At dusk I chanced to meet Radhanath Swami near the temple gate. As he hurried out, he inquired, “So, everything alright?”
“I am heading to Mayapur tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“To submerge the ashes of my deceased father in the Ganges.”
“When did that happen?….” He stopped. His expression grew grave.
“Am I getting old?” a thought sneaked into my mind. I was in my car, returning from a festival that bubbled with enthusiasm, with young men exuberantly dancing in kirtan in a style introduced by Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, a bhakti saint of the 16th century. Through it all I was feeling the opposite—unenthusiastic and sluggish. Now my intelligence figured out why—perhaps I was getting old.
