Apprenticed to a Himalayan Master

A very close family friend of ours and a loving former mentor, one day, dropped a link about Sri M in my FB inbox. Trusting her intuitions and interest, I eagerly opened the link and after which explored more online about Sri M. Finding his story was like bringing back the "Autobiography of a Yogi" to life in the 21st century. I couldn't believe I would live to meet him or simply know that he is still in body while I am alive (physically this lifetime, that is). I devoured his book "Apprenticed to a Himalayan Master", would re-read it, recommend it to others or even buy copies as gifts to those whom I believe would be interested or was interested by Paramahansa Yogananda's "Autobiography of a Yogi." Eagerly, I was waiting for his next book "The Journey Continues" and alas it was out. In a day, I've read it cover and cover and gifted it to someone I just meditated with the very next day. It just had to be passed on. Day after day, I would watch or read anything I could find on him, and finally mustered the courage to write him. I must've been over eager that the enthusiasm spilled all over the mail. I don't blame him at all for not replying. Just as the Mahavatar Babaji did not wait for Sri Yukteswar to return after him running for a box of sweets and inviting him over his house under that Banyan tree at the mela, that restlessness must have been like rocks thrown on still waters. Unashamedly relentless, I booked for a satsang with my family to meet him. With deep conviction, I put myself in a state of surrender by telling myself that if anything happens on the way that we don't get to meet him at all, I will accept my fate and lack of eligibility for his presence. Before I knew it, he was pointing at our direction and eventually raised his voice in slight annoyance that I was not responding. It was hard to tell that he was referring to us because he doesn't really look at you straight in the eye but more of on our crown chakras over our heads. I could not even believe he would start his satsang by noticing Aaliaa Srishti, my daughter who was quietly sitting beside me. She often gets attention like this from masters or channels. I just couldn't believe we made it there, and were close enough in that small room. I was "spirit struck". "Who is that beside you?" he asked repeatedly. After he repeated it a few times and added something like "How difficult was that question to understand?!" I came to my senses and still with lack of confidence replied: "My daughter?" - and that was it. The satsang began and continued. Phew! I was disconcerted. Meeting him was almost as close as meeting the Mahavatar Babaji (he calls Sri Guru). My parents spoke so highly of the Mahavatar in our household while I was growing up, that my brother and I were not even allowed to say his name unless it's with deep reverence. We were made to believe that He hears us whenever we just even utter his name. I was even baptized in the Catholic church after his sister "Mataji". You could just imagine my family's fascination about Babaji - and then here comes Sri M! I wanted to offer him something to thank him for re igniting our faith and bringing so tangibly back our love for the lineage of the masters. At that time, I was painting full-time and had a few Babaji paintings, but since I have given the other works to my spiritual mentors, I had one left, the very first Babaji painting I made - and I wanted him to have it. I did not really even care anymore if he would even look at it or receive it, but when he opened it in front of me, I was stunned. There was deep reverence in his eyes, and a sweeping stillness of devotion as he so mindfully ran his fingers across the painting and gently packed it back and handed it to the one keeping the offerings for him. He simply said "E-mail me." And of course, my next e-mail was just as restless and noisy as the first one, just like carrying a "Fanfie" or a "groupie" energy. Those must've been like screams of a teenager in a rock concert. Once again, I was not surprised that he did not reply to that one. A year later, my family and I returned to India and found his second book published. Understandably, ordering it online was first most rational thing to do for me the moment I had some cash to spare, thanks to my husband for making sure I got it ASAP. With a more quiet mind, with zero expectations and a more sincere intention to just simply let him know how much I appreciated reading his books, I wrote to him again, for the third time - no longer in paragraphs or pages, but just two to three lines. And he replied back personally in appreciation of the gesture. For some reason, my mail for him was more than enough for me. The reply, for the first time, no longer felt necessary.