On a Thursday morning, I decided to visit the local Theosophical Society headquarters in Adyar. Founded in 1875 in New York by Henry Steele Olcott and Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, the Theosophical Society represents a brotherhood of scholars and people of faith united in their search for truth. ‘Truth’ in this instance being the meaning and purpose of existence. The headquarters was moved to Adyar in 1882.
Twenty minutes after leaving my apartment, my cab pulled up at the Theosophical Society, where I was welcomed by a guarded gate stating the hours to be 8.30 to 10 am, and 2 pm to 4 pm. As it turns out, I mistakenly read the bookshop’s hours, which are 9.30 am to 12.30 pm, and 2 to 5.30 pm. Why anyone would visit the campus only to visit the bookshop and not to view the rest of the estate is beyond me!
Hours later, I entered through the main entrance and found myself on the front steps of the Adyar Library & Research Centre — otherwise known as the Theosophical Publishing House. Once inside, I was introduced to Umar, one of their employees. He showed me bookshelves filled with philosophical and religious texts with topics ranging from occultism to scientific theory, and told me the history of the society.
I plucked a book from the shelf on envisioning the fourth dimension. A slight book, it details how through meditation and pursuing the meaning of the world, one could learn to see into the fourth dimension — or something along those lines. Philosophy has never been my forte.
Down the dirt path from the library, I stumbled upon three butterflies twisting, fluttering and turning through the air in what was either a dance, a fight, or a mating ritual. A snake rustled through a pile of branches to my side, and further down a vine hung in the path. I found the Adyar Banyan Tree, with its roots and trees sprouting unendingly. It was like I’d been disconnected from the city life and reintroduced to nature.
I’d spent the past two years living in New York City, which is a jungle of its own made out of glass and metal cubes. Every tree or bush was placed by someone’s hand, and nothing is accidental. Nothing is natural. Here, nature is given its space.
On the way to the Buddha temple, I shared paths with a Buddhist monk who had arrived there for three months. He spoke on the many places he’d travelled to, such as Singapore, New Delhi, and the US. I felt beholden to walk the same path as a monk on my first visit to this place, and was taken aback when he pulled out an iPhone.
At the temple, a hose snaked its way into the fountain in front of it. Beside it was a memorial stone dedicated to Bodhidharma, a Buddhist monk who brought Zen to China. Born a third prince of Pallava dynasty in the capital of Kanchi in South India, his memorial stone depicts his soul walking back to India from China barefoot and with a single shoe in hand.
A little ways further down the path sat a man on a bench meditating with a flower upon his head. The benches surrounded a bust of Henry Steele Olcott. Despite founding an international society for theosophical philosophers, he is most remembered after death, here, for his contributions to Buddhism, and in my memory hereafter, for having a pretty impressive middle name.