that no one loved him to the extent of pleasing him one hundred per cent.

Believe it or not, there were times when one was tempted to stand apart and not cooperate, asking oneself, Why all this trouble? What had it to do with the spiritual life? But Baba 's emphasis on group work and group living was evident at all times.

To us, the happiest festival of the year was Baba's Birthday—the "festival of festivals," celebrated in February, the date slightly altering according to the Parsi calendar. On that day, Baba would make a point of spending one or two extra hours with our group on the Hill. The day would start at 4:30 a.m. Baba would leave his jhopdi (hut) and compound and pass at a quick pace, while it was yet dark, through our compound to the east room of the main building. Baba would be well wrapped up, for February can be a cold month; and his eyes would glance to left and right where we all stood to welcome him. Our toy band, made up of various kitchen utensils, would ring out its welcoming if discordant sounds.

An hour later, Baba would return, clad in a new white sadra (robe) and chappals (sandals). An Indian custom is to wear everything new on a birthday. Over the sadra, there was sure to be a new, colored silk short coat such as Baba always wears. This would be a present made by one of his devotees, and Baba would be so happy and ask how we liked it! Before long, however, Baba would take off the new coat and put on his old, patched but comfortable everyday coat.

The gramophone would strike up one of Baba's favorite tunes or songs. Then would follow, sung by all, "Happy birthday to you, " Baba standing while Mehera would place around his neck a simple garland of flowers from the garden.

The traditional fare would be brought to the breakfast table; rava, not unlike cream of wheat, prepared with milk and clarified butter, flavored with rose water and decorated with sliced, golden brown fried almonds and raisins. Around the dish and on top were the daintiest little pale pink rose petals.