It’s Official: Osho is Dead

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It’s Official: Osho is Dead

Illustration: Saachi Mehta/ Arré

L

ong ago, before Amrita turned into a wispy, grey-haired woman, who eventually lost her teeth to a lifelong heroin habit, she arrived in Pune in the winter of 1978 as a young, unhappy woman. As soon as she entered Koregaon Park, she saw red-robed people walking toward a massive gate, like aliens returning to their mother ship. She had no idea who Osho was.

Amrita was at a loose end in her life. Single, unemployed and on a slow spiral into the world of addiction, she signed up and donned the red robes. Inside, a new world opened up – an open-air, tropical paradise with swaying palms, waterbodies, and flowering gardens, where other red robes moved around unhurriedly, chatting on lawns or hugging one another lingeringly.

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