“No, no. It’s my honor to be at your center,” he says, like he’s at the center of the world rather than the yoga center next to a waxing salon in Brentwood.
“May I show you around?” Mom says.
“That would be most gracious of you,” the guru says.
“What about the prenatal class?” I say. My being here for the class was important to Mom. Or so she said.
“The guru came all the way from India,” Mom says. “I’m sure the ladies—”
“We don’t mind,” one of the pregnant ladies says.
“We don’t,” another one says. “Of course not.”
I say, “I just think when you make a commitment, you should keep your commitment.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mom says.
“I came here to help you. I could have been in school right now.”
“Since when do you want to be in school?”
“Since I’d like to get into college, Mom. If that’s okay with you.”
“You’re only a junior,” Mom says. “You’ve got another year.”
“It’s Jewish school, Mom. We’re worrying about college from day one.”
“I’m sorry, guru,” Mom says. “I don’t think Sanskrit understands that we have the founder of a religious order in our midst.”
“It’s not a religious order,” the guru says.
“What is it?” Mom says.
“It’s nothing,” the guru says.
He smiles and claps his hands, delighted with himself.
“How can it be nothing?” Sally says.
“The Buddha called it sunyata. Emptiness. There is no essential nature to things. We give them meaning, when they deserve none.”
“That’s upbeat,” I say.
Mom throws me a look. “We want to learn all about it, guru,” she says. “Just give me a minute to speak to my son.”
Mom grabs me and pulls me into a yoga studio.
“Don’t ruin this for me!”
That’s what Mom says after she closes the door.
“Who the hell is this guy? Why haven’t I heard anything about him?”
“First of all, this is my private life,” Mom says. “I don’t have to tell you everything I do.”
“How private could it be? The whole yoga center knows.”
“They don’t know the details.”
“What are the details? You have a creepy international boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfr—you are so frustrating to me right now.”
Mom stamps her foot on the ground. She’s about to say something when she stops herself. Instead, she takes a yoga breath and closes her eyes.
“I’m not a kid,” I say. “Why don’t you just tell me the truth.”
Mom exhales.
“The truth is this man is a very famous teacher from India who happens to be a new friend of mine. More than a friend. An inspiration.”
“What’s his name again?”
“Guru Bharat.”
“Bharat?”
“It’s a Hindu name for India.”
“He named himself after a country? That’s pretty arrogant.”
Maybe I shouldn’t be so critical because I’m named after a language. But that’s Mom’s fault, not mine. What if I changed my name to United States? U. S. Zuckerman. It sounds like a Jewish battleship.
“He didn’t name himself,” Mom says. “The name was bestowed on him. It’s a great honor.”
“How did you meet this person?”
“We met online after I saw his YouTube videos.”
“YouTube is not a spiritual place, Mom. It’s more like a place where cats play the piano.”
“That’s not true, honey. He has an amazing YouTube channel, and when I saw him, I knew he had a message for me. For my life. I wrote to him, and he wrote back. We’ve been e-mailing for a few months. Isn’t that incredible? And now he’s here!”
“What does he want?”
“You’re being paranoid.”
“I’m not paranoid. I’m appropriately cautious.”
Dad taught me that people always want something from you, even when they pretend they don’t. Especially when they pretend they don’t.
“If you must know, he’s fascinated by American spirituality. I think he’s come to see it for himself.”
“Not to see you?”
Mom blushes.
“Now I understand,” Mom says, and messes with my bangs. “You’re being overprotective. It’s sweet.”
“I’m just saying you need to be careful. You don’t really know this guy.”
“What do you say we get to know him?” Mom says. “We can show him around the Center together.”
“You go,” I say. “I already met him in the bathroom. And I was less than impressed.”
“Is that what a guru looks like?”
This is what I ask Crystal, the receptionist. I’m shy about talking to her because she wears halter tops that barely cover her chest and she’s in a Ph.D. program at UCLA. Between her breasts and her brains I usually can’t form English sentences around her. But she’s the only one not chasing the guru around the Center right now.
“All gurus look different,” she says, “but that is the one and only Guru Bharat.”
“They don’t have combs in India?”
“He’s famous for his hair. It’s been growing for more than a decade. Ever since he made his famous pronouncement.”
“What pronouncement?”
“That nothing matters.”
“And?”
“That’s the whole pronouncement,” she says.
“Nothing matters. That’s his great spiritual contribution?”
“It’s not as simple as that. He’s taking Buddhist principles and updating them so we can understand.”
“In other words, he’s dumbing it down.”
She crosses her arms, and the top shifts.
“You should go on YouTube and check it out. You’re a spiritual guy. I think you’d be into it.”
“I’m not a spiritual guy. I hate most religious stuff.”
“So does he. You actually have a lot in common. You know how religious people are always preaching to us, telling us how we should act? Guru Bharat turned that on its head. He had the courage to tell the truth. Nothing that we do matters. Nothing changes anything. There is no way to be good.”
“If nothing matters, what use is any of it?”
“Don’t get angry with me; I didn’t say it. It’s the guru.”
“How do you know all this?” I say.
“Your mom’s been talking about him forever.”
“How long is forever?”
“A few months at least. I can’t believe he really came to Brentwood!”
The group comes walking around the corner, a buzz of nearly nude women around a tumble of sheets with a beard. Mom is saying, “If we knew you were coming, we could have welcomed you properly.”
“This is welcome aplenty,” the guru says.
Who says aplenty? It’s ridiculous.
“We would have honored you with a feast,” Mom says.
“We can take him to dinner,” Sally says.
“We can go for Indian food!” one of the women says.
“Do you want to go for Indian food, Guru Bharat?” Sally says.
“To be honest, I’m rather tired of Indian food.”
“Of course you are,” Mom says. “We’ll take you for vegetarian food, American-style. Let’s go to A Votre Sante.”
A Votre Sante. That’s Mom’s favorite restaurant. She took me there the last time we went to dinner together.
“I’m breaking a juice fast tonight,” Mom says, “and I want it to be special.”
The women head towards the changing room to get ready, and I edge over to Mom.
“You said that we were going to break your fast together,” I say.
Mom looks towards the guru.