We've been stuck ever since we met.  At first I thought this was a Master with a following of maybe forty individuals, with a dusty office in downtown New Delhi.  Boy was I surprised!

Except for the first one, the events opened with video images underscored by his daughter Daya's music.  Yesterday's video depicted the filled Delhi stadium.  On seeing these stadium images, some attendees behind me got very loud and boisterous, yelling whoops and cat-calls, like they were drinking beer at a baseball game and, out of a drunken stupor, suddenly noticed a triple play. Heads turned to castigate these men.

A premie wearing a hat took the unclaimed seat next to me. He was almost as boisterous as the woman the previous day, kind of mocking a rather scrawny Security Person who was trying to save some seats for his crew.  This guy would not stop complaining, saying he needed to "spread out." I told him not to worry if he inadvertently hit me (a little more frustration couldn't hurt), but he refused my offer to let him hit me, and clamoured the Security Guy for a better seat.  He won an end seat behind us. My wife jokingly reminded him to remove his hat, and, instead of reciprocating humour, he rebuked that he could not stand "Born-again Premies." Not sure where that one originated.

Throughout the lectures, references were made to products available for sale.  Maharaji sprinkled subtle reminders about a boxed kit of writings, a book called "Clarity," and CD's available for sale in the lobby.

Another subtle hint that surprised me was a reference Maharaji made to him going bankrupt.  In Expressions, he mentioned Amaroo in a disparaging way, saying how far and unaffordable it is to reach, which, he said, "is contributing to making me bankrupt." Judging from the wealth extolled by the 7000 attendees at $125 per head, the only thing bankrupt there may be Maharaji's morals, but not his bank account.

Seeing the enormity of the event, combined with its slick "Smart Card" carrying crowd, one can only conclude that the days of foul-breathed cult devotees handing out pocket-sized literature in airports are formally over.  This new breed thrives on absorbing slick marketing materials, iconographic product designs, and snap-crackle-pop music all targeting Baby Boomer's wallets. In contrast, on Lincoln Road, a lone Iskon devotee attempted to hand us the pocket-sized Gita according to Sun Yung Moon, "free for a small donation."   No thanks, buddy. This savvy crowd  would rather pay good money for DVD's, CD's and sleek product design than eat vegetarian mush and sing repetitive songs.