It's a creepy little story about the search of self, and the desire to belong, and how communes offer that and more abuse within, alongside male chaunvinism, misogyny and a whole host of crap. But followers turn a blind eye to those. At least that's how I see it.
It's 'This is How It Happens,' by Molly Aitken, published in The New Yorker on February 1, 2026. It's sort of based on the author's memories her uncle and grandmother who actually joined the Rajneesh commune in Wasco County in Oregon in the 1980s, worshipping the guru Osho, whose real name is Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (1931–1990). It's a whole painful chapter for many of the abused children who grew up in that commune.
The year is 1982. The young Scottish protagonist Malcolm is befriended by followers of Rajneesh, and actually travels across the seas to join their commune in Oregon. His two-week 'holiday' became a year and longer. He had lost his mother, and he couldn't find the closeness he wants with his father. He tried finding it with his friends, in romance, and bonded with the men in the commune.
You look down at your strong, freckled arms, your hands in your lap. You look up at the sky, its blue mottled by clouds.
You don’t ask how your father found you. Your parents always seemed to know someone in every city. The endless dinner parties. The constant chatter and music. You suppose it was only a matter of time. You laugh.
“How’s my cat?”
“She’s dead.”
“He’s dead.”
A warm hand takes your hand, and you think how nice it is, in the end, to be touched by a man like your father.
Netflix's 'Wild Wild Country' (2018) reveals even more chilling details. The stories about Osho's Rajneeshpuram are chilling. Communes sound wonderful in theory. It's Utopia. And in the Utopian ideals, all these don't run so smoothly. You're just part of the game. Only the one at the top wins.
The Osho International Foundation still exists and is active, inviting you to practice the dynamic essence of meditation. I don't know if in that era, it's fashionable to be part of communes. But to me, it's just damn creepy lah. Groupthink isn't for me. I never needed to belong with or in a group of friends either. To me, social circles suffice. I don't need to be permanently accepted or be defined as 'a group'.
Although it all happened before the author was born, she reiterates that this isn't a story about her uncle and her grandmother. She wanted to have another point of view presented. She didn't deny the experiences or abuse experienced by the others. In an interview, she said,
A lot of us judge people who join groups like the Rajneesh, but we all want community and friendship and love and excitement. To me, the Rajneesh encapsulated so much of what seemed free and hopeful about the nineteen-seventies and eighties. A possibility of living differently from the previous generation. I think I would quite likely have joined, and suspect that many readers would have, too.
I mean, how many times do we see religious gurus and pastors getting 17-RollsRoyce-rich? And fleecing their followers of everything they earn and own, and yet these people give it up willingly? I don't know. I can't call them sheep because their flock contains bright minds who are persuaded to idolize very unaccomplished but charismatic humans. There're predators and there's prey. It doesn't matter how intelligent one is if you're emotionally lacking or in a vulnerable phase, and seeks fulfilment and validation.
I tend to stay away from extreme religious views, gurus, peace practitioners and such. Their views never align with mine. I don't know about extreme loneliness or helplessness or trauma. So I need to check my privilege again before judging anyone else. Maybe if I had to live for years alone or suffer very painful twists of fate, I would feel it.
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