After a walk of a brisk nature, on Bloor Street in Toronto last night, I gave my sister Rose Ann a call, wishing her a Happy Birthday.
“Rose Ann, do you remember when in 1963, you and I had walked home from school together, it was announced that U.S. president John F. Kennedy got assassinated that day, and we were wondering what this would mean for the world in which we live—this crazy world?”
“Yes,” she said, “I remember it well.”
“Well,” I said to my 59 year old sister, “we’re still around.”
That indeed was an incident to remember. Now, today, time did not allow for walking as I was in flight to Varadero, Cuba, and then in car to Habana for an evening sanga (gathering of talks and song).
It was interesting at the airport’s customs. I stood in line for inspection while officers were looking at the various cereals a Canadian couple brought along for their stay in Cuba. An official came and inquired about the box I had on the trolley.
“Just some books.” He went away with a blank stare. A woman followed and asked the same. I gave the same answer. This repeated itself with a third person. Finally, I was called to a table of five inspectors.
“Books,” I said. “A set (of Bhagavatams) for the Indian Embassy.” I was asked to open the box With strain, I tore the tape off. They looked and were amazed; couldn’t make head nor tails. Then I said, “Yoga. Books on yoga!” They nodded and said, “Si!”
I was cleared.
May the Source be with you! (What is the force that compels one to do wrong?)