“Welcome home!” Mahavan dasa, a Russian disciple, greeted me as I came out of New Delhi’s slick new airport terminal, tired after my flight from Bangalore. Mahavan is my secretary when I travel in India. A brahmachari in his thirties, he wears saffron, shaves his head, and stuffs his bag with the latest gadgets—cell phones, iPads, ear buds, chargers.
“We’re not home yet,” I said. “I wish we were, but Vrindavan is still a good three hours away.”
“Well, let’s get there quickly,” he said. “The c
