It is rather a new sensation for Aisvarya—rustling through the fallen leaves. He’s a Trinidad boy, used to the tropical experience, but at this portion in his life he’s touching autumn for the first time. He’s now gone
through three seasons. He would be in his home country by now, Trinidad, but Covid-19 has created some complications, as it has for a lot of people.
Aisvarya and I made it to the park at Allan Gardens, where the grass is still very green but the autumn drying leaves are complementary in colour. I showed him the house at 187 Gerrard Street, across the street, where I was spiritually born. You see, that was where I joined in ’73, to don the clothes of a monk and put my mind to bhakti. I understand an accountant lives there now. I wonder if he has picked up on the devotional vibes of the place, if they are still there.
Our route, on return to the ashram, was a left-right-left-right, across the grid of Toronto. At one point we met Gayatri, who works with Children’s Aid. We also met one of those Uber boys, a student from India, who delivers food to residents. “Radhe! Radhe!” He said, upon seeing my saffron. He’s now going to connect with the temple. Another fellow asked if Aisvarya and I are Buddhist. “No! Hare Krishna!” we replied.
A light remark came from an old hippie-type whom we met on Yoge, right at the spot where a cash-transit Brink’s truck was parked. With enthusiasm he pointed to the truck and addressed us saying “How do you like my piggy bank?” We liked that.