Baba autobiography of a blue-eyed yogi

Excerpt.

� Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1

THE THREE-DECKED STEAMSHIP HAD BEEN FOLLOWING the contour of the palm-lined Indian coastline since sunrise, weaving its way through flotillas of fishing boats and other small ships until it reached Bombay.

The voyage from Karachi was the final leg of a six-month overland journey that had taken me from Amsterdam to what would become my new home.

A deck-class ticket bought you a place on the ship, but not a seat, berth, or cabin.

You were on your own when it came to claiming a piece of the deck, usually the size of your straw mat or blanket.

Although this book often reads like a fast-paced adventure story, it is the true account of a nineteen-year-old American (the son of a.

The two upper decks soon became a multicolored sea of bedding and people. When I first came aboard, Sigi, a young German, led me to a remote corner of the deck, where I could smell incense and there was a kasbah partitioned with pastel silks into passageways and small camps.

This, apparently, was the foreigners' quarter.

We were pi