Kindness Speaks Volumes
Kindness Speaks Volumes
Kindness can be tasted in more than one way.
I was in my early 20s and had dropped out of university to find God, myself and, hopefully, a spiritually focused girlfriend. Through a curious string of events, I ended up in one of the most remote cities of the world: Perth, Western Australia. It was there that I discovered this amazing stuff called "prasādam", or food that has been offered with love to God.
I turned vegetarian when I was about fifteen from reading some simple truths on the back of an animal rights propaganda flyer I picked up at a music concert in Houston. But being a vegetarian in Texas in the 1980s was fraught with difficulties. I'd never even conceived that there could be such a thing as an entirely vegetarian restaurant.
So when I came across this place called "Food for Life" in the Northbridge section of inner Perth, I was amazed! Since I was living nearby, I'd come there most days for, get this, ALL YOU CAN EAT for just $5. It was unbelievable .... and always delicious. If you were broke, you could volunteer by washing pots or mopping and even eat for free. Although there was a slight culty vibe to the place, the devotees were genuine and friendly enough for me to let my guard down and just enjoy their generosity.
One devotee in particular impressed me with their sincerity. He always spoke to me with respect and kindness. I spent a lot of time with musicians and artists who, in their minds, had already reached the heights of spiritual consciousness, but, to me, lacked in the behaviour that should accompany such enlightenment. But this devotee of Kṛṣṇa was able to convey a world of affection just by spooning some rice and curry onto my plate. I wanted what he had.
Besides his attractive demeanour, Caitanya Dasa had a special gift. He made otherworldly lassi. For those who don't know, lassi is a traditional Indian drink made from yoghurt, a sweetner and, often, some type of fruit or berry. To say that Caitanya's lassi was artisan level is a huge understatement. I can still remember the tastes nearly thirty years later. He made rockmelon (canteloupe) lassi, strawberry lassi, rose essence lassi, mango lassi, raspberry lassi, mulberry lassi, along with other seasonal flavours. It was divine!
I didn't know what it was called, so I just thought of it as the "yoghurt drink". It was available in one of those self-serve old-fashioned refrigerated drink dispensers that cycled the beverage constantly down the inner sides of the vessel so it always looked full. I used this to my advantage. You see, I loved this drink so much that I stretched this already magnanimous concept of "all you can eat" to mean "all you can eat, drink and stow away for future consumption". So I went out and purchased this two litre insulated Thermos.
I'd wait until the lunch rush crowd came in, stealthily approach the dispenser while Caitanya was distracted serving customers, and fill the Thermos to the brim. This was after a couple of glasses of yoghurt drink while I had my generously portioned plate of rice, curry, salad, papadam and halava. It's amazing what your body can handle when you're a physically active person in your 20s. The thought of doing this now is just impossible.
So I thought I was all slick doing this almost every day. I'd fill up my Thermos, take it home and sip the yoghurt drink all day. I'd rinse it out in the evening, let it dry overnight ready for the next day. It was, in a sense, a type of sādhana. I even enjoyed the subterfuge aspect of ninja-ing extra yoghurt drink. I guess I'm a simple guy, because it gave me much joy to do this.
I think it was a year later before I started visiting the Sunday Feast and the temple. After a particularly ecstatic experience during a Govardhana-pūjā festival I decided, "You know what? Fuck it. I'm joining this cult. These people are the real deal."
While sitting at prasādam with Caitanya one evening, I thought to confess my long-term addiction to his devotional culinary artistry.
Caitanya, in his plain-spoken manner, responded, "Oh, I knew you were taking it."
"Really!? For how long did you know I was filling up my thermos?"
"I don't know, for as long as I can remember you coming in."
"Why didn't you say something? I thought I was pulling a fast one."
"I know. I didn't mind, it's prasādam. I just started making extra so that there'd be enough to cover the end of the lunch crowd."
I felt tears well up and he hugged me. These people are the real instruments in Kṛṣṇā’s hands.
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These words were not generated with or augmented by artificial intelligence; just “flawsome” human thoughts here … with, of course, due homage to The Algorithm that abides over us all.