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since the birth of my daughter. My mother-in-law tried to wake my father and when she got no response, she recognized Paramedics confirmed my father's death and requested us to stay away from the I would never forget March 23,
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• A mother’s grief: After the death of a daughter, a spiritual journey
• Quote by Isabel Allende: “There is no death, daughter. People die only wh”
• A mother’s grief: After the death of a daughter, a spiritual journey

She invites us to her house. There she is sitting on a divan dressed in orange robes. When she talks it is of the delusions of the mind, when she offers consolation it is through realising its strength. I come home feeling uplifted but soon my sad reality hits me and I am back to where I started. Though this has rendered her completely alone at both home and business, she emanates a beautiful self-sufficiency. A little digging and I find she meditates. She refers to her Vipassana retreat. Teaching is over for the year.

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I am now free to go to a ten-day Vipassana retreat in Dehradun, to an ashram that overlooks a dry stony riverbed. For ten days I will not speak. I will get up at 4am to spend ten hours meditating. I will eat two meals in mindful silence. I will not be allowed to read. But if I want some way out of this stupefying wretchedness I have no choice. In Buddhism happiness is a spiritual goal. I yearn for that happiness, that freedom from emotional maelstroms.

Hour after hour in the meditation hall. We do not move. Backs straight, cross-legged on specially designed cushions.

The men and women occupy opposite sides. There is no fan. It is very quiet. I sit and I sit. I seek a private interview with the woman leader, I tell her about my daughter. She listens attentively before giving me the one piece of information that has any relevance, the death of her son in his early twenties.

I am duly chastened. There is suffering everywhere, in how many ways does this need to be brought home to me? I resume my meditation and do what I am supposed to do, which is look inside. I have tried to avoid this, but when you are seated for ten hours, in the silence that determined non-movement brings, you can do nothing else. Images of my daughter appear. Her gaze is fixed on me, but her look is solemn. Wordlessly she climbs into my lap. I wrap my arms around her, straining her slight young body against my old heavy one.

Her head is against my shoulder, her own arms folded around my neck. Then she disengages herself, unzips a tent placed in the middle of my heart, bends down to enter it and from the outside I see the zip slowly travelling up as the flaps shut. The tent is light blue, her track suit is pale pink as are her neat little canvas shoes. This was her farewell. My face is damp, my palla wet with snot and tears.

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I would see her twice more in dreams. Then never again. I left the Vipassana centre convinced of the efficacy of meditation. This indeed was the route to non-suffering. Both morning and night I meditated for one hour. But my mind—as is the nature of minds—proved resistant to the slightest discipline.

The same one thing swum round and round and, by the time the year was out, I had stopped meditating. That summer N and I fly down to Pondicherry. The Aurobindo Ashram is one of the many places we visit in search of some balm to soothe our torment. We meet a senior teacher there. In shorts and a T-shirt he appears happy, contented, calm and serene. He has given up his life in Delhi—a decision he spent eight months thinking about—to join his guru in the shram.

He helps to run the place. Taking in his demeanour, I too have this wild desire to flee Delhi. The Aurobindo Ashram will be my future home. But of course it is not the place, is it? No place can free you from your suffering. Not a single place in the entire world.

As he shows us around, we tell him our story, one we have told many times. What can anyone tell us that will make the pain recede? At some level I feel our quest is hopeless, yet we are driven on. The man begins to describe the mind. A mad monkey, a mad, sick, crazed on drugs, frenetic, jumping wildly from tree to tree monkey. The responsibility of controlling the monkey was ours.

We and we alone had the power to remove our suffering. We ask desultory questions. After a point he says you just have to experience it. Words cannot make you feel a spiritual reality. A nephew is getting married. With ceremonies lasting one week it promises to be the event of the year. It is one of the first weddings of this generation in our family and there is much excitement.

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