THE CATCHING FORCE

Chapter One

"I'm coming to Anjuna with you," I announced that first evening on the boat. Mildly surprised, possibly processing that I could be a little unstable, but clearly welcoming my enthusiasm, Father Joe explained it would mean a crack-of-dawn departure, a long car journey and a hurried visit as we both had afternoon flights to catch. I was undeterred. During that first conversation, we had exchanged nothing much in the way of small talk. He did, however, ask me two pertinent questions: Did I have a back problem, as I looked "very uncomfortable"? And did I meditate?

Climbing into a taxi before dawn the next morning, I thought back to a time not long ago when a rapacious depression had gripped me — yet here I was embarking on a new adventure. A bumpy hour and a half later, my taxi pulled up at the Kripa property. Father Joe was on the steps of the porch, waiting for me, mid-conversation on a Bluetooth appliance, his iPhone neatly tucked in the breast pocket of an immaculately tailored blue shirt. This was an uplifting sight I would become accustomed to over the next few years in many different countries. "Come," he said with a warm smile as he led me across a garden into a large, tired but impressive building.

In a high-ceilinged room off the main hall, we joined around 25 men seated in a circle. The daily 12-Step group meeting had been moved to a much earlier hour on my behalf. During the meeting Father Joe translated from Hindi to English for my benefit. The format of this meeting was the same as the thousands I'd attended over the last 20 years in many countries, but this hour spent with these men, in this place, was an especially profound experience.

Those of us who suffer from addiction — a mental, physical and spiritual affliction with its subsequent ill health, peculiar mental twists, emotional difficulties, and spiritual drought — share something fundamental. All differences of sex, race, language and culture cease to matter. A duck out of water, a posh woman with a liking for Anya Hindmarch accessories, I felt welcome here — at home even.

***

Twenty-four hours later I messaged Father Joe from Chennai beach, thanking him for letting me visit Kripa Anjuna, and asking if I could visit his HQ in Mumbai before flying back to London. I had never met anyone like him before — somebody who embodied the principles of uprightness, goodness, compassion and discipline. I recognised how rare he was and I didn't want to lose him. In fact, I felt that if I didn't hang on to him he might disappear in a cloud of dust, and all I would be left with was a pleasant dream.

Father Joe seemed undisturbed by my stalking, having quickly adjusted to my eccentricity. Imbued with Father Joe's serene positivity, I felt braver and more energetic than I had for years. I also desperately wanted to believe him when he said that my long-term back pain could be "wiped out" by yoga if practised rigorously and precisely, not, he said firmly, by "jumping around like they do in the West".

The next morning I flew to Mumbai. I headed to Father Joe's parish office in Bandra — I had arrived at Mount Carmel's Parish School, also the headquarters of Kripa. Father Joe greeted me and led me to his office, which was furnished with a large round table, several chairs, a single bed, a wash basin with a small shaving mirror on the wall above it, a wall clock, some yoga equipment and hundreds of books. Father Joe lived there six days a week, except between May and September when he was travelling. Several wooden school chairs lined the corridor outside his room; later I saw his parishioners patiently seated in a queue, waiting to see him.

“Nobody understands the addict.”

FATHER JOE PEREIRA

His compassion for addicts is infinite and his understanding of their "out of control" natural instincts and talent for self-sabotage is extensive. Although he is a Catholic priest and he calls Jesus Christ his "Supreme Yogi", Father Joe works with people of all faiths — as well as those who have none. "I have seen the pain of recovering people," he says. "Where do they get any understanding in temples, mosques or churches? These structures have become empty shells … Young people get turned off from anything called 'religion'. There is nothing for them there."

His life's calling is to work with addicts combining the 12-Step Programme with Iyengar Yoga, through which he introduces people to spirituality through the body. "In addiction disorders you have to be able to give people a felt experience," he says, "not just an intellectual one." He believes that yoga provides this experience.

The next five days I spent shadowing Father Joe in Mumbai. My first experience of yoga with Father Joe was his weekly class held in the church hall adjoining his parish office. It was unlike any yoga class I'd ever been to. I was the only person wearing yoga gear. There seemed to be no level — his students varied in age between 18 and 90, some appeared healthy and athletic, others physically challenged. Inclusivity was the first thing that struck me: this was very much a class for everyone.

"We are all beginners," Father Joe said. I initially baulked at this. "Me, a beginner? But I'd been practising yoga for forty years!" Counterintuitively, the more I tried to be good at a pose the stricter he was with me. Those who struggled, or were accepting about their limitations, seemed to be his best students. A paradigm shift in my attitude took place.

I also realised that although I had "done" yoga all my life, I had never practised it for the purpose that it was intended for — to prepare the body for meditation, for the experience of one's innermost being. Meditation was something I had never understood and had actively avoided. Father Joe's simple statement, like everything he says in class, was rooted in truth and deep wisdom.

***

On the second day Father Joe asked me if I would meet a friend of his who was in a complicated relationship. We spent two hours together. I had the feeling that, apart from Father Joe, she'd never talked to another person about her situation. Our conversation had a profound effect on me — it was as if I could feel her pain, so reminiscent of my own.

When she left I was immediately struck by a searing pain between my temples. Knowing that Father Joe was expecting me at West Bandra I managed to text him the words, "I can't get there … sorry, terrible headache." He texted back immediately, "On my way." Fifteen minutes later there was a knock at the door. It was Father Joe. I don't think we spoke. Having closed the door I lay back on the sofa with my eyes closed. I heard him draw up a chair next to me and then I felt his palm on my forehead, quietly applying a gentle pressure. I fell briefly asleep. A few minutes later he removed his hand. My headache was gone.

Father Joe sat for a while as I made us both a cup of tea. "You know, I was in love once," he said. I was surprised by his revelation and said nothing. "As a young priest in the early 1970s I met a lovely girl, Sarah," he continued. Then his phone began to buzz in his pocket. "Another time," he gestured as he got up from his chair. "I'll see you at yoga, 6 pm?" This was not a question, but a command.

***

A few days later, I found myself in a smart Mumbai restaurant having supper with Father Joe. As I looked around I noticed that every table was set for two and a single pink rose in a thin white vase adorned each of them. With amusement I realised that it was Valentine's Day and here I was sitting opposite an unmarried man with movie star looks and beautiful hands.

When I'd got over my coyness it occurred to me that this was perhaps the nicest Valentine's Day I'd ever had. Ironic, but perfect. Here was a man who existed outside of the culture of romantic love. Some time later he told me that his definition of love was "the encounter with another person, which is an encounter with God."

I found myself longing to pick up the threads of our last conversation about his younger days. Father Joe sat back and started to tell me his story. The 1970s, the Singing Priest, the girl called Sarah, the crisis of faith, the colleagues who had left the priesthood — and two who had taken their own lives. "I was in two minds about whether I should quit," he said quietly. "It was meeting Mother Teresa that renewed my faith — but that's another, longer story." He looked at his watch, made a mental calculation and simultaneously enquired, "Shall we have some sorbet?"

***

When I left Mumbai for London a week later, Father Joe stood with me on the tarmac outside the terminal. He slipped a white canvas Iyengar Yoga belt over my head, winched it tightly around my hips and told me not to remove it until I landed. He promised it would ease my sciatic pain on the journey. Then he asked, "Do you know this quote by Mother Julian of Norwich?" and without waiting for a reply continued, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." "When you are worried," he said, "repeat this mantra."

We hugged goodbye and he said, "You see, you are a person who makes things happen." It struck me as the greatest compliment I had ever received — especially as it came from a man who had made many great things happen, sometimes against impossible odds.

I have a framed photograph of Father Joe outside the airport that day, dressed in a blue short-sleeved shirt and Aviators. Every time I look at it it reminds me of the stab of separation anxiety I felt. I didn't want to leave him. It took me several partings in several countries, before I stopped fearing our sometimes long periods apart. Eventually, I was able to feel his presence at all times.

On my return to London, I resumed my normal life. But I had been so privileged all my life, so lucky, and now I had the chance to explore another territory by following this visionary priest. Before I left Mumbai I had asked Father Joe what I could take away with me to continue my practice. He handed me a tiny booklet of yoga poses. I was amazed that this slim volume was practically all that existed in print of Father Joe's life, work and teachings. The seeds of a creative collaboration were sown.

I mentioned the idea of a book to a few of my friends and they all came back with the same response: "But Cosi, why don't you write it?" I was stumped. Of course that's what I needed to consider — but I have a first class degree in avoidance and wanted to hand over to someone more clever, successful, competent than me, to do Father Joe justice. Who was I to consider writing the life of such a learned, disciplined man? And what if I failed?

END OF CHAPTER ONE

The Catching Force is available now