This evening I’m at the Radha Damodara temple. Neither large nor ornate, hidden away in an obscure gully of Vrindavana, the unassuming entrance gives no hint of what’s inside. It’s an Aladdin’s cave! The penetrating vibrations from centuries of singing, spiritual discourse and heartfelt prayer by saints of the highest calibre pulsates through the ether. The atmosphere is amplified by the overflowing pilgrims eagerly seeking divine grace. This is where it all comes alive. This is living theology. While being squashed I scan the crowd and realise I have lots to learn – the renunciation of the ascetics, the simple devotion of the white-saried widows, the innocence of the playful children, the spiritual greed of the eager pilgrims. Who knows who they all are? They’re all awake to the spiritual reality. Vrindavana is truly the city that never sleeps, early mornings to late evenings, tireless devotees entering the timeless world.