Not much of a sage


Indian Express Sunday Magazine, January 10, 1993

By Saba Naqvi Bhaumik


MAHESH BHATT should stick to making films. This book is nothing short of a complete disaster. Fashioned as a biography, it is neither a definitive account of U.G. Krishnamurti's life and teachings nor an honest, down-to-earth portrayal of Bhatt's own relationship with him. We have instead a confused jumble: episodes from Bhatt's life mingle with events from Krishnamurti's only to be rudely interrupted by huge passages of conversations between the two men. Bhatt displays neither the fluidity of language nor the intellectual dexterity necessary to sustain this style. The result is chaos.


U.G. Krishnamurti is an enigmatic figure who is best described as an anti-guru. He rejects all religious dogma, has no patience with gurus and god-men, and reserves a special dislike for his more famous namesake, J. Krishnamurti. He claims to have no solutions, no answers, no path. He does not give lectures or write books.


Yet, he has followers across the world. The most famous are Parveen Babi and Mahesh Bhatt, and many Indians know him merely as “the other Krishnamurti” who the Babi girl followed to the ends of the world.


On piecing together Krishnamurti's story, so haphazardly scattered across the 183 pages of this book, we gather that years of searching for enlightenment left him with nothing but scorn for all manner of religious-philosopher-teacher:


“I am not a god-man. I would rather be called a fraud. The quest for God has become such an obsessive factor in the lives of human beings because of the impossibility of achieving pleasure without pain. That messy thing called the mind has created many destructive things. By far the most destructive of them is God…”


Ironically, though Krishnamurti debunks all gurus, he appears to have played precisely that role in the lives of many. After rejecting family life in India, he wandered through Europe, made a home for himself in Switzerland and now spends his time being mentor and guide to his faithful band of followers scattered across India, the US, Europe and Australia.


The big event of his life took place at the age of 49, when he claims to have undergone the process of “death” and “rebirth”, a transformation that left him with some amazing powers.


Bhatt races through the events of Krishnamurti's life as if directing a three-hour feature film. He does not pause to reflect, explain or analyse. There is no attempt to evaluate Krishnamurti's teachings.


Part two of the book gives up all pretense at being a biography and as many as 50 pages are devoted to conversations between the two men. Readers will have to plod through pages and pages of Krishnamurti's views on every conceivable subject. Bhatt might as well have titled the book, “The Thoughts of U.G. Krishnamurti”.


The insights into Bhatt's life are just as unsatisfactory. And those who pick up this book hoping to get the inside story on the Parveen Babi episode will feel sorely cheated. She is mentioned only briefly and one is left no wiser about her insanity and subsequent disappearing act.


In fact, this might have been pretty readable stuff if Bhatt had chosen to tell the story of his life instead. He gives a few tantalising glimpses of his colourful past before reverting back to his poorly crafted Krishnamurti saga.


First came the obsession with that ultimate god-man, Rajneesh. Bhatt met Krishnamurti soon after his romance with Rajneesh soured and his description of the encounter would make any writer of pulp fiction proud.


One expected better from the director who displayed considerable emotional depth in films such as Saaransh and Arth.


This book, Bhatt's first, is closer to the kitschy romances he has been mass producing of late. But unlike some of his commercial ventures, it fails to grip. All in all, it is a complete flop.

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