Issue 18 – May 8, 1971 to July 31, 1971
This issue covers Krishnaji’s busy summer schedule of the end of the school year at Brockwood, Amsterdam, Paris, and Switzerland.
There is another discussion about Krishnaji’s sensitivity to his surroundings, and the effect this had on him.
The Memoirs of Mary Zimbalist: Issue 18
Mary: I think we start on the eighth of May, 1971.
Scott: Right, yes.
M: So, ‘we left Montreuil and drove to Boulogne-sur-Mer and took the hovercraft to Dover. It took thirty-five minutes, and it was the first time that I’d ever been on a hovercraft, or that Krishnaji had ever been on one. The old air ferry to Lydd is no more.’ We used to do that.
S: Yes, I remember.
M: ‘Krishnaji stood looking out the window all the way, observing everything. He had that look that he so often has when he studies things when we’re traveling.’
S: [chuckling] Yes, I know that look.
M: ‘We drove across southern England.’
S: How would you describe that look?
M: Well, it’s very circumscribed in that he doesn’t wish to be seen to be staring…
S: I know, I know.
M: …at anyone or anything. So, it’s very kind of held within. But nevertheless, he’s taking in everything…
M: [chuckles] And he’s quite absorbed in the study.
M: And I can tell what he’s looking at and sort of how he’s reacting.
S: Yes, but he even held his mouth in a funny way a bit. Of…
M: He sort of held his chin in a little bit, didn’t he?
S: Yes. And not that his mouth was quite open, but his lips [both chuckle] were only loosely closed.
M: I don’t see the mouth, but I see the general attitude of him…
M: …the way he stood.
M: And the head…
S: Wishing he could be invisible.
M: …the chin, yes, yes. He was invisible in a sort of way. [Chuckling.]
M: And the chin in and head slightly down and eyes not appearing to stare. Anyway, [S laughs] he did that.
M: ‘We drove across southern England on a lovely sunny, warm day, stopping for a picnic lunch somewhere west of Hastings. Montreuil had made us sandwiches, which turned out to be a huge half a baguette [chuckling] with a good Normandy cheese inside and butter. [S chuckles.] We drove south of Chichester, through Arundel, near Portsmouth, and turned inland at Fareham to West Meon, and along the lane to Brockwood, where we arrived by 6 o’clock.’
‘The next day, Krishnaji spoke to the students in the morning, and we walked in the afternoon.’
On the tenth, ‘we went to London by train. Krishnaji had a Huntsman fitting on a topcoat he ordered two years ago, and a suit of grey-green tweed. He has decided to keep a complete wardrobe at Malibu and one at Brockwood so that he need never carry a lot of luggage between the two. [Both laugh.] So, with some excitement, he discussed what things he would need. Another grey flannel.’
S: Mm, hm.
M: ‘We then walked to Brown’s Hotel. L’Aperitif is no more; the building is coming down and Ferdie’—that’s the maître d’hôtel—‘who had been there for thirty-five years, is now at Brown’s. Mary L. and Alain met us there for a happy lunch, but alas the food is not L’Aperitif. Krishnaji suggested going back to Mary’s to talk to her, so Alain went off shopping, and Krishnaji, Mary, and I went to Hyde Park Street. Krishnaji then told her the essential history of his years with Rajagopal and Rosalind in Ojai, which she had not known and which shocked her, as she still had a slightly schoolgirl memory of Rosalind as a nice person. “I had a crush on her,” she said. Krishnaji had me describe the atmosphere when I was there with him and Alain in 1966, and the reason for my estimate that both R’s worked together to dominate Krishnaji.’
Tuesday the eleventh. ‘After lunch, Krishnaji and I drove to Heathrow. Krishnaji had given the Mercedes its first wash in the morning.’ This is the new car, you understand.
S: [laughs] Mm, hm.
M: We met Nandini and her daughter Devi Mangaldas and the latter’s daughter, Aditi and son Arditia, who had been in Rome with Vanda for ten days. We got back to Brockwood in time for supper. I had fixed the West Wing dining room with three cots for Devi and the children, with Nandini in the spare room, but for some reason they all four slept in the dining room.’ That kept happening with Indian guests.
M: They’d all pile into one room.
S: I know, yes.
M: I never quite understood it. [Both chuckle.] Still don’t!
The next day, ‘Nandini and Devi went to London for the day. Krishnaji rested, and I went to Winchester in the afternoon, and then joined Krishnaji and Dorothy on a walk. It was Dorothy’s birthday.’ Now this is the twelfth of May, you understand.
S: Mm, hm.
M: But in this book is a gross inaccuracy because it says, ‘Thursday, the thirteenth of May, 1971, at thirty minutes after midnight, it was Krishnaji’s seventy-sixth birthday, but no mention was made of it as it is something he quite ignores. A quiet day.’ The dates were still not precise.
M: Now, unfortunately, we only have the little book until July. I clearly wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping notes. Anyway, on the fourteenth of May, ‘I went up to London alone and did the rounds of antique shops with Paul Anstee, looking for a table for the drawing room. Alain met me at Anstee’s at 1:15 p.m., and we walked to Au Pere de Nico for lunch. He told me that Yo de Manziarly visited Mary Links yesterday and was full of lies and slander about Krishnaji and about Alain. We discussed the books, and also I touched on the possible ashram matters at Brockwood in the future. Um, now wait a minute, there’s nothing interesting…
S: It doesn’t matter. Don’t leave it out because it’s uninteresting; leave it out only if you want to censor it, but not if you…
M: Well, it’s, you know…we went for a basket at Peter Jones, and then we walked to so-and-so. I mean, this’ll be never-ending if I put in everything.
Yo had telephoned Krishnaji, but hadn’t spoken to him. I first spoke to Mary at Blackdown, then returned Yo’s call.
The next day, ‘Krishnaji and I spoke to Mary L., but it was all about the KF of India wanting the freedom to edit Indian dialogues. We walked in the rain. Earlier, Krishnaji had washed the car.’
On May sixteenth, ‘Nandini, Devi, and children left to fly to Toronto. Krishnaji held a student discussion at 11:30 a.m., a very good one. The weather turned cold, but we walked in the evening.’
The next day, May seventeenth. ‘We packed and left at noon with Dorothy for Heathrow. Had a picnic lunch in the car and at 3 p.m., Krishnaji and I flew on KLM to Amsterdam. Anneke and Willie Perizonious met us. I rented a Hertz Ford Escort and we all drove to Huissen, where Dinneke’—that’s Anneke’s cousin—‘and Professor van der Veen have lent Krishnaji their house for his visit. They were there to greet him and then left. We unpacked, and Krishnaji, Anneke, and I had supper.’
The next day, ‘I drove into Bussum to get Krishnaji a Phillips electric razor.’ He was always buying electric razors.
S: I know.
M: I can’t count how many electric razors over the years.
S: And I usually inherited them; well, some years later, I would inherit them.
M: Yes, other people did in the meantime. He liked having the latest one.
S: Yes, but also [laughing] they weren’t quite what he wanted. They were initially, but then…
M: Yes, they faded somehow.
S: Yes. [Laughs.]
M: Anyway, we got a Phillips one—being in Holland it seemed appropriate, I guess. ‘In the afternoon, there was a meeting of the Stichting Krishnamurti. Anneke, Professor van der Veen, Tilly van Eckman, and Perizonious, with Krishnaji, and I were present. Discussed was the future of the Stichting and a documentation center.’ Anneke was always talking about how they must have a documentation center.
S: Mm, hm.
M: And indeed, they eventually…
S: It was eventually in Deventer. Yes.
M: Yes, they did in Deventer. It also says here, ‘we had tea and then Krishnaji and I walked northward across fields of heather.’
S: The documentation center really was her creation, wasn’t it?
M: Yes, it was. And most of what was in it was her own collection.
The next day, the nineteenth, ‘I went to Bussum on marketing errands. Krishnaji met Mr. Methorst and his son Erik about work with young people and vitalizing interest in the teachings in Holland. Mr. Verhulst came by’—that’s the publisher, remember—‘and gave Krishnaji a copy of the latest publication, The Flight of the Eagle. I did deskwork after lunch, and then Krishnaji and I walked once again in the lovely wood near the farm we lived in four years ago.’ That was that magical wood with the little canals running through it, and the ducks.
S: I remember.
M: ‘In the evening, I watched on television some of the questions Krishnaji answered on film here in 1968.’
On the twentieth, ‘Krishnaji gave a taped radio interview, and I talked to Mr. Van Praag, who did the TV interview with Krishnaji here and in Gstaad. He wants to do another one, at Brockwood in June. It is tentatively agreed to. Van der Veen, Peter and Joyce Marenbreker, and Dick Richardson came for lunch.’ These are all Dutch people, except for Richardson. ‘Later, Krishnaji saw a newspaperman, and I worked on correspondence before the walk. There was a television program about divers and the Andrea Doria.’ Do you remember the Andrea Doria?
S: Mm, hm, of course.
M: It was the Italian liner that went down, and onboard were my mother and stepfather, and also Betsy Drake.
S: Ah, that’s right, you told me about that.
M: On May twenty-second, ‘Krishnaji and I drove into Amsterdam for his first talk at the RAI at 11 a.m. The crowd had overflowed into an extra hall. It was a very good, very long talk. [click here for a hyperlink to the audio of this talk] We came back to lunch, rest, and then Krishnaji wanted to go into Bussum on errands. We then had tea and walked past the farmhouse where we were four years ago, and into the lovely little wood.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji gave the second talk at the RAI at 11 a.m. We brought Mar de Manziarly and Nadia Kossiakof back in the car to lunch, and Anneke brought Betsy Debass.’ Do you remember her?
S: No, I don’t.
M: She was an Egyptian; a friend of Nadia’s. An Egyptian woman, portly, used to go to the Saanen talks, and lived in Geneva. ‘Later, I took them to the station in Bussum. Krishnaji and I went for a walk. After supper, Dutch television showed the BBC-filmed interview of Krishnaji by the religious affairs head, made at Brockwood last spring. I saw it in black and white, though it was made in color. It was very good. Best yet of Krishnaji.’
The next day, ‘Frances McCann came to lunch. I bought a Phillips cassette recorder, and I went with Krishnaji to the third Amsterdam talk held at 7:30 p.m. at the RAI—an evening one.’
May twenty-fifth, ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth talk.’ I don’t seem to say much about it.
The next day, ‘I did correspondence, ran errands in Bussum. At 5 p.m., Krishnaji, Anneke, and I were at the RAI where Krishnaji held a young people’s discussion with several hundred untidy, sad-looking young people.’
The twenty-seventh of May, ‘We packed. After lunch here, we drove to Schiphol and took a 2 p.m. flight to London. Dorothy met us. We got to Brockwood in time for a walk. Oh, it is good to be back!’ [Both chuckle.] ‘A new washing machine and dryer has been installed in the West Wing kitchen.’
Then there doesn’t seem to be much until the twenty-ninth, when ‘I met Suzanne and Hughes van der Straten at the train station in Winchester, and got back to Brockwood in time for lunch. Later, Krishnaji and I went to tea with Mary and Joe at Blackdown. Alain was there. He flies to Pretoria next week. Mary and I discussed the Indian dialogue book and then Krishnaji joined us for further discussions. He will read it.’ I don’t know what that means.
Editor’s Note: This was in the early days of the Krishnamurti Foundation of India starting to try their hand at editing Krishnaji’s material, and there were differences of opinion between India and England about what constituted good editing. Most of the important people in the KFI had been involved, in some way, in the Indian struggle for independence of India from England, so this contention, though seemingly dealt with sensitively, touched some very real trigger points.
S: Mary, there’s something that has not been gone into here. A short while ago, it had been suggested that Alain might look after some kind of ashram here, or something…
M: Nothing came of that.
S: …if he and Dorothy could bury the hatchet.
M: He and Dorothy never buried any hatchet, and Alain never came here.
M: Whenever we met, it would be in London, or at Mary and Joe’s, or somewhere.
S: Oh, so Alain never even came back to Brockwood?
M: I don’t think he ever came back. No.
S: Do you think it was more on Alain’s part or Dorothy’s part?
S: Did that sadden Krishnaji, or did he just say well, that’s…?
M: No. You see, by this time Alain had left. He was living his own life, and these were all possible things to discuss, but…
S: Not serious intentions.
M: Not, no. You know, maybe it would be nice, but…
S: Right. It didn’t happen, and so that’s alright.
M: It didn’t happen, and that was that.
M: I don’t remember ever discussing it with Dorothy.
The thirtieth of May, ‘Krishnaji held a student discussion. I taped it for the archives. Before that, I fetched Dieter Kopp at Alton.’ He’s the man who painted those two greenish paintings downstairs, a young German artist with a little daughter, a very pretty little tiny daughter, aged about five or something. ‘He attended the discussion and lunch with us. The painting that Krishnaji and I had liked in the photo was too large. I gave him another down payment on some future paintings. My mother happened to be in Paris and telephoned.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji started revision of the Indian dialogues. He did three.’ That’s interesting.
S: What were they for? Did they go into anything?
M: Can’t remember. We’ll have to wait and see.
S: [chuckles] That’s interesting, that he revised them himself, though.
M: Yes. I can’t remember how that came about.
The first of June. ‘With Krishnaji to London by train. He had a Huntsman fitting. We met Alain for lunch at Claridge’s, and discussed future writings. We then walked down Bond Street, and Krishnaji had his hair cut at Truefitt, and Alain went off. He goes to South Africa, then returns to London on the third of July and then goes to Italy. Krishnaji and I went to tea with Mrs. Bindley and came home by train. [Laughs.] It says here, ‘in the evening, Mr. Morton talked to the students about farming.’ I think that was one of the times when he made a terrible mistake. I’ve probably told you thiS: He told all about the crops and all that, and then he suddenly talked about pheasants as a crop.
S: Oh, I’m sure that went down really well.
M: And there was shock! A thudding, icy [S laughs], silence. He was not the most sensitive man, as I recall, but he realized something had changed [both laugh], and he didn’t know what he’d done! [Chuckling.] I think this is the time that happened, although it doesn’t say so. [More laughing.]
The next day, ‘Krishnaji worked on the Indian book revision. Jane Hammond came for lunch and tea. Dorothy and Jean-Michel came with us for the walk.’
S: Not Maroger—he wasn’t in the picture then?
M: It’s some other Jean-Michel. Jean-Michel Laborde? Not sure. ‘Students have been discovered using drugs,’ it says.
M: On the third of June, ‘there was a staff meeting on the drug situation; then the students and staff had it out. Two boys are to leave, and possibly a new girl.’ I can’t remember those students. It says here that ‘TIME Magazine has an article on Krishnaji.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji worked on the Indian book revision in the morning. The table for the corner at the end of the long sofa was delivered.’ I must skip these things.
S: No, no! This is history.
M: On the fifth, ‘Krishnaji held a meeting with the whole school in the morning, and went into responsibility and freedom. In particular, for Dorothy, who must be given room to do her job here, without being attacked as being authoritarian.’ [S laughs.] You might be interested in that one.
S: Yes, I imagine! [Both laugh.]
M: The next day, which was the sixth, ‘Krishnaji rested, and in the late afternoon Krishnaji, Dorothy, Montague and I went to Bedales School at the invitation of the principal, a Mr. Slack,’ it looks like. ‘We were shown around the school, which was near Petersfield. And at 6 p.m., Krishnaji talked for an hour to the students. There was a ceremony of the students shaking hands with the staff. The staff all lined up, apparently, after their meetings or this sort of a meeting, and every student shakes hands with every member of staff, including us, on the way out. A very formal ceremony.’ I don’t know whether they do it all the time, but they did then.
So, it looks like the most significant thing for Krishnaji over the next days is that he continued to revise the Indian book.
On the tenth of June, Krishnaji held a discussion with the students, and showed me what to do to improve my pranayama.
On the eleventh of June, ‘Doctor Chok of Rajghat arrived.’
On the next day, ‘Pupul Jayakar came. She stays till Monday. Doctor Chok talked to Krishnaji almost all day long. It was a cold, rainy day. We went out for a walk dressed for winter.’
Pupul left at 7:15 a.m. on the fourteenth. ‘At noon we held a Krishnamurti Foundation Trust meeting. Present were Krishnaji, George Digby, Mary Cadogan, David Bohm, Hughes van der Straten, Dorothy, and me. We continued after lunch. It is as cold as March, and the boiler is not working—no hot water, either.’
On the sixteenth of June, ‘I left Brockwood on the 7:15 a.m. train from Alton to Woking, where I got a taxi to Heathrow. Then the 10 a.m. BEA flight to Orly.’ Well, this is again with my father. We don’t have to go into all this.
S: Ah, so this is just you traveling?
M: Just me. And I’m there until, let’s see…oh, until the seventeenth. ‘I did several family things and errands and got back to Orly for 5:30 p.m. Air France flight to Heathrow. Taxi to Woking. Caught the 7:45 p.m. train to Alton. Arrived as Dorothy and Doris met me with a car.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji had hay fever, but we went to London for a Huntsman fitting. Then met Mary L. and took her to lunch at a small restaurant near there, San Marino. Krishnaji went to the dentist, Mr. Campion, and I to get his Swiss visa. It was rainy and cold, and we went right to Waterloo and home.’
On June nineteenth, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the students and staff in the morning.’
Then nothing regarding Krishnaji until June twenty-first, when Dorothy tried to deal with a thorny issue with a gardener, and talked with Krishnaji about it.
Then, on June twenty-second, ‘Krishnaji felt ill. He thought it was something he ate, but he had no nausea or other symptoms. He felt he couldn’t get up. He stayed in his room all day, sitting in a chair, or in the bed. He said that he felt that “if I went through that door I could die,” he said. “The wall between living and dying is very thin, and it always has been that way with me. Suddenly, it will be there. But not today.”’
‘He told me I must not be upset by his illness, or it would upset him, and then he will not tell me. He ate a fairly good lunch and supper in bed. We watched Wimbledon tennis and a Gary Cooper movie on TV. The Dutchman van Praag and his son came to film some questions for TV with Krishnaji tomorrow. I went over all that with them. Took a short walk with Dorothy and discussed the gardener situation. Krishnaji seemed better by evening.’
June twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji was better and was able to do the filming of questions and answers directed by F. Van Praag and his son for HIRO, the Dutch television channel. It was shot in the hall of the West Wing. Later, Van Praag went for a walk with me and Whisper.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji held a very good discussion with the students and staff on thought.’
On the twenty-fifth, ‘We both went to London and to Huntsman. I bought Krishnaji some jerseys. We lunched for the first time at Fortnum.’ [Chuckles.]
M: ‘Krishnaji liked it! We bought books at Hatchards. Krishnaji went to Mr. Campion for the completion of three fillings. I fetched’—something—‘and we took the train back. Krishnaji coughed badly in the night. He has a touch of bronchitis. He had been free of hay fever in town.’
On June twenty-sixth, ‘Jean-Michel’—could it have been Laborde?—‘suggested Contact for the hay fever. I went to Winchester with Dorothy and got some Contact and also Friars Balsam for Krishnaji, who spent the day in bed. Dorothy met Narayan and Shakuntala and their daughter Natasha, and we all came back to Brockwood with Dorothy. Krishnaji rested all day. The Contact seemed to help him and stopped the hay fever.’
On the twenty-seventh, ‘Krishnaji had slept fairly well and was able to give a superb talk to students on what is most important in their lives. He said, “For me, it is to be nothing.”’ Yes. I remember that. ‘The Narayans left. We packed.’
On the twenty-ninth, ‘We left Brockwood in the morning and drove via Midhurst, Petworth, on the A-272, then Uckfield, Tenterden, and Ashford to Dover. It took four-and-a-half hours. We found the hovercraft cancelled, so we took the 4:30 p.m. ferry, which left half an hour late, and finally reached Boulogne at 6:30 p.m. Brockwood to Dover was 141 miles. [Chuckling.] Then Boulogne to Montreuil and Château de Montreuil. We had the same rooms again. We dined nicely and slept well.’
The next day, ‘we left Montreuil at 9:50 a.m. and drove via Arras to the autoroute where Krishnaji did part of the driving. He said he had a meditation in the night. He feels the lack of pressure which is when he stays’—this is this strange thing about pressure, when people know where he is—‘in places where people concentrate on him, that’s what bothers him. We reached Paris by lunchtime, but coming down the Champs-Elysées, [chuckling] I bumped into a car and damaged the grill of the Mercedes. We reached…’ This is when [laughs] I used to drive on these long drives with my shoes off.
S: Mm, hm.
M: And as we were coming down the Champs-Elysées and getting near the Plaza Athénée, I was groping for my right shoe and a car in front of me stopped [chuckling], and I ran into it. But I barely broke his taillight only. Out got a furious owner who upbraided me: “How could I do such a thing?!” He saw it was a foreign car—it had Swiss plates in those days—so he thought I was Swiss. And my one thought was to get Krishnaji to the Plaza Athénée quickly…
S: Of course.
M: …and anything that had to be done in the meantime was fine. So, I expostulated a bit, but said, “Look, it’s not very much. How could I make this good?” You know, and so forth. So, I opened my purse and said, “What can I pay you?” And he took everything I had! [Both laugh.] I didn’t have all that much cash; it wasn’t that it was hundreds of francs, but it was more than I…
S: It was more than the price of a taillight. Yes.
M: …for the taillight, and he went off still surly. So, this is the beginning of Krishnaji saying, “Never change your shoes in the middle of the Champs-Elysées.” [S laughs.] And from then on, he would tell me, admonish me about this forever, whenever we drove! [More laughing.] It was a sort of a joke. [Chuckles.]
S: I think we might discuss something: this curious thing of Krishnaji feeling the pressure of people who are concentrating on him, and how, when he didn’t feel that pressure, then these meditations would come. What can you say about that? Because he would feel that, for instance, in Saanen.
S: Even when he kept to himself in Gstaad, it’s not as if people would see him every day, but it was just that there were all these thousands of people there, concentrating on him.
S: And this was something that was a palpable force.
M: Yes, he felt it.
S: A pressure, an energy.
M: It was a sort of psychic something that pressed on him.
S: Did he ever say much about it?
M: No, except that—I mean, just what you’ve just articulated. And I didn’t really ask him more, because I thought I understood that.
S: Also, there were times when he would be some place that was kind of neutral—not a “Krishnamurti place”—and someone would recognize him, and he was always so disappointed.
M: Yes. [Both laugh.]
S: It’s just such an interesting response.
M: Yes, he didn’t like to be stared at or noticed. I mean on the platform, obviously, I mean, you accept that, but otherwise…
M: And he felt it in Ojai.
S: Mm, hm.
M: People used to say that they knew he was there, or could feel he was coming, all kinds of things. It was something like he was pinned to the wall by the concentration of people’s consciousness on him. And being extraordinarily sensitive, he felt it. And that was one of the reasons that he liked, in these days, the motoring because first of all, he saw the lovely country, which he liked, but also nobody really knew where he was. I mean, they knew he was somewhere in Europe or France, but there was no
pressure involved. I don’t know, I mean, it never surprised me; I could instinctively understand it.
S: Yes. But it says something interesting…you see, I’m quite convinced that this is not just something that Krishnaji imagined. Now, if it was, for instance, me who felt this, I would have to be questioning myself: Am I imagining this? Is this just something I’m making up? What’s my problem, etcetera.
M: Mm, yes.
S: But, for a variety of reasons, I don’t believe that this was something subjective with Krishnaji…
M: No, and he didn’t…
S: …so it says something very interesting about the nature of people’s attention and focusing, and really also says something about the kind of self-sacrifice that Krishnaji continued to make.
M: Mm, hm, yes. Well, in a way, I think, there is in ordinary people some sort of psychic something that happens. For instance, with an audience, if you’re an actor, you feel something from the audience, either negative or positive. Or maybe it’s the quality of attention, and it just isn’t because they clap or don’t cough or something.
S: Mm, hm.
M: You feel a tangible something that’s invisible.
S: Oh, yes.
M: A rapport going on. And Krishnaji felt that, too, when he talked, because he reported that sometimes the audience seemed to be deaf and not understanding, or that they were, as he used to say, hypnotized. He felt that response in a mass of people.
M: Whereas, if I suddenly thought that people are staring at me or focusing on me, people will think that I’m getting paranoid. But with him it was, it seems to me to be something, a variation of what would be normal in other people, but only in certain circumstances.
M: Maybe it’s the same kind of thing for an athlete, you know, playing at Wimbledon, and they feel the crowd is with them; it gives them something. There is that unspoken communication.
S: Yes. The first time I felt something of this was really at the start of some of the talks when I had to make announcements…I used to hate making announcements.
S: Just hate it.
S: And finally, I just sat for a few seconds before speaking, and looked at the audience, and tried to see what I was hating.
S: And there is a tremendous force coming from a group of people looking at you.
S: It’s a physical force!
M: Oh, yes.
S: And when I finally saw that, I could see that it was this force I’m reacting to. This is really powerful. And I’m not exactly a delicate flower.
M: There’s a communication between a speaker, be it theater or something else, and the people that are listening.
S: Yes. But, you see, Krishnaji could even have it, for instance, just being in Ojai. So, it’s just so interesting that it could happen not just in a room where everyone is physically looking at you and you see them.
M: That’s right; they’re just in the neighborhood.
S: They’re just directing their attention to him.
S: And that’s already enough for someone sensitive.
M: I forget where I’ve read it, because I’ve been reading so many things lately, where Krishnaji talks in Ojai about wishing we could have a little cabin in the hills somewhere, where we could go and get away from that focusing on him. I even thought of renting a house at the beach in Carpentaria, where…but again, it was a bit too close, and people would have known he was there.
S: I know.
M: And, of course, in the end, nothing happened, but it was in my mind to find a place, probably up in the mountains. I sort of understood it, when he talked about it…
S: As one stops to think about it, it’s quite something, because it’s kind of a force field that our thinking about someone puts out.
M: Yes. And in a way it’s part of human—not understanding, but—consciousness, you know, like people praying for someone who’s ill.
S: Mm, hm.
M: There are those who believe that goodwill flowing toward a sick person can help them. Maybe so, I don’t know.
M: It could work negatively or positively. And if someone is ignored, that can be perceived without anybody doing or saying anything. There’s a lot of psychic or psychological communication that goes on that people don’t really know anything about objectively, or what it is, but it’s felt. I think one feels it quite often. Don’t you feel it?
M: Well, you must! Oh!
S: Unfortunately, I’ve had more of that than I even want to talk about…
S: But, for myself, I always have to question how much am I making this up? How subjective is this? And so I always—I don’t trust my sensitivities, whereas I do trust Krishnaji’s. You see, this is why it’s an interesting point to discuss.
M: Yes. I completely understand. Was it yesterday that we came across Krishnaji saying about how pain and suffering are two different things?
M: You see, that’s something to do with that. Pain can be a response to a physiological
sensitivity. But suffering is the mind…
S: …holding on to it.
M: …holding on to it. That has great meaning.
S: Mm, hm.
M: And it has a lot to do with what’s gone on here.
S: Absolutely, absolutely.
M: So, do we continue?
M: Yes. So, we can go on. Where did I leave off? Um, hm, hm, hm, hm. Oh, ‘he spoke about meditation in the night. He feels the lack of pressure, which builds when he stays in one place and people concentrate on him. We reached Paris by lunchtime, and the Plaza Athénée. I ordered Krishnaji some lunch, and went briefly to see my father, and got back to the hotel quickly.’
The next day, July first. ‘Krishnaji had a quiet morning. We had an early lunch in the hotel and left at 2 p.m., missing the traditional July first traffic exodus from Paris. We drove slowly, relaxedly south on the autoroute, not going over sixty except in spurts. It was a beautiful day. Krishnaji felt full of delight in the country and in slowly drifting along. We reached Saulieu in three-and-a-half hours from Paris. We had rooms at the Hotel Côte d’Or. Took a walk through the old part of the ville. Had a good dinner and were in bed early. Feeling much better than yesterday.’ [Chuckles.]
The next day. ‘A lovely day. We left Saulieu at 10:45 a.m. and drove on 77 bis’—that’s the little tiny yellow road [S chuckles]—‘to Sombernon, then the N5 to Dijon and on to Dole for lunch at the Grand Hôtel Chandioux.’
S: Mm, hm.
M: We’d been there before. ‘Then on via Saint-Cergue and Nyon to the autoroute, and to Geneva and the Hotel du Rhône. We walked to Jacquet, where Krishnaji ordered nine ties, and to Grand Passage, and to Patek, where Krishnaji looked at a new Naviquartz clock.’
S: Mm, hm!
M: Remember the Naviquartz clock?
S: Very well; very, very well!
M: Have you got the Naviquartz?
S: No, Krishnaji gave it to Dr. Deutsch.
M: Yes! I’d forgotten. Of course he did. Oh, of course.
S: He asked, when Kathy was coming over for the plans of the Study Centre…
M: To bring it.
S: …he asked specially that she bring it so he could give it to Dr. Deutsch.
M: Hm. I must ask Gary about that.
M: So, ‘we had supper in the rooms, and telephoned Vanda at Tannegg.’
The third of July. ‘A relaxed morning. We went back to Patek and looked at the Naviquartz clock again [chuckles], shopped for sweaters for Vanda and Fosca, and had lunch at the hotel. Then drove along the Route du Lac’—the one he liked—‘to Lausanne and on up to Gstaad. Vanda, Fosca and Antonio, and Antonio’s cousin Silvana as their summer extra maid, etcetera, were there. Krishnaji’s hay fever worsened between Lausanne and Tannegg. We unpacked his things, and I did mine. He stayed in bed the next day, nursing his hay fever. And Vanda and I talked and walked.’
On the fifth, ‘Krishnaji remained in bed. I did errands in the village. Vanda showed me pointers on pranayama.’
On the sixth, ‘Krishnaji felt better in the morning, but less well after some yoga in the p.m. He has bronchitis. Vanda and I talked long about his health. She plans to leave tomorrow.’ Then, just things about my father.
The seventh of July, ‘Vanda delayed her early train departure until noon to see how Krishnaji felt. I talked to Dr. Pierre Schmidt in Geneva who will send some palliative remedies. I took Vanda down to the train. Krishnaji got up for lunch and came with me to Moser’s in Thun to have the Mercedes repaired’—that was the grill that was hurt in the Champs-Elysées collision—‘and also have its three-thousand-mile service. We picked up Krishnaji’s SL Mercedes and drove to Beatus for tea and came back, Krishnaji driving all the way from Thun.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji felt very tired, with less energy than yesterday, but the congestion in his chest is less. He came to the table for lunch in his dressing gown. Vanda called from Firenze. I did errands for Krishnaji in the p.m. He wanted some thin trousers. The weather is still hot. Krishnaji had supper on a tray with me in the living room.’
July ninth, ‘Krishnaji is better, but stayed in all day. He’s taking the Schmidt remedies and bronchitis salts. Biascoechea came up to see him. I met Balasundarum at the station. He is staying in one of the rooms downstairs at Tannegg. Krishnaji ate in the dining room for lunch and supper. It was a hot day and Mary Cadogan arrived.’
The next day, ‘Mary Cadogan came up to Tannegg. She, Balasundarum, and I spent the morning and much of the afternoon discussing the Krishnamurti Foundation of India. Krishnaji joined us at lunch. Later he went for a very small walk.’
We’re getting close to where the “big book” starts.
On the eleventh, ‘Krishnaji had coughed in the night. There is still some congestion in his bronchial tubes. He did no exercise and stayed in, reading. He was at the table in his dressing gown for meals. I worked at the desk all day and took a walk alone.’
On the twelfth, ‘Krishnaji felt better. I went on errands in the morning and deposited money for Vanda’s account at the Cantonal Bank. Krishnaji walked down the road before lunch and I drove him up. Mary Cadogan, Isabel and Enrique Biascoechea, and Mr. Faria came to lunch. Balasundarum went to Cheseaux to Kudelski with the old Nagra. We discussed the affairs of Foundation Krishnamurti Hispano-Americana. Later, after much thunder, rain! It changed enough for Krishnaji, Balasundarum, and I to walk down the road past Trois Ours and back.’
We now resume the other journal, the “big book,” so we’re finished with the little one.
July thirteen, 1971, Gstaad. ‘Krishnaji was feeling well enough, though still some wheezing in his chest for bronchitis, that he wanted to come to Thun with me to fetch my car. So we went in the morning in his, he driving. He said “a marvelous meditation” had been in the night.’
‘I asked what made it marvelous, special. Was it the intensity or content?’
‘He said, “Both.”’
‘I asked if it had content, and he said, “Of course not.”’
‘I asked, “Is it a feeling without content, without words?”’
‘“Yes,” he said; it was in his sleep, but continued when he awoke and got up in the night, and when he went back to bed.’
‘My car was looking pristine again after the bumped grill from my idiot shoe-changing in the Champs-Elysées. Moser had a brochure for Krishnaji on the latest Mercedes sport model SL350. Krishnaji’s eyes lit up. [S laughs.] We drove both cars, me following, back to Tannegg. He drove faultlessly. It was enormously touching to watch the little silver car winding precisely along the road, the head and shoulders just showing through the rear window. We had a 1:30 p.m. lunch alone as Balasundarum was out. At 4:30 p.m., a Mr. deMarxov came to tea and talked ponderously and interminably for two hours.’ He was the man who was Frances’ financial advisor; an old man who advised for the account called Alzina. I think I’ve mentioned it before. ‘Most of his decisions have been hesitant on getting out of his bad choices, and on the whole, Alzina has not been well-handled since the Brockwood money was so luckily taken out. At present, I am uneasy at continuing as is. I will write to Bud. Krishnaji walked with Balasundarum while I coped with de Marxov. Erna telephoned. She and Theo just arrived from Ojai. No news at all of Rajagopal, whose lawyers have till Thursday the fifteenth to show cause to the attorney general why we shouldn’t file suit.’
Sunday, the eighth of August. How did we jump to that date? Dear me.
S: Well, we can go back to the little book.
M: We better go back to the little book. [Chuckles.]
So, on the fourteenth of July, ‘At noon, there was a meeting at Tannegg of Mary Cadogan and Graf. The Lilliefelts and Balasundarum had lunch, with Mary Cadogan joining afterward for an all-afternoon discussion of business. Krishnaji had a haircut. He, Balasundarum, and I went for a walk toward Turbach.’
The next day, the fifteenth. ‘I drove with Balasundarum to the Geneva airport so we could meet Pupul Jayakar, and came back to Tannegg. It was a tiring drive. I walked with Krishnaji and Balasundarum.’
On July sixteenth, ‘there was an all-morning meeting of Krishnaji, me, Pupul, Balasundarum, Mary C., Erna, Theo, and Hughes van der Straten. Pupul wants copyright for India. [S chuckles.] Long discussion. I finally suggested that the KFI be given permission to publish in India only in perpetuity, and it was accepted. She resisted Krishnaji being on their board but agreed in the end to some special title for him, such as founder. We had a buffet lunch. The Hispano Fundación in persons of Biascoechea and Faria came at 2:00 p.m. So the first four-Foundation meeting took place. They planned the second in Rishi Valley in December of ’72. Mary C. leaves tomorrow. Krishnaji, Balasundarum, and I went for a walk.’
The seventeenth of July. ‘I did errands, saw Dorothy, Montague, and Doris. They came in the Land Rover via the south of France. In the p.m., Yves Zlotnitska’—remember him?
S: Mm, hm.
M: ‘…ran a BBC film and an NET film for Pupul, Balasundarum, van der Straten, Lilliefelts, Enrique Biascoechea, and Faria. Krishnaji, meanwhile, intently washed the car! [Both chuckle.] And then a thunderstorm came. Krishnaji and I were alone.’
On July eighteenth, ‘I first took Pupul and Balasundarum to the tent (a new, very stately one), then drove Krishnaji there for his first Saanen talk. The tent was almost full. A good beginning talk on “What are you serious about?” He talked for forty-five minutes and took questions for half an hour. Mar de Manziarly came to lunch and stayed for the 4 o’clock showing of the NET film of Krishnaji’s discussion with Houston Smith at Claremont. I hadn’t seen that one. It was most overwhelming to me. Everyone had tea. Erna and Pupul discussed ways to help India with films there.’
On the nineteenth, ‘Dorothy came in the morning to see Krishnaji and talk to Pupul and Balasundarum about Indian scholarship pupils coming to Brockwood. Pupul and Balasundarum had an early lunch, then left with Yves Zlotnitska for Lausanne, where Pupul took the train to Geneva, Paris, and on to Rome and India. Balasundarum went to Kudelski and fetched Nagra Three’—I think it is—‘plus new equipment to take to India to record Krishnaji there. Krishnaji and I had a quiet lunch, enjoying the quiet house. Later, we drove down and did errands. We went for an early ride to Gsteig, and took a walk when we came back. We saw a man with a twenty-year-old Mercedes beautifully kept.’ It was parked up above the road when you leave Tannegg and go up and around…
S: Mm, hm.
M: …and it gets sort of flat and then it goes across the field. Well, up there, under some trees, was parked this beautiful old Mercedes, and of course, when we walked up there, Krishnaji saw it, and the man—I think he was English, I’m not certain—was polishing it, and tending it, and caring for it. Krishnaji was charmed [S laughs] and wanted to see the whole thing [chuckles]. He kept it parked there for some time, and every day he would come and polish the leather or polish the chrome or something.
M: ‘It pleased Krishnaji,’ it says. ‘Balasundarum returned for supper.’
On the twentieth of July, ‘Krishnaji gave his second Saanen talk, on order. Dorothy, Montague, and Balasundarum came to lunch, after which I drove Balasundarum to the train, and he left carrying the old Nagra on his way to India. I went to see Erna and Theo. A letter from Leipziger says Loebl’s father died, so a further delay is allowed for a response by Tapper from the fifteenth deadline to the nineteenth, i.e., yesterday. I got back in time for tea and a walk with Krishnaji and Peter Racz.’ He’s a Brazilian boy.
S: I remember that, yes.
M: ‘A lovely quiet supper by ourselves and early bed time.’
On Wednesday, the twenty-first, ‘Tilly van Eckman came to lunch, and Sacha de Manziarly arrived to stay at Tannegg until Saturday.’
S: What happened to Sacha?
M: He died.
S: When? I never met him.
M: I remember his death. Krishnaji had just arrived in Paris, I can’t remember which year, but we’ll come to it, and Sacha was in the American Hospital. So, we went, and Krishnaji saw him just before he died…
S: Mm, hm. Well, we’ll come to it then.
M: On the twenty-second, ‘I went early to the tent and then came back for Krishnaji. He gave his third Saanen talk. Seeing with no observer. No subjective anything, but only objective fact. Seeing uncolored by any residue of time past, therefore without self. Sacha and Marcelle Bondoneau at lunch. Krishnaji was very absent, concerned with the car. I did some errands and coming up the hill met him walking down. We went to look at bags in a boutique.’ Don’t know what that was for. ‘Came back to tea with Sacha. Then we walked to Turbach. The talk had left him washed out mentally. He couldn’t read, and his body was hypersensitive. He dined at the table with Sacha and me. There was too much chatter.’
July twenty-third. ‘We left at 10 a.m., picked up Dorothy and Montague, and drove to Thun. We saw the SEL 350 Mercedes at Moser’s. I left my car for the replacement of…’ something. ‘We lunched at Beatus and returned to Thun on the steamer. We tried out the 350 SEL. Krishnaji was delighted by it. We made deal for delivery of one for him next year, using his present one as a trade-in. Then, in my car, we drove back. Sacha had supper with us and went to see the Krishnamurti films in the tent. Krishnaji and I stayed in.’
S: Now that must have been the Green Beauty. Wasn’t it?
M: Well, what happened was the next year, he didn’t like the model that came out. And although the deal had been made, somehow Stuttgart was willing to put it off for a year—great exceptional, you know, concessions being made, etcetera.
S: And then it was the Green Beauty.
M: That was the Green Beauty.
M: The next day, July twenty-fourth, ‘Sacha left. Krishnaji and I had lunch at the Biascoechea’s and rested. Then we washed the Mercedes.’
On the twenty-fifth, ‘Krishnaji gave his fourth Saanen talk. It was on relationship: If there is a center of self, there is no relationship. It was hot in the tent, and Krishnaji felt very tired afterwards. He lay down until lunch. Erna, Theo, and Warren Perrine came to lunch. Afterward, we discussed the pros and cons of a Saanen film proposed by Guido Franco.’
S: Mm, hm.
M: Oh, we had endless trouble with Guido Franco. ‘I walked down for the paper in the late p.m., and Krishnaji met me halfway up and we walked back. We telephoned Vanda in the evening.’
The next day, ‘Dr. and Mrs. Questiau came to see Krishnaji at 12:30 p.m. Fresia to lunch. At 4 p.m., Biascoecheas and Sendra came and saw Krishnaji for one hour, sapping his energy. We then walked to the Turbach Road, and Krishnaji treated me for my eyes.’
On July twenty-seventh, ‘Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen talk, a continuation of his “thought-space,” a memo he gave me on Monday.’ I can’t read my writing. Something about ‘can the mind inquire into the quality of the immeasurable? Can this be free of all distortion? Factor of distortion is fear and demand for pleasure. It was an intense talk, and it was very hot in the tent. Immediately afterward, he saw for an hour the Spanish-American Fundación: Faria, Biascoechea, Sendra, and another; then de Vidas, who is ailing; and finally for lunch Frances McCann, Pietro Cragnolini, and Malvina’—that was a friend of Cragnolini’s. ‘Later, Moser came with the contract for the new SL 350 for next year, and took away in trade Krishnaji’s present one. I did some errands for him and drove Krishnaji up the hill after he walked down.’
On the twenty-eighth, ‘Krishnaji treated Fresia and de Vidas. Mrs. Pamela Travers and Dr. Steven Schoen came to lunch.’ That’s interesting; that’s the man that wrote that book I have in the other room.
S: Aha! On the origins of Krishnaji’s thinking.
M: Is that what it is?
S: Well, that’s the one that you discussed, or where his teachings came from, or something like that.
M: No, that’s another one, that’s Sana. No, this is a book that was published some years ago. I have it in the other room. But I didn’t realize he’d come to lunch. ‘Krishnaji told Mrs. Travers some of the early history of finding “the boy.” We walked to the river.’
On the twenty-ninth, ‘Krishnaji gave his sixth Saanen talk, another intense one. The Digbys and Lilliefelts came to lunch. Krishnaji was tired in the afternoon. He wasn’t going to take a walk, but in the end, he decided to, so we went to the river.’
July thirty. ‘Jane Hammond and Sybil Dobson came to lunch. At 4 p.m., the annual meeting for all the foreign committees. Fifty-six people came, and Krishnaji was present. George Digby presented various questions. Dorothy reported on Brockwood. Sybil reported for The Bulletin, George on publications, and I very briefly on the KWINC situation. Fruit juice afterward, and then Krishnaji and I went for a walk.’
The thirty-first. ‘A lovely, empty, quiet day. No one for lunch. Rest. We cleaned cars a little and took a walk. Watched the Apollo 15 astronauts, Scott and Irwin, on the moon.’ End of July.
S: Okay, we should end there because we are running out of tape.
M: Good. I’ll put this marker here.
 That is where Links’ house was. Back to text.
 The documentation center holds all of Krishnaji’s published material in English, and as much material translated into Dutch as had been produced at that time. There are also photographs, newspaper articles, video tapes and audio tapes, and anything else the Dutch Committee could collect. Back to text.
 The SS Andrea Doria sank off the coast of Nantucket in 1956 after being rammed by another ship. Most of the passengers and crew were rescued. Back to text.
 The school was vegetarian. Back to text.
 Fortnum & Mason. Back to text.
 Narayan was Krishnaji’s nephew, Shakuntala was his wife, and Natasha is their daughter. Narayan and Shakuntala had been working at the Rishi Valley School, and Narayan would eventually return to be headmaster of the school. Shakuntala came to teach at Brockwood for many years. Back to text.
 He was a professional sound recorder who, for a short period, took over the audio recording of the talk at Saanen. Back to text.
 This car was eventually taken to Ojai, and remained Krishnaji’s car until his death in 1986. Mary kept it and used it until her death in 2008. Back to text.