S3 Ep Awakening

Network Sting: MSW Media

Martin: Hello and welcome to the third season of the Martin Sheen Podcast with yours truly, Martin Sheen, of course. And I’m delighted to be back hosting this podcast pilgrimage where the destination is still and always will be the journey itself. Along the way, I plan to share stories and personal memories of some of the many people, places and events that have helped to shape my lifelong happy and continuing struggle as an artist and a man to unite the will of the spirit with the work of the flesh. I also hope to explore poetry as a powerful form of expression and communication by proxy, as it were, and how poetry is such a vital and necessary component of, of our spirituality and our public discourse. And from time to time, I’ll invite friends, fellow actors, poets, scholars and family members to join our pilgrimage and discuss what inspires their artistic journey. And so, friends, let us continue.

Martin: In Gandhi’s Kindly Light.

In December 1980, Janet, Ramon, Charlie and I traveled to Kenya, where I participated in the ABC TV series the American Sportsman. The episode told the story of a young man from Washington state who purchased three retired circus elephants and returned them to their natural habitat in Africa. Our travel included an overnight stay in London before going on to Nairobi, where we awoke to the tragic news of John Lennon’s murder In New York City on December 8th. I thought to myself, dear God, when would this senseless gun violence in our country ever end? The answer is still blowing in the wind. Back home, I had been offered a feature role in Gandhi, a film on the life of Mahatma Gandhi, the founder of India’s independence movement and the father of modern India. He also remains to this day a worldwide inspiration for nonviolent resistance to oppression and injustice. I greatly admired the film’s director, Sir Richard Attenborough, who for 20 years had personally pursued every effort to bring Gandhi to the screen. Now he had succeeded and was gathering an international cast in India which included Sir John Gielgud, Candice Bergen, South African playwright Ethel Fugart, and a newcomer named Ben Kingsley to play the title role, Gandhi. Without hesitation, I accepted the role of Vince Walker, a character based on a real-life American journalist and author, Vincent Sheehan, who was the only western journalist to have witnessed Gandhi’s assassination, which he had recounted in his book Lead Kindly Light. I had a half a dozen scenes that were scheduled to film in India over five weeks beginning in January 1981 and I invited my son Emilio, who had just finished high school, to join me. But he was reluctant and for good reason. Come on, I said, it’s not going to be a,nything like the Philippines, we’ll only be in India five, six weeks tops. And you can come home anytime you change your mind. To my relief, he agreed to join me, and soon he came to view this trip as a great adventure. We both did. We took off for India in early January 1981. After stopovers in Tokyo and Bangkok, we landed in New Delhi late at night. Once we got through passport control and immigration, we collected our bags and stepped out into a sea of humanity. At first I thought a celebrity or an important government official must be arriving or departing, but no. Apparently everyone was there simply to watch the airplanes take off and land. After a brief wait in line, we slid into the next taxi, a tiny cab driven by a young Sikh. I sat directly behind him, with Emilio next to me. The cab was so small that the back of the driver’s head was only a foot and a half from my face, and I could hardly believe I was seeing tiny bugs crawling around on the back of his neck, going in and out of his turban. He didn’t seem to notice or was even bothered by them. I looked at Emilio. He saw them too. If this was a portent of what was to come, I sensed that nothing on this trip would be like anything we had experienced before. The cab ride to the Atocha Hotel carried us through densely crowded urban streets. But it was only in the light of the following day that we saw clearly the reality of humanity living on the streets of New Delhi. And since I only had two scenes to film in Delhi, I spent a good deal of free time roaming those streets with Emilio, absorbing the smells, the sights and the sounds of. Of this rare and unbelievably diverse Indian culture. On any given day, it was quite normal to breathe air with the smell of open fires and smoke that stung the back of our throats, while mules, horses, cows, camels, donkeys and even an occasional elephant strolled down the street amid the constant stream of buses, bicycles, motorcycles, scooters and mopeds, little cars and taxis, the drivers leaning heavily on their horns. And everywhere, the people, beautiful, dark skinned, black haired men and women, mostly Hindu, Muslim and Sikh, with eyes like lanterns, walking, running, strolling, yelling, laughing, singing, eating, resting, with parents carrying children, children carrying toddlers, toddlers roaming freely en masse among the blind and lame beggars, everyone moving to and fro among dozens of street vendors selling hot tea and coffee, sweet pastries, costume jewelry, candy, toys, used clothing, VHS tapes of old movies, bright colored images of Hindu deities and gurus, sandals and scarves. These extraordinary scenes of orderly chaos, resembling a costume chorus of a Verdi opera play out daily on the streets in the capital of the world’s oldest culture. And they were having a profound effect on a father and son recently arrived from the USA. On one occasion, we started giving a few rupees to a group of street children when a crowd gathered and began pressing in from all sides. We needed a policeman to get us out. Another time, as we were going through a crowd pressing coins into the hands of a few children, we drew a larger crowd and had to escape by pushing our way into a taxi. As we drove off, I heard a pounding on the back of the window and three little girls, maybe 5 or 6 years old, were hanging on to the back of the taxi, one with her face pressed right up against the glass, a foot away from mine. They were risking their lives for a few rupees. Stop the cab. I shouted. We put them inside, turned around and took them back. The people, the poverty, the possibilities. Most of the world’s population suffers from the basic lack of food, shelter and health care, as well as the fundamental need for justice, healing and compassion. It is the gross inequality of food, shelter and healthcare that divides us, of course, but it is the absolute necessity for justice, healing and compassion that unites us. While in India, I had to find a way to embrace both worlds of poverty and privilege and to stay conscious of the boundaries. Otherwise I would lose focus on my role in Gandhi, the chief purpose of my presence there. I had already filmed one sequence with one to go in Delhi. Gandhi’s funeral. Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated on January 30, 1948, and his state funeral took place the following day. Director Attenborough chose January 31, the 33rd anniversary of Gandhi’s funeral, to film the recreation. An extremely large crowd would be needed for the sequence. All the extras had to be real people on the set, in the flesh. Flyers were placed all over Delhi weeks ahead of January 31, inviting residents to celebrate the father of the nation by participating in the funeral scene and to wear traditional white clothing. Emilio and I arrived at 7am for my makeup and wardrobe. The sequence was scheduled to begin filming at 8am but kept getting delayed. No less than 11 cameras had been placed all along the Rajpath, Kings Way, the ceremonial boulevard that was the route of Gandhi’s funeral and is also the site for national parades and celebrations throughout the year. Another hour passed and the morning sun began to grow very hot. So Emilio and I decided to walk to the top of the Rajpath and to see if we could discover why the scene was still delayed. When we reached the top, turned around and looked down, we got our answer. It was an unbelievable sight. The entire route of the Raj path was jammed with more than a million people. They were packed shoulder to shoulder all along the boulevard, hanging from lampposts, dangling from trees, standing on the tops of cars. Some were even on each other’s shoulders. Young and old, rich and poor, men and women, all dressed in white. The crowd was like a living organism, moving and shimmering in the bright morning sun. It was and remains the largest cast of extras ever assembled in the history of film. Eventually I had to make my way down into the middle of that crowd and took my place in the funeral procession behind the caisson where the principal characters would walk. The military led the procession, followed by the Bengal Lancers, all of them Sikhs on horseback. Then the caisson bearing Gandhi’s body, a wax model of the actor Ben Kingsley, wrapped in a white cloth and covered with pink and yellow rose petals. Everyone was packed in very tight, with the crowd 50 deep on either side of the road when the assistant director called out action from a bullhorn and we all began to move slowly along the Rajpath as the cameras off to the left and right and from high above, captured every move of the solemn procession. After a while, the procession came to a full stop while the camera crew moved their equipment a few hundred yards up the Rajpath to film the next sequence of the mournful journey. During the interim, some of the people in the crowd around me grew restless and started throwing things at the horses and shouting at the mounted cavalry. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it sounded very angry and provocative when suddenly the horsemen charged and the crowd took off, running and screaming in every direction. I threw myself on the pavement and tucked into a ball. Oh my God, I thought, people are being trampled. And where was Emilio? He had to be down here somewhere in the crowd. For the next few moments, the only sounds were people screaming and the horses’ hooves smashing down on the pavement as they reared up and landed. Once, twice, three times. Then, just as suddenly as it had broken out, the pandemonium stopped. I opened my eyes in the eerie quiet and lifted my head. Before me at eye level, was a sea of empty shoes scattered across the pavement. Sandals, loafers, flip flops, sneakers. Every conceivable mode of footwear littered the street. People had scrambled away so fast they had run right out of their shoes. It was one of the most fascinating sights I had ever seen. But even more amazing, however, was the fact that apparently, no one had been hurt. It was clear that the Bengal Lancers had no intention of hurting anyone in the crowd. They only wanted to frighten them and remind them who was in charge. None of this was caught on film, but the Lancers seemed to know how to respond, almost as if the whole exchange had been scripted. Later it was explained to me that the desperate poor in India had few chances to vent their anger and frustration against authority. And so they do so whenever an opportunity like this one presents itself. It is considered a cultural phenomenon. Meanwhile, as I slowly stood up from the pavement, I watched the Lancers guide their horses back into formation as the people reclaimed their shoes and settled back into their places. And just as the assistant director called action once again, to my great relief, Emilio appeared nearby with a bright smile and gave me a thumbs up. It took the entire day to complete filming the funeral sequence. It is quite magnificent and it opens the film Gandhi. With filming completed in Delhi, a small portion of the crew and a few of the actors, including myself, traveled to Porbander, the seaside town in the province of Gugurat where Gandhi was born in 1869 and later returned to live. Emilio decided to join the rest of the company and travel the 700 miles by train to Bombay, now Mumbai, on the west coast of India along the Arabian Sea, where I would join him later. It was in Porbandar where Gandhi conceived the brilliant concept of the Salt March that finally convinced the British to negotiate withdrawal from India and led to independence in 1948. The Salt March is one of the most powerful sequences in the film, and I was delighted to be a part of it. Another scene filmed in Porbandar was the so called wedding scene where Gandhi and his wife Kasturba recreated their wedding ceremony. The ritual involves seven symbolic steps the bride and groom take together as they begin a journey that is not just about them, but also about their responsibilities to their community. Take the fifth step, Gandhi says as they slowly circle an imaginary fire, that we may serve the people. I will follow close behind and help you serve the people. Kasturba answers. The final vow of a Hindu wedding is the seventh step that we may ever live as friends. They were each only 13 years of age when they married, and they remained together for 60 years until her death in 1944. With filming complete in Porbandar, I rejoined Emilio in Bombay to film the last two scenes. One day on the set, director Richard Attenborough announced that his dear friend Mother Teresa had invited the entire cast and crew of Gandhi to meet with her in Calcutta the following Sunday. I could hardly contain my excitement as I rushed back to the hotel and shared this extraordinary news with Emilio. Guess what? I shouted. We’ve been invited to meet Mother Teresa. Who? He asked innocently. You know very well who. The Mother Teresa. We’ve been invited to meet Mother Teresa personally. We take the train Saturday night and arrive in Calcutta Sunday morning. We go right to her home for the dead and Dying for Mass, and afterwards Mother will receive us. Okay, Emilio responds, but why do you want to do that? What’s the matter with you? I laughed, thinking he was putting me on. This is a world-renowned living saint, for heaven’s sakes, and we have an opportunity to meet her personally, maybe even get a photo with her. It’s an opportunity of a lifetime. I understand all that, Emilio said, and by the way, I know who she is. I just want to know why you want to meet her so badly. I was running out of patience when I blurted out, so I can tell everyone that I met h-  I, I stopped mid-sentence. It was perfectly clear. I only wanted to meet Mother Teresa so that I could brag about it. Emilio made me realize that meeting Mother Teresa for the wrong reason would be worse than not meeting her at all. So I decided to pass on the trip to Calcutta. It would be another 10 years before I finally did meet Mother Teresa in Rome. And when I told her this story, we shared a good laugh. And I shared that story in another episode. Most Westerners are not prepared for the assault on the senses that India will deliver, especially the assault on one’s sense of justice. And while it’s equally true that I wasn’t consciously seeking any spiritual connection or Eastern mysticism, our time in India clearly did ignite a deeper sense of personal spiritual need in me that would surface four months later in Paris on the first day of May. And I’ll cover that story in another episode as well.

Martin: Please stay with us. We’ll be right back.

Martin: Thank you for staying with us

Martin: Here now Face to face from  Rabindranath Tagore Day after day, O Lord of my life, shall I stand before thee face to face. With folded hands, O Lord of all worlds shall I stand before thee face to face. Under thy great sky in solitude and silence, with humble heart shall I stand before Thee face to face. In this laborious world of thine, tumultuous with toil and with struggle, among hurrying crowds shall I stand before thee face to face. And when my work shall be done in this world, O King of kings, alone and speechless shall I stand before thee face to face. Rabindranath Tagore was born May 7, 1861 in Bengal, India. He was a poet, novelist, writer, playwright, composer, philosopher, social reformer and painter of the Bengali Renaissance. His novels, stories, songs and essays speak to topics political, personal and spiritual. Tagore joined Mahatma Gandhi’s nonviolent movement advocating independence from Great Britain. Mostly known for his poetry, Tagore was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1917. Ramandranath Tagore died August 7, 1941. He was 80 years old.

Martin: I invite you to delve further into the works of the poets I shared with you, and I hope you seek out writers and poets whose work speaks to your hearts and minds with the power to inspire your life. If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve heard here, please subscribe to my podcast, The Martin Sheen Podcast, with your host, yours truly, Martin Sheen. Of course, wherever you find your podcasts. Yeah, I still have to say that. You can find a complete list of the poets and titles of their poems that I’ve chosen at our website themartensheenpodcast.com

I want to thank the people who make this podcast possible. Our producer and research assistant, Renee Estevez, whose explanation of the Internet really gets me thinking…What’s for lunch? And our sound engineer and editor, Bruce Greenspan, the man behind these rich and seamless recordings with the much-deserved nickname the Sound Surgeon. And I especially want to thank you, our listeners, for joining me.

And so, friends, we part with the prayer from Tagore.

We are called to lift up this nation and all its people to that place where the heart is without fear and the head is held high. Where knowledge is free, where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls. Where words come out from the depths of truth and tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection. Where the clear stream of reason, has not lost its way into the dreary desert sands of dead habit, where the mind is led forward by thee into ever widening thought and action. Into that heaven of, freedom. Dear Father, let our country awake. Amen.

Renee: The Martin Sheen Podcast. All rights reserved. No part of this podcast may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form without prior written consent of the author and TE Productions.

The story “In Gandhi’s Kindly Light” by Ramon Gerard Estevez, AKA Martin Sheen, is included here by granted copyright permission.