a time when India’s population was considerably less than it is today, when even her great and fabled cities could boast of having green, open spaces and life moved at a much less desperate pace.

There is, of course, a foreign connection to the Theosophical Society - charitable NGO’s in fifty-eight countries to be exact. The grounds are open just a few hours in the morning and then again in mid-afternoon. There is no entrance fee. The organization and the maintenance of its facilities survive on support from rich benefactors abroad. Moreover, much of the routine work that is required is done by volunteers.

According to its website http://www.ts-adyar.org/ the Theosophical Society, which was founded in 1875, “is a worldwide body whose primary object is Universal Brotherhood based on the realization that life, and all its diverse forms, human and non-human, is indivisibly One. The Society imposes no (singular) belief system on its members, who are united (only) by a common search for Truth and desire to learn the meaning and purpose of (human) existence by engaging in study, reflection, purity of life and loving service.” Needless to say, this encompasses the wishes of most of us.

The Theosophical Society enjoys a rich and interesting history involving the occult and various influential and eccentric personalities, including the founders, H.P. Blavatsky and Col. H.S. Olcott. Details are readily available in libraries and on the net. I cannot escape the fact that all these people would first and foremost have had to have been independently wealthy as to be in a position to even think of dabbling in other-worldly matters.

The extent of our own involvement is likely to mirror your own should you ever decide to come here: a leisurely stroll through the gardens with camera poised. We noted with great relief that the notorious Chennai hammer-and-anvil sun did not intrude as lethally as it does everywhere else. There were to be other distractions however.

As soon as we had signed the register at the gate and taken a few steps, there was a great rustling behind the hedgerow that lined the path. It turned out to be a mountain of a boar, happily crashing through the underbrush. It would run along with us, first to the right of us, then to the left; crossing the path within easy shouting distance both in front and behind us. At every turn, it seemed to be getting closer. It snorted as it ran. I could clearly see its yellow eyes; hooked teeth protruded from both sides of its mouth. At one point, it stopped just a few yards ahead of us, stamping its hooves. We stopped as well. We'd become concerned. Perhaps it was getting ready to charge.

It turned out to be an 'enlightened' swine, obviously healthy and well fed; black as night. It meant us no harm. We would see it frolicking about throughout our visit.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Vasanta Vihar, Chennai, India

If you remember reading my article about the Goetheanum in Dornach, Switzerland, last year, you will recall my saying that Rudolph Steiner’s branch of the Theosophical Society broke ranks with the leadership of the main group in India primarily because of their insistence on declaring Jiddu Krishnamurti as the ‘second coming’ of Christ. Rudolph Steiner was apparently not the only one who had misgivings. Krishnamurti himself would decline to accept the ‘holy’ mantel and seek his own direction. He would come to be known internationally as a deep thinker and visionary quite in his own right.

I recently visited the home of the late J. Krishnamurti, Vasanta Vihar, here in Chennai. As I have tried to make clear from the outset, it is not my intention to publicize or promote anyone’s personal views, especially as these might pertain to philosophy or politics. Nevertheless, Jiddu’s story is a compelling one. He was a sickly child, born into relative poverty. His mother died when he was 10. His manner as a boy made him appear retarded and he was often beaten by his father as well as by his teachers. When his father landed a job as a low-level clerk at the Theosophical Society and moved his family to Madras, the boy’s fortunes changed dramatically. Prominent occultist and high-ranking theosophist C.W. Leadbeater had seen him on the beach and was amazed by the boy’s aura, describing it as the "most wonderful aura I have ever seen, without even a particle of selfishness in it". Krishnamurti was subsequently invited to join the inner circle to be schooled in the Society’s teachings and groomed for the role of “World Teacher”. Annie Besant would become his surrogate mother.

Krishnamurti would go on to dissolve the Order of the Star which he had been created exclusively for him and which he was expected to head. He would spent the rest of his life giving public talks on the nature of belief, truth, sorrow, freedom, death and the quest for a spiritually-fulfilled life. He accepted neither followers nor worshipers and regarded the relationship between disciple and guru as unhealthy. He accepted gifts and financial support freely from people who were inspired by his work, and continued with lecture tours and the publication of books and talk transcripts for more than half a century.

Critics complained that his lavish lifestyle – which included homes both in India and America – disqualified him from speaking as he did. But many more were drawn to him – especially women – finding his quiet, unassuming manner attractive. My wife too had the opportunity as a young student at Mysore University to see him several times as he conducted small study groups in discussions on various topics. She too was stuck by him (perhaps it was the aura that Leadbeater observed), though now admits not to have taken much from the thrust of his words at the time.

For me it was a thrill just to walk the same earth and breathe the same air as a man who by most accounts was a great inspiration to many, whose legacy remains vital in the books he has written and in the countless speeches he has given around the world. On the day I visited Vasanta Vihar, one of his ‘disciples’ had erected a presentation in the main hall, aptly entitled, “The World in Crisis”. It consisted of glossy posters containing photographs interspersed with appropriate snippets from Krishnamurti’s writings on topics that still concern us today. On that basis, I was told by the youthful presenter, that Krishnamurti can be regarded as a visionary, certainly by some of the younger set. I held my tongue; though I was itching to suggest that Krishnamurti’s world - defined by the World Wars of the 20th Century - was in essence no different from ours; that Krishnamurti merely stated the obvious. If, by extension, the world can be said to have remained the same (as it has), then the obvious will also never be subject to change. In this way it’s entirely predictable for any ‘visionary’ (as long as he continues to state the obvious) to always remain relevant.