North York, Ontario
The day classes were over and evening classes were beginning. Students at York University were scurrying here and there and some were lulled, passively lounged by the new furnishings, at the Students’ centre. We had shifted from parking lot to stairs, and ramps and building and doors and foyers and stairs again until finally we came to destination – Room 313. It was clear what the demographics at this campus were. Kids from all over the world, or at least their parents are from all over the world.
Sorry to say ‘kids’ but I’m sure as much as I look different to them due to the duds on my back, I’m an old guy to them. Come to think of it, now at age 60, I’ve spent two thirds of my life in monkism.
While going through the foyer, we meaning Rashi, the coordinator for Krishna club, then Hayagriva, one of our Nova Scotia monks, Virginia, a Congo born novice in our Toronto ashram, and I noticed posters affixed to everything. They were promoting tonight’s event and it was going to be a talk by The Walking Monk.
The posters proved fruitful. Some students came because the poster caught their eye. Before the talk, Rashi conveyed to me, “We usually don’t get a lot of people but they’re real quality whoever does come.”
She’s right. I met Alvin, who’s from China. He’s a committed chanter. There was Nicole, a sweetheart of a young woman from the Philippines. I also chatted briefly with a young man, a Caucasian whose Mum runs marathons. Rishi, well, it’s his birthday. I knew him since he was a kid playing the role Krishna in one of my productions. Jessica is a fireball of bhakti, devotion.
The students sat in a circle formation and listened to the story of a monk, life in the fast lane (spiritually) OR life in the slow lane (materially). No one yawned. Time zipped away as if there was none.
Thank you, Rashi, for the invite