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It's the summer of '78 and Maharaji is due to turn up at a program in a reconverted old cinema we spent weeks reburbishing in London. I am planting flowers to adorn the path that the Lord will walk as he approaches the back entrance. Suddenly a security premie in a dark suit taps my shoulder and tells me that he's got some very, very important service for me to do.
I follow him excitedly into the back stage area where Maharaji will wait before coming on stage. He points to a fridge. Guard that fridge and don't let ANYONE go near it or open it. I humbly nod acknowledgement and sit alone in this back stage room, staring at the fridge and willing to give my life to guard its contents.
The hours pass and people say that it's Maharaji's lila that he hasn't turned up for the program. I sit hopefully, expecting Maharaji and Marilyn to come bursting through the door to my backstage room, at any moment. I had rehearsed a half pranam during my long solitude backstage and was like a 100 metre runner at the blocks in preperation for the coming of the Lord. I figured a half pranam would be more to his liking since he was probably tired of premies throwing themselves on the floor all over the place.
After much more solitary waiting and preperation I was told late in the evening that Maharaji was not coming to give us satsang after all but this was his lila. I stood up and turned to leave the backstage area. Since I was alone again I turned back to the fridge and opened the door to see what I had been guarding all afternoon and evening. It was completely empty except for a neatly wrapped piece of Cheddar cheese.
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