swami

While for some devotees there was no matter too trivial on which to consult him—“Swami Ji, should I cut my hair?”

She just yelled at me and told me I had to go work things out with Swami Ji.

In April, I met in Manhattan with Swami Nikhilanand Ji, a JKP preacher who studied at Barsana Dham.

And you knew, right away, that Swami was a phony from Flatbush.

The Swami seemed to sense the impatience, or it might have been coincidence.

This was probably not typical of the Swami's usual audience composition.

The Swami was an obvious phony of the baldest fakery, yet he had something.

"Float me over that ash tray there on the desk," I said casually to the Swami.