And that was the joy and the lightness: the laughter in all of this. Prabhupada just tickled my funny bone with so many things he said and did. I found myself cracking up in his conversations with others, and even in his lectures. Sometimes, together, we acted almost like the American TV duo, Johnny Carson and Ed McMahon — Ed laughed at nearly everything Johnny said. Srila Prabhupada often gave me that sideways glance, raising his eyebrows, indicating, “You like the show, eh? Am I doing all right?” I was like Prabhupada’s audience meter; when I’d send him a laugh, he’d up the energy and lay you out in the aisles. And then he’d come in with the kicker: “So long I am here, let us try something tangible, not simply fairytale proposals.”

I ask, “Srila Prabhupada, what is laughter?”

He says, “It is the difference between what you expect and what really happens.”

“Well, then, Prabhupada, why do you always make me laugh?”

“Perhaps you expect too much from me.”