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Updated: May 22, 2025
The other had a face and figure like a model. Their faces were flushed and aglow. They also wore saris. "Too bad I'm not gonna be sticking around New York," I thought, gazing at them. In the audience sat two women in their sixties, dressed entirely in black. They sat near a man in his thirties, with the frame of a metal pyramid resting squarely on his head. We sat by the two sari-clad women.
About thirty minutes after the talk was scheduled to begin, Atmananda strode through the door. He wore a light brown suit. "Anne," he said, "did you bring the Transcendental?" The sari-clad woman who had sold incense at the last lecture placed a frame on the table beside Atmananda. The Transcendental was a photograph of Atmananda's Indian guru, Chinmoy.
At Au Natural, a yogurt shop, Atmananda introduced me to the Stony Brook disciples. There were Anne, Dana, and Suzanne, the sari-clad women from his lectures. There was Tom, a dark-haired young man who was as tall as Atmananda and who seemed easygoing. There was Sal, a balding young man who seemed intense. There were other Chinmoy disciples milling around, but the Stony Brook group stuck together.
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