A Tribute To Amareesh

I never knew anything about Amareesh’s past.
I experienced him as a very much in-the-moment kind of guy.
He never talked about his past.
He never talked about what he had done, nor who he was, before meeting Osho.
I sensed his current life with Osho was what mattered most.

Amareesh was something of a genius.
Perhaps he had no formal musical training (I don’t know this for sure), but he understood music intuitively.
Its rules and structures didn’t limit him.
However, it did make him unpredictable.
Spontaneously, unexpectedly, in any given moment, especially in Osho’s presence, he would take off and soar as if in a limitless sky, unbounded.
This was his quality.

I met Amareesh for the first time in early 1987 in Pune.
He shared that he was a musician, but also knew something about sound engineering.
Osho was about to begin speaking in Chuang Tzu Auditorium and it was an urgent position that needed filling.
Amareesh volunteered to help.

Osho requested that there be music for both his entrance and exit.
So, aside from recording the discourses, Amareesh’s job would be to mix live sound for the music.
After a month or so, Jalal and Pashupati took over these audio responsibilities, and Amareesh joined the pool of rotating musicians.
Digital recording was just coming into vogue.
Jalal had procured a portable Sony DAT recorder and the recording process shifted away from the primative cassette tapes we had been using.

I had a layman’s interest in recording.
I would spend my free time listening to the discourse tapes, collating the best-played music sections, and creating cassettes for our department to sell in The Bookshop.
These music tapes were popular.
Titles such as “Open Window”, “The Rains Have Heard Me”, “Yes To The River” were the beginning of a kind of cottage industry that gave our department an income to acquire items needed to bring the music to a higher standard.

When the new Buddha Hall was ready, the discourses moved from Chuang Tzu Auditorium.
Sanjiva replaced Jalal and Pashupati as the live audio technician.
Around the same time, we began using a Sony PCM analogue/digital converter that worked in tandem with VHS cassettes.
This enabled us to record in CD quality.

Amareesh continued joining the discourse music from time to time.
There are memorable tracks with him playing on “Garden of the Beloved”, seven to be exact, excerpts I have used in the slideshow tribute.
I continued to coordinate the music for another year or so after Osho left the body.

In late 1991, I moved out of the Commune and began finding my way in the world.
I needed a break from coordinating the music and suggested Miten take the reins, although I continued to play in Buddha Hall from time to time.
I would sometimes meet Amareesh in passing, sharing a few laughs and updates on our lives.
The last time I saw him was on the Nulla Park Road, where everyone parked their bicycles.
It was pleasant, as always, like having a metaphorical cup of tea on the path together.
More than anything, we both knew our connection was Osho.
This silent acknowledgement between us was always felt.

When I got news of Amareesh’s passing, I always had the intention to make a tribute to him, aside from the short epitaph I wrote for www.oshonews.com, but I just never got around to it.
In the years since at my events, I will sometimes play tracks of his playing and am always amazed by how beautifully they set the tone for meditation, such as Dynamic in the morning while participants are coming in.
Many times, people come up to me afterwards asking: What is this music?
Without ever having known Amareesh, they are touched by his playing and feel Osho through it.
For me, they serve as a reminder of that silent knowing, heart-to-heart, that still connects us.

The seven tracks in the video tribute are available on “Garden of the Beloved”, a hand-picked collection from Waduda and Bhikku of some of the best discourse music from 1987-1988).
While it is no longer available through their New Earth Records, it can be accessed via www.osho.com. Amareesh plays flute on everything except “Seashore of Eternity,” on which he plays dilruba.
He can also be heard strumming the swarmandal (amazingly, he could strum and play flute at the same time!).
Other musicians on these tracks include: Bharti (keyboards), Gayan (tampura), Kamal (bass, keyboards), Mali (drums), Namateet (bass), Nivedano (drums, percussion, sample pad), Rupesh (tablas), Sudhananda (guitar), and myself (Milarepa—guitar, percussion). Live audio mixing: Jalal, Pashupati, and Sanjiva.

One final note: In Pune Two, Amareesh had given me the photo of himself with Osho in Kathmandu, but I lost it.
When he left his body, I got in touch with his beloved, Shola, who had a copy.
She also shared that Amareesh told her he could always feel Osho’s touch on his arm and that this moment changed something in him.
Having played next to him on many occasions in Osho’s presence, my feeling is that it was, indeed, a transmission.
I say this because in certain moments of resonance, Amareesh, the disciple, would disappear and Osho, the master, poured through.
Perhaps this contributes to the gratitude and love that shine through his playing.

Amareesh left his body on May 14, 2018.
He was a dear friend and man of Osho.