So after flying 20-plus hours from Los Angeles to Mumbai and driving another eight hours to Pune, I’d dropped half of the students at the rural Ananda retreat and alighted at Osho with the rest. In fact, both had developed an East-West hybridity that extended from Americans in key leadership roles to a spiritual eclecticism with room for Jesus, New Age and Zen. I had chosen Ananda and Osho for our three-day immersion because they were located near Mumbai and Westerner-friendly. A weekend retreat at an Indian ashram was my go-to fantasy, my hope for healing. My younger brother’s unexpected death had emptied me out, and desperate to fill the hole, I’d taken on too much work. And for myself? I wanted a break, a chance to rest after a difficult year. On this trip, I wanted students to experience something like that before they started reporting. I’d done similar trips before to Israel and Ireland, but this time I wanted the students to have more than a fleeting encounter with the religion they were covering.ĭuring a previous trip to India, the class had visited one of Delhi’s Hanuman temples, where the synesthetic overload of traditional Hindu worship (yonis and lingams, flowers, sugary prasad, gongs and incense) had left a group of cerebral journalism students with no choice but simply to be.
I took my journalism class to India this past spring to cover the role of religion in the recent election. I found a neoliberal heaven that catered to my worst possible self. I went to India searching for spiritual enlightenment.
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