"Baba told us in 1956 that Sufis must be goofy with love for God! Remembering the perfect sense of humor of our Beloved, for several years now our young Sufis have devised goofy programs to commemorate Christmas and Baba's birthday, which date coincides with my own birthday. He told us often that when two or three were gathered together in His name, there would He be also — hence the Sufis' only desire was to lift His burden for even one moment. I hope no one will regard our little skits as irreverent. They were only aimed at the target of His smile. As Mehera is as the moon to Baba's Sun, reflecting His Love and Beauty everywhere, it is our dearest wish that our joy in Him will be reflected as a smile upon her face.

"We recently initiated 33 new mureeds, among whom are many artistic and musical talents which we have not had time to tap. Most of our lyrics and music were composed by Hank Mindlin, including the Arti, of which Baba has approved.

"Our first number is "The Wondrous One" by Hank Mindlin and Carol-Leigh Jensen. Aneece Hassen dreamed up the following automobile dealer's sales pitch and it will be given by his brother-in-law, Zuhair Al Faqih. It is called "Sam S. Kara, the Used Karma Dealer." Next is a recitative written by Hank. Antoinette Cruser will sing a Portuguese song called in English "Silence." Her husband Dick will accompany her. The "Swing Song" will be presented by our youngest Baba-lovers. Robbi Basho will play his own composition in honor of Baba. The "Astral Plane Waltz" is by Carol-Leigh Jensen and her playful entities. Next is a skit called "The War Room." Any resemblance to persons living or dead is definitely not purely coincidental. "The Right Time" represents our finale and will be followed by the Arti."

The Western Arti, given for the first time, with seven girls in the seven colors of Baba's flag, singing and dancing, especially overwhelmed the Easterners and brought tears to their eyes.

On the way back from Guruprasad, we were told to be ready to board the buses at 4:30 p.m. sharp, where Jal was to be our guide on a tour of Sassoon Hospital, Babajan's shrine, and Baba's house. The heat, along with the humidity, was overwhelming. We drove a short distance through the town to what looked like 'an ordinary building.' The building was Sassoon Hospital and it was by no means 'ordinary.' Here, on February 25, 1894, at 5 a.m., Merwan Irani was born.

On the wall, just outside the hospital entrance, was a plaque dedicated to Meher Baba. As we stood in line waiting to enter the hospital, I was able to observe the patients waiting for professional attention. Seated on a bench was a young mother with a young child, about 17 months, on her lap. The child appeared to be suffering from some sort of skin disease. I managed to get somewhat of a shy smile on his lips, as he kept batting the flies away from his face.

The line moved in and, in groups, we entered the hospital. I wish I could relate what my eyes saw and what was in my heart as I gazed in one of the wards. It took a lot of self-control to keep a cheerful smile on my lips instead of a face wet with tears. Over the doorway was a picture of Baba with a colorful wreath of flowers draped around it.

The next stop was Babajan's shrine. The shrine was built around the tree that Babajan sat under for many, many years. It was under this tree that Baba received illumination from Babajan, the only woman who was a Perfect Master. As we knelt before Her tomb, each silently received Her blessing and thanked Her for bringing us to Baba.

Once again we boarded the buses and off we went to Baba's house, where Baba's brother and his family, and Jal now live. As we entered the small room where Baba slept, the heat from the day rested on the roof of the house. As hot as it was, the love of Baba made it cool and comfortable. The first thing that was visible was a glass cabinet filled with Baba's belongings: His shoes, His shirt, His alphabet board, and several other possessions. The aura that circled the cabinet filled the whole room.

Waiting outside by the buses for the others to go through the little house, I found myself surrounded by seven or eight Indian girls. We managed to communicate quite well, considering that I did not understand their language and they spoke broken English.