LESSON ONE

Use Anger for Good

My grandfather amazed the world by responding to violence and hatred with love and forgiveness. He never fell prey to the toxicity of anger. I was not so successful. As an Indian child growing up in racially charged South Africa, I was attacked by white children for not being white enough and black children for not being black.

I remember walking to buy candy one Saturday afternoon in a white neighborhood when three teenage boys pounced on me. One slapped me across the face, and when I fell, the other two started kicking me and laughing. They ran away before anyone could catch them. I was just nine years old. The next year, during the Hindu Festival of Lights, my family was in town rejoicing with friends. Heading to one of their homes, I passed a group of young black African men hanging out on the street corner. One of them reached over and whacked me hard across the back with a stick for no reason other than that I was Indian. I seethed with fury and wanted to retaliate.

I began weightlifting with some vague idea that I would become strong enough to get my revenge. My parents, who saw themselves as ambassadors of Bapuji’s teachings of nonviolence, despaired that I got into so many fights. They tried to make me less aggressive, but they couldn’t do much about my rage.

I wasn’t happy about being angry all the time. Holding grudges and fantasizing about getting even made me feel weaker, not stronger. My parents hoped that my staying at the ashram with Bapuji would help me understand my inner fury and be better able to cope with it. I too hoped so.

In my first meetings with my grandfather, I was struck that he always seemed calm and in control, no matter what anyone said or did. I promised myself that I would follow his example, and I didn’t do badly for a while. After my parents and sister left, I met some boys my age who lived in the village down the road, and we started to play together. They had an old tennis ball they used for a soccer ball, and I put a couple of stones in place for the goals.

I loved playing soccer. Even though the kids made fun of my South African accent from the very first day, I had dealt with worse, so I tolerated their ribbing. But in the midst of one fast-moving game, one of the boys purposely tripped me as I chased after the ball. I fell to the hard and dusty ground. My ego was as badly bruised as my knee—and I felt a familiar rush of anger, my heart beating hard in my chest and my mind wanting revenge. I grabbed a rock. Getting up off the ground, furious, I raised my arm to throw the rock as hard as I could at the offender.

But a small voice in my head said, “Don’t do it.”

I threw the rock to the ground and ran back to the ashram. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I found my grandfather and told him the story.

“I am angry all the time, Bapuji. I don’t know what to do.”

I had let him down and thought he would be unhappy with me. But he patted me soothingly on the back and said, “Get your spinning wheel and let us both spin some cotton.”

My grandfather had taught me how to use a spinning wheel as soon as I arrived at the ashram. I did it every day for an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening; it was very calming. Bapuji liked to multitask even before anybody used that word. He would often say, “While sitting and speaking, we can use our hands to spin.” Now I got the little machine and set it up.

Bapuji smiled and prepared to spin a lesson along with the cotton.

“I want to tell you a story,” he said, as I took my place next to him. “There once was a boy your age. He was always angry because nothing seemed to happen his way. He couldn’t recognize the value of other people’s perspectives, and so when people provoked him, he responded with angry outbursts.”

I suspected the boy was me, so I kept spinning and listened even more intently.

“One day he got into a very serious fight and accidentally committed murder,” he continued. “In one moment of thoughtless passion he destroyed his own life by taking the life of someone else.”

“I promise, Bapuji, I’ll be better.” I hadn’t the faintest idea how to be better, but I didn’t want my anger to kill someone.

Bapuji nodded. “You do have a lot of rage,” he said. “Your parents told me about all the fights you have been in at home.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, afraid that I would start to cry again.

But Bapuji had planned a different moral than I expected. He looked over at me from behind his spinning wheel. “I am glad to see you can be moved to anger. Anger is good. I get angry all the time,” he confessed as his fingers turned the wheel.

I could not believe what I was hearing. “I have never seen you angry,” I replied.

“Because I have learned to use my anger for good,” he explained. “Anger to people is like gas to the automobile—it fuels you to move forward and get to a better place. Without it, we would not be motivated to rise to a challenge. It is an energy that compels us to define what is just and unjust.”

Use your anger for good. Anger to people is like gas to the automobile—it fuels you to move forward and get to a better place. Without it, we would not be motivated to rise to a challenge. It is an energy that compels us to define what is just and unjust.

Grandfather explained that when he was a boy in South Africa, he too had suffered from violent prejudice, and it made him angry. But eventually he learned that it didn’t help to seek vengeance, and he began to fight against prejudice and discrimination with compassion, responding to anger and hate with goodness. He believed in the power of truth and love. Seeking revenge made no sense to him. An eye for an eye only makes the whole world blind.

I was surprised to learn that Bapuji hadn’t been born even-tempered. Now he was revered and called by the honorific Mahatma, but once he was just an unruly kid. When he was my age, he stole money from his parents to buy cigarettes and got into trouble with other kids. After an arranged marriage with my grandmother when they were both just thirteen years old, he sometimes shouted at her, and once, after an argument, he tried to physically throw her out of the house. But he didn’t like the person he was becoming, so he began to mold himself into the even-tempered, well-controlled person he wanted to be.

“So I could learn to do that?” I asked.

“You are doing it right now,” he said with a smile.

As we both sat at our spinning wheels, I tried to let it sink in that anger could be used for good. I might still feel anger, but I could learn to channel it to positive ends—like the political changes Grandfather calmly pursued in South Africa and India.

Bapuji explained that our spinning wheels themselves were an example of how anger could create positive change. Producing cloth had been a cottage industry in India for centuries, but now the big textile mills in Great Britain were taking cotton from India, processing it, and selling it back to Indians at high prices. The people were angry; they were in rags because they couldn’t afford to buy British-made cloth. But instead of attacking the British industry for impoverishing people, Bapuji himself began spinning as a way of encouraging every family to have their own wheel and be self-sufficient. It had a huge impact all across the country and in England.

Bapuji saw that I was listening intently, so he offered another analogy—he did love analogies!—comparing anger to electricity. “When we channel electricity intelligently, we can use it to improve our life, but if we abuse it, we could die. So as with electricity, we must learn to use anger wisely for the good of humanity.”

When we channel electricity intelligently, we can use it to improve our life, but if we abuse it, we could die. So as with electricity, we must learn to use anger wisely for the good of humanity.

I didn’t want my anger to short-circuit my life or anyone else’s. But how could I make it a spark for change?

Bapuji was deeply spiritual, but he could be practical too. He gave me a notebook and a pencil and told me that I should use them to keep an anger journal. “Every time you feel great anger, stop and write down who or what caused your feelings and why you reacted so angrily,” he instructed. “The goal is to get to the root of the anger. Only when you understand the source can you find a solution.”

The key, Bapuji explained, was acknowledging everyone’s point of view. An anger journal wasn’t just a way to spew anger and feel righteous, as too many people do now. (Then they reread the journal and feel angry and justified all over again!) Instead an anger journal should be a way of trying to understand what caused the conflict and how it can be resolved. I needed to detach myself and see the other person’s side. This wasn’t a prescription for giving in to the other person, but rather a technique for finding a solution that didn’t lead to more anger and resentment.

Sometimes we think we want to resolve conflicts, but our methods just make things worse. We turn angry and intimidating, thinking we will make people do what we want. But attacks and criticism and threats of punishment backfire with both children and adults. Our angry responses cause the battles to escalate. We become bullies, not realizing that bullies ultimately aren’t powerful at all. Those who display meanness and a berating style on the playground, in business, or in political campaigns are usually the weakest and most insecure. Bapuji taught me that being able to understand another’s viewpoint and forgive is the sign of real strength.

Bapuji explained that we spend a lot of time building strong and healthy bodies but not enough time building a strong and healthy mind. If our mind isn’t under our control, we get angry and snap and say or do something we later regret. There are probably dozens of times in each day when we feel that surge of anger or frustration and have to decide how to respond. A colleague at work says something, and we give a snippy reply, or we get an irritating e-mail and fire back without thinking. We even let our anger hurt the people we love the most, our children or spouse. They disappoint us or say something we disagree with, and we lash out.

Our words can irreparably hurt the people we should be treating with kindness and love—and we don’t realize that the anger is hurting us too. Think how miserable you feel when you’re being insulting or cruel to someone. Your body tenses and your mind feels like it’s on fire. You get consumed by your outburst and can’t focus on anything else. Anger narrows your world so that all you can see is the insult of the moment. Maybe later you calm down and go back to apologize, but the harm is already done. When we react rashly and lash out, it’s as if we have shot bullets that can’t be put back in the gun.

We have to remember that we have the option to react differently.

That day at the spinning wheel, Bapuji told me about the need to treat anger as a warning that something is wrong. Writing in the journal was just a first step. Gaining control over my mind would ensure that I could respond properly in the future. Instead of saying something you don’t mean or inflicting emotional harm on others, Grandfather explained, you can focus on a solution that will make everyone happy. If your immediate response didn’t help, what reaction might bring better understanding?

“I need to strengthen my mind, Bapuji!” I said. “What kind of exercises do I need to do?”

He told me to start very simply. I should sit in a quiet room without any distractions (these days that would mean no cell phone!) and hold something lovely, like a flower or a photograph of a flower, in front of me. I should concentrate fully on the object for a minute or more, then close my eyes and see how long I could hold the image in my mind. In the beginning the image might vanish almost as soon as I closed my eyes. But if I did it regularly, I would be able to hold the image longer and longer. That showed I was pushing out distractions and gaining control over my mind.

When you grow up, he told me, you can go to the second stage of the exercise. In that same quiet room, close your eyes and let yourself be aware only of how you are breathing in and out. Try to focus your mind completely on your breathing and keep extraneous thoughts away. These exercises will give you greater control over your responses, he said, so that in a moment of crisis you will not act rashly.

I started doing Bapuji’s exercise the next day—and I still do it faithfully. It remains the best way I know to control my mind. It took me some months to learn how to channel my anger into intelligent action, but eventually I did succeed. This kind of anger management is a lifelong exercise. You cannot do it for a few months and think you have mastered it. Circumstances in life change, and along with it the triggers that cause anger also change. So it is important to be constantly vigilant and prepared to deal with any curveball thrown at us.

I was curious to know how my grandfather first learned about anger being used for good. “Bapuji, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course you may, Arun,” he responded.

“How did you learn about anger being so useful and powerful?”

He stopped spinning and laughed out loud. “It was your grandmother who taught me this lesson.”

“Really? How? What happened?”

“I was married so young and I didn’t know how to behave with a wife. After school I would go to the library to find books on marital relationships. We had one argument where I was shouting and she responded calmly and rationally. I was speechless. Later I thought about this episode and realized how irrational we get when angry and how beautifully your grandmother defused the situation. If she had retorted angrily we would have had a shouting match, and who knows where that would have ended? The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that we must all learn how to use anger intelligently.”

My grandmother had recently died in jail, sent there with Bapuji for civil disobedience, and I knew how much he missed her. He held a prayer service every month in her memory. His story made me realize how powerful it is to respond calmly when someone is angry. It’s unusual too. More often, when one person starts shouting, the other person gets defensive and shouts back, raising the level of anger higher and higher. But if you can speak kindly to the people who hurt you or made you angry, the moment gets turned on its head.

I understood that lesson in a theoretical way when Bapuji taught it to me, but it became real only years later, as the result of a situation that brought all my emotions to a boil. At age twenty-two, living in South Africa again, I returned to India to visit relatives. As I was planning to go back home and continue the fight against discrimination and apartheid, I got acute appendicitis and needed immediate surgery. The nurse who admitted me, Sunanda Ambegaonkar, was both kind and beautiful, and in the five days I was in hospital she completely captured my heart. We were both very shy, and it took me a long time to convince her to go with me to a movie. I arrived at the theater at 3 p.m. and waited and waited. And waited. She finally arrived just before 6 p.m., not expecting to find me there. She claimed a medical emergency delayed her, but later she admitted she had simply suffered from cold feet.

After that rocky start, we fell in love and got married. Sunanda needed a visa to return with me to South Africa, but I didn’t anticipate any problem. Since I was a citizen of the country, I should have had the right to bring my spouse with me. But those were the days of rigid apartheid, and she wasn’t welcome. For more than a year we did everything we could to persuade the government to let us return—but we got nowhere. She couldn’t come with me. I had to choose between being with my bride in India and being with my widowed mother and sisters in South Africa. I was angry and distraught. How could a government cause such unnecessary grief? The decision was heartrending, but I chose to stay with my adored new wife and live in India.

About ten years later a good friend of mine came to India to visit. When I met his ship, a white man grabbed my hand and said he was going to be in Mumbai for almost a week and was eager to see the city. Since I was the first Indian he had encountered, might I be able to help? He introduced himself as Jackie Basson, a member of Parliament in South Africa.

I felt the old fury rising in me. His government had insulted me and refused to let me return. I didn’t want to help him—I wanted to throw him overboard and get my revenge. But by then I’d had some practice in Bapuji’s lessons on channeling anger intelligently, so I swallowed hard and decided not to act rashly. I shook hands with him and explained politely that I was a victim of apartheid, forced to be in India because his government wouldn’t let my dear wife return with me.

“I disagree with what your government is doing,” I told him. “However, you are a guest in this city and I am going to ensure that you have a pleasant stay.”

First I got my good friend settled; then, for the next several days, my wife and I took Mr. and Mrs. Basson around Mumbai, treating them warmly and showing them the sights. We talked about apartheid and how it had pulled our family apart. On the last day, we said good-bye—and both of them began weeping.

“You have opened our eyes to the evils of prejudice,” Basson said, embracing me. “The government I have supported is wrong. We will go back and fight apartheid.”

As I watched them board the ship, I was dubious that our few days together had really changed his position. “I’m not sure how sincere he is,” I said to my wife. “Let’s wait and see what happens.”

I didn’t have to wait long. The moment Basson got back home, he began speaking out against apartheid. He was so ardent in his opposition that the ruling party threw him out and he lost the next election. But he remained steadfast, and his strength no doubt helped persuade others.

Observing his incredible change confirmed for me the power of Bapuji’s philosophy of using anger intelligently. If I had snapped at Basson (or thrown him overboard), as I wanted to when we first met, I would have had some momentary satisfaction. I’d have rebuked a government official—and he deserved it! But the end result wouldn’t have been satisfying at all. He would have gone back home more convinced than ever that racism was the correct position and that he should stay away from blacks and Indians.

Using anger intelligently makes life better on a personal basis and a global one too. Grandfather discovered that early in his political experience. Back in 1913, when he lived in South Africa, he wanted to launch another campaign against the prejudice and segregation there. He made a friendly request to the government for a dialogue, making sure he didn’t use any aggressive or accusatory language. When the government failed to respond, he let the public know that he was seeking a peaceful solution and had no aggressive intentions, and he asked the people to join him in civil protests.

At about the same time, the workers of South African Railways announced they were going to strike for better working conditions. Grandfather realized this would be a huge inconvenience and dominate everyone’s attention, so he decided to suspend his campaign until the strike ended.

“You should join us,” one leader suggested. “Let’s join forces. A strike is a legitimate nonviolent campaign, and we are fighting a common enemy.”

“I don’t consider anyone to be my enemy,” Grandfather replied. “They are all my friends. I want to educate them and change their hearts.”

The workers struck as planned and went out into the streets, shouting angry slogans. They were furious and frustrated and easily incited to violence, which gave the police justification for using excessive force to battle them and crush the strike. In about four days the workers had to go back to work without gaining anything.

Shortly after, Bapuji launched his campaign against discrimination. He set a tone of quiet protest without anger. In spite of police atrocities, he never referred to the police or the administration as enemies. His idea was to win the sympathy of everyone—including the police—not to hurt or embarrass them. When the police came to make arrests, Bapuji and his followers quietly submitted, calmly stepping into the police vans. Other protesters took their place, and they too were taken away. This continued until, after two weeks, the prisons were so full they could not accommodate another person. The prime minister, General Jan C. Smuts, then invited Grandfather to discuss a settlement. When they sat down together, Smuts confessed that he did not know how to deal with Grandfather and his followers: “You are always so respectful, kind, and considerate that it is hard to crush you with violence. It was much easier to attack the strikers who displayed so much anger.”

Being calm in the face of anger isn’t always easy, but once you try it and see the results, you will believe in it. You don’t have to wait for a major event or protest; it’s a method we can all try on a daily basis with the people closest to us. As we change our own abilities to channel anger, we will see changes in the people around us. Nobody wants to be bullied; we would all rather be understood and appreciated. Letting anger motivate us to correct wrongs has great value, but only when our real goal is to seek a solution and not just prove that we are right.

As we sat at our spinning wheels that day at the ashram, Bapuji hugged me and hoped that I understood his lesson. “Use your anger wisely,” he told me. “Let it help you find solutions of love and truth.”

Use your anger wisely. Let it help you find solutions of love and truth.

I felt Bapuji’s love very deeply, and from that moment I understood that love and kindness are stronger than anger. I would continue to face injustice and prejudice my whole life, but I would never again feel I had to throw a rock. I could find other solutions.