Swami Brahm Bodhi

4 December, 2025

“Please fasten your seat belt”—with this announcement, the movement of my thoughts pauses for a moment, though the aircraft begins to race down the runway at a swift pace. Within moments it pierces the clouds and seems to converse with the sky. Below us lies a dense expanse of cloud.

After a short while, the drinks trolley arrives. Various bottles are arranged upon it; I do not know what they contain. So I take only water and orange juice. Then an air hostess comes to me a little perturbed and perplexed, and asks only me, “Have you ordered a special meal?”

I reply, “I am a vegetarian, so I would like a vegetarian meal. I don’t know what a special meal means.”
I merely clarify that I am vegetarian and would prefer a vegetarian dish.

She appears somewhat puzzled and walks away. I am confident, however, that while booking the ticket my son must have opted for a vegetarian meal; so I feel assured that the meal will be available.

I have travelled to many countries—England, France, South Korea, Hong Kong, Thailand, and Japan—and have found vegetarianism extremely limited. I usually avoid eating outside. Sometimes I managed with condensed milk and bread; sometimes with powdered milk. At a party in South Korea, a sandwich seemed safe, yet inside it I saw a red slice of meat; I ate nothing.

Since then I have learnt that the safest companion in foreign travel is sattu—roasted gram flour. It needs no spices, no cooking. Mix it in water anywhere; add salt or sugar, and one is full. Fruits too are a very safe option worldwide for vegetarian travellers.

In most countries outside India, compassion toward animals has not evolved. It is Sanatan Dharma alone that has deeply articulated the principle of “reverence for all life.” I have read the principal scriptures of all major non-Indian religions as well; all faiths that arose outside India contain the idea that animals exist for human use and that killing and eating them is not wrong. In some countries—especially atheist nations like China—almost every creature is eaten. In parks, dogs are hung and roasted alive, and this is considered a delicacy. The suffering and pain of birds and animals carries no weight.

In such an environment, a thought-system centered on vegetarianism, like India’s, could not naturally develop. Yes, through cultural mixing with foreign traditions, meat-eating in India has increased, but even today India ranks lowest on the OECD list in combined per-capita fish and meat consumption.

However, vegetarianism is now rising globally—not mainly out of compassion, but because science has conclusively shown that meat-eaters live, on average, six years less, due to meat-related diseases. One survey found that the Seventh-day Adventists—a Christian group that avoids meat, fish, and tobacco—live the longest.

When I was a student—about fifty years ago—there was a debate whether vegetarian food contained all amino acids. I had read the entries in both Encyclopaedia Britannica and Children’s Britannica. One confirmed that all amino acids were present; the other expressed a little doubt.
Now this debate is settled. Harvard Health and the Mayo Clinic clearly state that a fully vegetarian diet lacks no amino acid.

It would be wrong to say that India never had violence toward animals। Meat-eating existed; the Vedas mention animal sacrifice. Some modern Vedic scholars deny this, but Manusmriti contains both partial approval and prohibition of meat.

In this context, the Bhagavata Purana gives two observations:
(1) that those who perform animal sacrifices go to hell, and
(2) that some priests promoted sacrifice out of self-interest, so that under the name of “offering to God,” they too could eat meat.

But in the Bhagavad Gita, there is a clear instruction of friendliness and compassion toward all beings, and of a sattvic diet.

After some time, the dinner trolley arrives. A sharp and unpleasant smell—perhaps of meat—spreads. I cannot bear it, so I cover my nose with a handkerchief. I ask the hostess whether a vegetarian meal is available. She says she will check.

A British woman seated beside me says that she needs a vegan meal—plant-based and completely dairy-free. This is reassuring.

In the West a small movement called “animal rights” has begun—not rooted in religion, but in humanity—which regards animal-killing as inhuman.

My plane has landed at J. F. K. Airport, New York. I pass immigration and reach the baggage claim area. Suitcases keep circling on the round belt. Some people at home fear that I may mistakenly pick up someone else’s similar suitcase and walk away with that. For this reason, a little red paint has been put on the lock of my suitcase. This fear is imaginary—there is no empirical evidence that I have ever made such a mistake. However, I may agree that it helps identification, for today innumerable suitcases look alike.

I recognise my suitcase and lift it, then walk toward the row of trolleys kept nearby. A white guard is standing there. He says, “Six dollars.”

I am surprised—trolleys are free in India, and in England too. Is America so short of my funds? Or is it simply a completely commercial nation? Even the trolley carries a 600% tariff!

I reflect: I have little luggage, and the suitcase has wheels. So why would I need a trolley?

I set the suitcase upright and take out my mobile to inform home that I have arrived safely. India is not a person-centric but a family-centric country; families remain deeply connected; concern is their natural disposition. So everyone will be worried. It is necessary to inform them, and also my well-wishers in London, that I have reached New York.

But JFK’s free Wi-Fi does not connect—one advertisement after another. Finally, through those layered ads, I manage to connect and send a message to a few people, then move to exit.

Even before accessing free Wi-Fi, advertisements—and more advertisements!
A remarkable commercial nation.

I have reached the home of my batchmate and friend, Mr. Rahul Sur, in Manhattan, New York. On the way, amid light and darkness, the city does not present any clear image.

Even after reaching home I cannot send a message, because I need the Wi-Fi password. My friend has forgotten to give me the password and gone to sleep, so I too retire to my room.

His daily routine is disciplined and regular. He avoids late-night wakefulness entirely—a pleasant thing to see.