Watch the full video for the full story.

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Last time, I told you about how I first saw Babaji in 1974, how I kept taking pictures of him, and he, in his own way, kept "taking my X-ray."

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By 1975, I learned that Babaji was coming down from his ashram in Herakhan to Vrindavan for Guru Purnima. My wife was very insistent that we go and pay our homage. So, we traveled to Agra, staying in a five-star hotel right opposite the Taj Mahal, and drove an hour and a half to Vrindavan to see him.

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When we arrived, it was uncanny. It was as if he was waiting for me. He was sitting outside on the veranda, and the moment I entered, he simply said, "Come, come."

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For the next five days, we fell into a routine. We would spend the entire day with him in Vrindavan, soaking in his presence, and then return to our luxury in Agra for the night. In the evenings, I was up to my usual life—my three or four drinks of scotch, good food, and dancing with my wife. Babaji never forced me to change. He didn't say "stop smoking" or "stop drinking" or "become a vegetarian." He just let me be.

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His presence was not about lectures; it was about silence. We would sit in the heat, singing bhajans, and he would look at us from his charpai. It felt as if he was looking at everyone at the same time.

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It was only after he left for Herakhan that I truly understood what had happened. We bade him goodbye and returned to our hotel in Agra. But that evening, the peace was gone. The same ballroom, the same drinks, but suddenly the atmosphere felt tense and unruly. I was not happy.

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My wife turned to me and said, "I think he's gone, so he's taken that peace also with him. It's about time we leave too."

And that is exactly what we did. He had gradually pulled the threads to bring me closer, showing me the difference between my world and his peace.