We were mesmerized as Prabhupada spoke on those golden mornings over the raucous cawing of crows outside, coo-cooing of pigeons in the courtyard. Changing expressions moved across his golden face, like the play of cumulus and sunlight over a varied landscape. One moment he was from our world and the next from a world we couldn’t penetrate, the self-contained knower of everything. Then suddenly he’s tossing a ball to you in a friendly game of verbal catch – maybe a fastball to see if you can catch it. He might break from describing Krishna’s vast cosmic design to real concern for your upset stomach: “Just try little bicarbonate soda, one spoonful in water.” None of us had ever seen such depth of personality.