Part 19: The Implications Of Omniscience

X1 also explained how being a Swami was not exactly the fun thing it might appear to be from the outside. The Swamis, according to him, were held to far tighter standards than the rest. Amma, in ways variously subtle and gross, was constantly holding their feet to the fire, notwithstanding the external glitter associated with their senior positions in the hierarchy. In this sense, the prime qualification for being a Swami was perhaps the ability to operate a much higher threshold of pain than the average.

Our conversation chugged on. I had some questions for X1. I wanted to know how an ordinary seeker like myself could find the vast bandwidth that seemed to be necessary to bring my Guru upto date with all the minutiae in my life. At one level, I subscribed to the idea that Amma represented the Universal and that as God, Guru and the Self, She knew all that there was to know. However, this belief was more cerebral than visceral and at another level, I felt an ongoing need to figure out what I was going to say to Her in person and how I was going to say it. The second level may have been lower, conceptually speaking, but it was where I lived most of the time.

In his reply, X1 conveyed the same understanding that I had gleaned earlier from talks with some other ashramites. The idea that Amma was aware of every single thought and action, no matter how trivial, appeared to be a bedrock assumption with all and sundry. For me personally, the omniscience of the Satguru (the ultimate Guru, teacher of truth) was a logical deduction, arrived at through a conscious process of intellectual reasoning. In my thinking, worship was meaningless unless the object of worship was the Infinite. I figured that Amma as Satguru had to be a seamless window into the Infinite, otherwise what was the point of going to Her or any other Guru figure?

Being aware that my intellect was a weak one, I did not usually rely heavily on the conclusions it generated, and tended to place my trust more in intuition, a faculty that, despite its mysterious black-box nature, seems to be strong in me. It was intuition that brought me to Amma and it is intuition, even now, which makes me clutch Her and feel afraid to let go. Grace may possibly be a better term for what I have referred to as intuition, but I don't have a way of describing it; all I know is that it exists and rules my life. Reason is an ornamental artefact, generated by a secondary hunger for explanation; it does not seem to be the primary driver of action in my case.

What I am trying to say here, in my usual roundabout way, is that the conviction that Amma knows everything and that I do not have to say much, was only weakly grasped in my mind, because it was chiefly intellectual in nature. For the residents of Amritapuri that I encountered, however, it seemed that Amma's universal knowledge was at once, a reality experienced daily at the mundane level and also an article of deep faith. At the time, I found it hard to digest this view. In the course of our talk, I shifted my weight from my right leg to my left leg and wondered if Amma had noticed that inconsequential move from Her position, beyond visual range and capacity, inside the walls of the temple where She was settling down to give darshan. At that early point on my spiritual learning curve, I was not very sure of the answer but today, after a couple of years of sadhana (spiritual practice) and cogitation, I increasingly operate as if She does indeed attend every moment of my life, no matter how trivial.

X1 pointed out my great and good fortune in having met Amma. "Now that She has claimed you, just relax and stop worrying", he said. He underlined the idea that Amma was in total and absolute control of Her children's lives, among a zillion other things, by pointing to a stray dog that was roaming the ashram compound, ten feet away from where we stood. "Not even a dog can enter this compound without Her approval, and no one leaves here without Her blessing. Even the postman who comes to deliver letters to the ashram must have earned a lot of good karma, or been associated with Amma in some capacity, in his past lives", X1 said.

In answer to my questions about how I should convey my concerns to Amma, X1 suggested that I just approach Amma with a prayerful attitude, keeping the most pressing problems in my mind, as I stood in the line. To recast this strategy a little, in the light of my subsequent insights into the sadhana process, one should let go of all that one can drop and let stay those thoughts that will not release their grip on one's mind, for that is all that one can do. I cavilled in a small way, about not having enough time with Amma, to convey whatever I considered to be necessary. X1 responded that even the ashram residents did not get personal darshans (audiences) with Amma more than a couple of times a year. By that token, as a visiting devotee I would be receiving more darshans in a week than he probably would get in a couple of years. When I looked at it that way, my grouse gently faded into admiration for the ashram residents who had renounced all manner of physical comforts for the sake of those two darshans per year. I marvelled at the intensity of their love for Amma, that they could be satisfied with a scant couple of personal audiences with Amma per year, and spend the rest of the year just being in Her general vicinity, or when She was on tour, just go about their duties, working and worshipping, and waiting for Her return.

My mind was struggling to make sense of all the new imagery. It was as though I was a visitor from another planet, trying to understand the Earthly way of life. Life here had a completely different foundation from what I had ever known. Renunciation, service, love and devotion - I had encountered these values before, but not in such awe-inspiring quantities. Bhakti towards Amma, I was beginning to understand, was the key. She was the pivot around which everything revolved.

At just this point, while I was musing internally about faith, X1 drew my attention to a figure standing on a mid-floor on one of the residential buildings outside the temple compound but within the ashram complex. A short, dark Indian man wearing a mundu (broad white sheet) and white shirt stood there, with a child alongside. "Do you see that man?", X1 asked me. I nodded in the affirmative. X1 told me that this person, a long-time devotee of Amma, used to live in Gujarat. In the great earthquake, earlier that year or before, he had lost his wife and son. His wife had been trapped under a beam in the kitchen when the quake struck. His son went back to try and save her and was trapped as well. Both of them sadly died, leaving this unfortunate man and his daughter behind to pick up the pieces of their lives. He decided to wind up his affairs in Gujarat and come down to Amritapuri. His daughter was now pursuing her studies at the local school. X1 said to me, "That man has real faith. No matter what happens and how unpleasant it is, he retains his faith in the Guru."

I made a mental note that this was the kind of example that was worthy of emulation. This was the kind of mettle that would be required on the spiritual path. If I was to go the Bhakti route, and I had already so decided, this was the kind of steel I had to weld into my heart. It would take a lot of doing of course, and generous dollops of the Divine Mother's grace but there was now a goal in sight. I might never get there but at least I had a putative destination, and that was preferable to the weakly directional random walk that had marked my spiritual quest before.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 18: Of Dust And Diamonds

X1's reply indicated that the desire to be something, anything (in the organizational context) had been completely scrubbed from his mind, if indeed it had ever existed. When asked if he would be a Swami (monk) someday, he just looked upwards and said that whatever Amma wished would happen. He did not say it wistfully or with longing but in respectful surrender to Her Divine will. He seemed to be truly free of predilection in this matter. I could see that his gentle, implicit disavowal of desire was the genuine article. I contrasted that with my own occasional explicit declamations, usually before a captive family audience, disclaiming the desire for this or that. I had mostly given up things because God/Amma had denied them to me.

So it was, that I would say to those around me, "I am just a dog in my office. I don't have the wish or the wherewithal to be anything more. If I am asked to sit, I sit; if told to stand, I stand, usually on all fours. When asked to fetch, I run for the ball but sometimes I stop to irrigate the lamppost (vasanas!)" But even as I made these mock statements of purpose, to be free of the desire for respect in the world of business, I usually knew that my touted virtue was whitewashed necessity. Amma had placed the grapes beyond the grasp of my paws, so I had to declare they were sour and I could quote Adi Sankara in support! I noted the quality of X1's renunciation and resolved to improve the quality of my own.

X1 went on to disabuse me of the notion that I may have entertained, perhaps lightly, that the Swamis had 'made it', that after suffering years of obscurity battling the waves, they had finally surfed into the big-time on their saffron boards (robes). X1 asked me if I had noticed how much in awe of Amma, the Swamis were. He explained the Swamis were a charismatic bunch that could sing, speak and generally hold their own with diverse constituencies but that they knew, to a man, that they were nothing without Amma. If I may misappropriate one of Amma's own similes for the benign purpose of proclaiming Her glory, the Swamis were like empty light bulbs without Amma's electricity flowing through them.

I saw what X1 was getting at and had to agree, based on my own observations. I had been very impressed earlier, during the evening bhajan (devotional music) sessions, by the reverential way in which the Swamis behaved with Amma. At the conclusion of each evening's bhajan session, Amma would exit the stage and a couple of the Swamis would offer closing prayers to Her in Her (physical) absence. I used to find the mood particularly electric at those moments, every evening without fail. The bhajan sessions were charged affairs in entirety to be sure, but these moments were like lightning to me. The air at those times used to be surcharged with poignant longing for the Divine Mother of the Universe who walks the earth in Her unassuming mortal frame as Ammachi.

The takeaway lesson for me, from this exchange with X1, was the understanding that the Swamis were less like big rock stars than like little rocks, pebbles that would be pulverized by the power and grace of the Guru's gait. They would be deprived of their dimensions, lose their rough edges and their very shapes under the weight of the Guru's step. These finite losses, however, would be more than offset by an influx of infinity; as dust they would become Divine and cling to Her feet.

Dust be diamonds
Water be wine
Amma commands
And All is fine

(Plagiarized and modified without permission, not sure of the original source though!)

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 17: A Miracle Of Human Transformation

X1 spoke to me of Amma with profound reverence. His veneration of Her, while unostentatious, was clearly very deep. When he spoke of Amma, his eyes would look into the distance and he would take a deep breath. At the risk of a little exaggeration, it may be said that I almost sensed the exhalation of incense from his nostrils; his homage to Amma was that vivid. He seemed to have virtually integrated Amma into his breathing. This was pranayama (yogic breath control) in practice, as far as I was concerned.

We made some small talk. He told me about his conditions of life as a brahmachari (renunciate) in the ashram. Life was obviously very, very hard. I asked if the food available to the inmates was the same as that available to the general public. I learnt that the Spartan fare that I had condescended to eat, in the spirit of 'slumming' while at the ashram, had been his staple for the last nine years. I was impressed by the austerity that implied. Clearly, the tyranny of taste had been overthrown in this territory. I told him about my own feeble (by comparison) attempts to introduce some austerity into my eating habits by turning vegetarian.

He responded to that by telling me that I should take care of my health and not neglect it. He described how he had been laid low by a recurring series of alimentary ailments, and how, over the years, he moved from a state of excess body weight to a state of near emaciation. His concern for me seemed to extend beyond mere politeness. He spoke to me like a brother. I don't know whether his compassionate attitude was a generalized phenomenon, or whether it was the result of some adventitious affection for me. Either way, I was touched by his solicitude.

His impressive spiritual credentials were trickling into my consciousness. I had a dim perception of some of his qualities - compassion, humility, focus, intensity and above all, Bhakti (devotion). Much later, on reflection, I would wonder at the miracle that Amma had wrought in this instance, transforming a man of the world into a man of God. Nevertheless, at that early stage, the realization was not fully embedded in my awareness, and I repaid the kindness of this spiritual brother with a coarse and insensitive question. I asked him: "You have been in this spiritual business for so many years now, you must be on Swami (monk) track, no?"

The moment the words slid out of my mouth, I realized that I had just been an incredible lout. Shame seeped out of all the pores in my body and fell to the ground in torrents but brother X1 did not seem to notice. The crassness of my query could not have been lost on him, but there was a deeper irony behind it that he could not have grasped, without some intimate knowledge of my situation. Here I was, a loser par excellence (to coin an oxymoron), a pot calling the kettle black. Actually, it was worse than that. I was a sooty pot all right but X1 was no kettle, more like a shining diamond in his context. I was guilty of applying a worldly model of success and advancement, a model that I have never mastered, to the spiritual arena. In my professional life, I had raised stagnation to the status of high art, having passed 10 years without securing a single promotion.

In his response, X1 magnanimously bypassed my insensitivity. Or perhaps, he was so far removed from the worldly paradigm, that my slip did not even register on his thinking. I found X1's reply to be illuminating on several levels.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 16: Impressed By Intensity

As I stood outside the souvenir shop, conversing with X1, I was struck by his intensity. Upto that point, I had not come across any other ashramite with the kind of intensity that was evident in his mien. I don't remember exactly how it came up, but at some point in our conversation, we touched on the subject of death. X1 said to me with considerable feeling, "Death is a joke. If anyone dies here, we have more than enough people to take the body out to the beach and cremate it, after performing the last rites." In his telling, death was not even a comma, much less the full stop that most people take it to be. I did not find his view or sentiment particularly jarring as the subject of death had come up in my own ruminations, over the years. The status of death, in my view, has evolved from an early glorification of its false potential as an antidote to the misery of life, to something bordering on irrelevance. X1 seemed to be on the same page as I was.

Later, on my return from India, I happened to mention X1 in a meeting with some local acquaintances (members of the Amma satsang). I was giving them a brief account of my visit to Amritapuri and told them that I met up with so and so from their country. Thereupon, I was treated to the view that X1 was a somewhat crazy fellow. "Do you know, he has even asked Amma for death?!" That was the clincher, in their view. Anyone who was not absolutely brimming over with the sheer delight of living must be a total lunatic. Edgar Allan Poe would never have penetrated their stony hearts with his famous lines:

Thank Heaven! The crisis,
The danger, is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last -
And the fever called "Living"
Is conquered at last.

With some effort, I managed to repress my contempt for their view and even feigned an expression of mild incredulousness. I asked, "Did he really do that?" But in my mind, I was not surprised at all. There was so much suffering in the world and a modicum of that was reflected in my own life. It was not hard for me to visualize that people might be driven to despair by their circumstances, even to the point of desiring death. I found myself at odds with their rating of X1 as inferior to some of the other characters (not yet discussed) who were seen to be more conventional and also 'cool'. Those other characters, like my acquaintances in the present instance, appeared to be practitioners of a brand of spirituality that involved bhajans (devotional singing), 'hanging out' and other soft options, with near zero effort aimed at integrating Amma's teachings into their daily lives. In my deeply felt but diplomatically unarticulated view, this kind of superficial subscription to spirituality was only marginally better than being hooked to MTV.

I decided immediately that X1 had to be a good guy, my kind of fellow, if these folks did not like him. I also guessed that the converse was likely to hold good ie. it might be a good idea for me to give their favorites a wide berth. I had nothing but the deepest respect for people such as X1, who engaged deeply with the questions of life and death, who experimented with their own lives out of scientific curiosity, with utter nonchalance and for whom spirituality was not a fad. On the other hand, my regard for 'devotees', who jetted from Japan to Switzerland to sing with Amma's choir but exhibited only pettiness in their daily lives was not very high, to put it mildly.

I realize I am being totally judgmental here but I have never claimed unity with Brahman (the superset of everything). However, I would like to qualify my judgments by pointing to the possibility of error. There is a possibility, however remote, that my reading of these people is totally wrong and they are really Jnanis/Bhaktas (those who have attained self-realization through intelligence/devotion) of a high order, who have just done an exceptionally good job of camouflaging themselves. If that is the case, I am guilty of gross ignorance and misrepresentation.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 15: Meeting A Brahmachari

Many months ago in Part 14, I announced with needless flourish that I would return to the chronological flow in my narration. Life intervened, and I found myself unable to maintain the posting routine that I had set for myself. I now return to post with your kind indulgence. However, I feel the need to deviate from my stated intent to stick to the time-line of events. In any case there is no gripping story to tell; all I have to offer is a jumbled collection of impressions. There may not even be any audience; it may all be in my head, but that is another matter. For the present, I shall hang on to the soothing fiction that there is a readership out there. So no matter how we proceed, chronologically or thematically, be warned that tedium is likely to be your companion as you hack your way through my thicket of words.

In the next few episodes, I plan to profile some of the individuals I came across during my stay at Amritapuri. Although my interviews were impromptu and weak in direction, some subjects ended up leaving indelible impressions on my mind. On the whole, I came away with a deep respect for and serious appreciation of the ashram life. My objective in this exercise is going to be nothing more than simple portraiture. In meetings that were totally unscripted, I came across a number of individuals, some of whom I found to be remarkable. In fleshing out these impressions I plan, in the main, to place before you the same basic views that I experienced first hand. Expect occasional light commentary but no other garnish with this offering. Elements in these portraits that grate may be ascribed to the impurities in my lens ie. my own biases and judgments.

"De Darshan Ma, Devi Ma
Ambe Ma, Bhavani Ma"

I am listening to this bhajan (hymn) as I type. The invocation seems appropriate. I hope She will guide me through this post. I don't even know if I should be here. From pillar to post, that is the story of my life.

I was introduced to a brahmachari (male renunciate disciple). Let me call him X1. The ostensible reason for my being introduced to X1 was a degree of commonality in our countries of origin/domicile. He hailed from country A and was now settling down in India, while I had migrated out of India and was now domiciled in his erstwhile country.

X1 had been with Amma for nearly nine years at the time of my encounter with him. His age was about the same as mine in biological terms, but reckoned in Amma years, he was clearly my senior. On my probing, he told me the story of how he came to be with Amma. When he was 25ish in his original country, he was a regular young fellow. Whatever ‘regular’ is usually taken to mean. He had not been particularly inclined towards spirituality although his parents were old-line religious, Hindu traditionalists. He himself had led the ‘good’ life with girlfriends, alcohol, sports and other ‘fun’ things being the order of the day. There seemed to be no overt intellectual component to his personality either in his rendition of the past, or in the present where I stood absorbing his account. I envied his lack of intellectual baggage. For much of my life, I have forced myself to carry a ton of stuff - impressions, analysis, doubts, theories and what not. It is only recently that I have come to savour the virtues of travelling light, like a business passenger. Carry no check-in luggage, only a handbag with the bare essentials - that is the new paradigm, but I am still working towards it.

One fateful day, in the 25th year of his otherwise average and prototypical (of the average middle-class young adult in any country) life, X1 happened to accompany his family to Amma's darshan program in his city. X1 and his brother dropped their mother and sister off at the darshan venue, while they waited outside by their car. They were 'cool dudes' then and were not about to go in and hug any 'Guru' character. They barely even knew what was going on inside the program and did not really care. All they knew was, "Not our scene, man!", and that was enough.

The mother and sister had gone into the hall and there seemed no sign that they were about to come out any time soon. Smoking and fidgeting with his car-keys, X1 had been waiting for them to come out, so he could get on with his life. Growing more impatient, he put his cigarette out and walked towards the entrance of the hall, to try and locate his family and discover what was holding them up. At the precise moment that he entered the hall, he saw a diminutive woman dressed in a white sari enter with him. They were both poised to enter the hall at nearly the same instant. She looked at him and he looked at Her and that was it. She was Amma and he was zapped! He told me that in that very instant he knew that he just had to be with Her, that it was his destiny to follow Her. I marveled at how such solid certainty could descend unceremoniously on the shoulders of this young man, who had shown no signs up to that point of being a fit or even likely receptacle for such Divine Grace. This was a real-life example of life turning on a dime, an expression that I knew previously only in a hackneyed, proverbial sense.

The contrast between X1 and my own life could not be starker. There were similarities too, but we shall look at those later. Here I was, frittering my forces in efforts to understand the world, applying my puny intellect to squeeze a layman's understanding out of Bell's Theorem, how the quantum world decoheres into the classical world and such other arcana, and what did I have to show for all my intellectual exertions? Not a thing! And here on the other hand was X1, presenting a study in contrast. He might not care for Schrodinger's Cat or tingle at the thought that mind might not just reside in the brain but also be found in the body ('Molecules of Emotion' by Dr. Candace Pert. Psst, I don't want to preen here, I confess I have not read the book either) but he knew which end was up! I prostrated to X1, in my mind.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 14: The Identity Project

The digression continues. Last time, I wrote mostly about the social effects of the spiritual identity question. I made the point that the identity project is suffused with some social tension, even if it is undertaken for the highest spiritual reasons. And when the reasons are less sublime, it goes without saying that the results may even turn out to be harmful. Some of my writing betrayed the bias I entertained in my mind, that identity redefinition as commonly encountered, revolves around base social reasons rather than exalted spiritual ones. I want to acknowledge once again that I have been guilty of over-generalization.

In this regard, I have found Sister Premarupa’s account (among others) to be truly sincere and eye opening; it has shown me that many, here and elsewhere, are actuated by the noblest motives in these matters. I see now, that the tendency to spot and comment on the negative aspects of the world outside, has an analogue, a precursor within myself. There is negativity in my heart that I must examine and eliminate. So this discussion has given rise to a little homework assignment for me, a lesson for which I owe thanks. Negativity lurks like an iceberg waiting for the Titanic, a tenth exposed to view in the form of speech or action and nine-tenths hidden from view in the form of thought and intention.

Now for an examination of some of the spiritual ramifications. As I said before, I view the adoption of a spiritual name as one element in the identity project. In essence, I see it as serving the function of ritual ie. to represent the infinite in terms that are finite and accessible. In common with other rituals therefore, its value is a function of what the practitioner invests and what God/Guru/Amma adds out of Grace. The more one invests, the greater the principal, and larger the quantum of Guru's Grace that is invoked. Therefore it is not right to judge the worth of a ritual merely on the basis of appearance; what appears vapid externally could be packed with power internally, or conversely it could be puffed up to look a lot more impressive than it is actually worth.

It seems to me that what matters is not the particular practice one adopts or chooses not to adopt, but the investment one makes in the default practice For there is always a default practice, a default representation as long as one is bound by Maya (Cosmic Illusion). True Jnanis (savants, people who have attained self-realization) may operate from a default state of non-representation but the rest of us are prisoners of paradigm. I might mention, in passing, that my own propensity to take up new forms has historically been low, although it has probably gone up a notch in recent times. While it may be OK for me to derive comfort from my own inertia in this context, I would be in error if I were to look askance at the cross-cultural and/or ritual-intensive impulses of others.

Coming back to the identity project, in its deepest sense, it must necessarily be about identifying with the Divine. The ego is the main obstruction to a total identification with the Divine and there are only two ways to get around this. It is possible to merge with the Divine by either shrinking one's ego to nothingness or by expanding it to infinity. The former is the easier approach, suitable for most people, but a few spiritual giants have been known to do it the latter way.

Sri Girish Ghosh, a devotee of Sri Ramakrishna once described these contrasting styles, with reference to two other devotees. As Sri Girish Ghosh explains it, when Mahamaya (The Empress of Illusion) ensnared all beings in Her net of worldly existence, two beings managed to escape. One, Sri Nag Mahashay (a great householder devotee of Sri Ramakrishna) managed to make himself so small that he was able to swim out through the gaps in the net like a minnow. The other, the illustrious Swami Vivekananda, expanded himself so much that he broke through the net and swam free like a great whale.

Another way to look at the change of name issue is to view it as a manifestation of bhakti or devotion. Bhakti may manifest itself secondarily in many hues but the primary colours are three: White for Sattva, Red for Rajas and Black for Tamas. In other words, the particular expression of bhakti manifested by an individual depends upon the mix of primary gunas (qualities) in that individual. Sattva is usually regarded as being superior to Rajas, which in turn is regarded as being superior to Tamas, in the conventional conception.

However, Sri Ramakrishna explains how even the so-called ‘bad’ gunas can be turned to advantage. He points to the existence of three brands of bhakti - Sattvic, Rajasic and Tamasic. The Sattvic bhakta (devotee) is like the quiet man who meditates at night under his mosquito net. His devotion is unostentatious and recessed. The Rajasic devotee, in contrast, wears his devotion on his sleeve. This is the kind of devotee who relishes public participation and wears silk robes and huge rudrakshas (beads) around his neck. The Tamasic devotee's bhakti is marked by the attributes of violence and destruction. The Tamasic devotee is capable of going to extremes of rage, anger, violence and other negative emotions, in a bid to 'out' the hidden God. He may threaten to harm himself if God does not appear to him, or alternatively, he may vent his fury on the object of his devotion. Such devotion, though Tamasic, and inherently negative, nevertheless has the potential of catapulting the seeker towards God. Thus Tamasic devotion can be very powerful.

The lesson I take away from the above is that it does not greatly matter what mix of gunas a seeker has. Whatever be one's predominant guna, all that is necessary is to turn that guna towards God. A strong guna, even if negative, can be profitably deployed in the spiritual enterprise by directing it to God. It does not matter whether a devotee is quiet or flamboyant or prone to negative emotion, so long as the fire of devotion rages in his heart. Or, as the Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping said in a very different context, "It does not matter what colour the cat is, as long as it catches mice."

And now, I come to the end of this little intellectual (de)tour de farce (misspellings deliberate). In subsequent chapters I shall return to the comfort of chronology and linear narrative, though some might view that as the tyranny of time. To phrase it with less ellipsis and bombast, I shall tackle the question my daughter would ask me, if I were to tell her a story and she could comprehend enough to ask, "What happens next?" But it appears to be Amma's will that this child is a long, long way from ever being able to do that.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 13: Damage Control And Sociology

After a hiatus of a few weeks, the pesky/friendly neighborhood insect (a glowworm, yours truly!) flits across your screen once again. The delay was a function of business (work and family chores) at some times and plain laziness at other times. I must also admit to being thrown off-track by Sister Premarupa’s request for clarification after my pot shot at the practice of Western devotees taking Indian spiritual names in Part 12. Left to my own devices, I would probably have done a hit-and-run but now that I have been called to account, I have to come up with something superior: Obfuscation? Explanation? Damage Control? I could not narrow down between these choices, so I decided to do a bit of everything. What follows is my pot pourri, aviyal for the Malayalees.

First, a few words on the generalization that I made, and those that I will make now in defence or elucidation of that first one. The reality is that people, myself included, tend to make generalizations - "Westerners are like this, Indians are like that" and other statements of that ilk. This is not necessarily something that brings Global Understanding & World Peace any closer but it is a human tendency. Stereotypes, where accurate, are usually constructed with a kernel of truth, surrounded by layers of extrapolation. A stereotype may provide a reasonably accurate description of a class of people in a limited context but individuals are almost never described 100% by a stereotype. In other words, stereotypes are good descriptors of the average and poor descriptors of individual data points. Confused? Well that means I have attained at least one of my objectives!

What I have just talked about - accuracy, is just part of the story. One third of the story, to be really precise. There is more to expressing a view than mere veracity. Let me explain. I remember a message from one of those feel-good, spiritual emails that someone forwarded to my mailbox a while ago. You know the kind? Powerpoint slideshows with nifty spiritual messages featuring soft-focus angels and pretty floral arrangements in the background. Well I remember one such slide that stuck in my head: Before you voice an opinion, ask yourself whether it is (a) true (b) necessary, and, (c) kind. A critical self-appraisal suggests to me that while I may have scored on (a), I probably erred with (b) and (c), when I made my sweeping statement. And therefore, I think an apology is in order. To Sister Premarupa and all other Western brothers and sisters who were injured by my broad, unnecessary and unkind barb, I offer heartfelt apology for any hurt I may have caused. On reading Sister Premarupa’s account of how she came to acquire her Indian spiritual name, I realized that the act was imbued with deep personal significance for her and also bound up with intense feelings, and that I had basically played the role of a bull in a china shop.

Whew! It is a relief to get that off my chest. I confess that I was a little oppressed by the thought that my playful poke in the Western ribs may have been insensitive. I guess that, more than anything else, is what really kept me away all these days from the list/group. I do not think that I am blessed with enough self-control to promise reliably that such sins will not recur; the best that can be hoped for is that the circle of my stupidities contracts, and that the group's forgiveness expands over time. I seek your continued indulgence, dear brothers and sisters!

Now, on to some of the social and spiritual implications of the process of acculturation I referred to in the previous episode. The social first. Name changing is but a subset of a larger project - the effort to adapt to or blend or identify with a different culture. The larger project of adaptation, which is something that many of us (especially those whose lives have a greater interface with foreign cultures) are engaged in, to varying degrees, is really rooted in the question of identity. People may undertake these transformations for material or spiritual reasons. Brother Keval provided a hilarious example of the former - "I am Devendra but you can call me Dave!" Since I aim to restrict my discussion to the spiritual, I do not intend to inquire too deeply into that particular category ie. the Westernization of Indians for social and material reasons. Rather I expect to take a look at the Indianization or Hinduization of Western devotees, since that has more salience from a spiritual standpoint. However, even for devotees, such shifts, irrespective of whether they are driven by material or spiritual reasons, have undeniable consequences in the social sphere that are worth examining. The practice of taking spiritual names is not very common among non-monastic Indian devotees, as far as I know, so I plan to leave that out of the discussion as well.

Some correspondents have already touched upon some of the obvious limitations of these attempts to slip under the skin of an alternate culture. For instance, you cannot use your spiritual name as freely as you might like, outside the spiritual community to which you belong. At work, or even among family, the resort to alien nomenclature and custom might give rise to reactions ranging from benign wonder to active hostility. While I have not undertaken anything as radical as a change of name, I could cite one example in illustration. My use, in these fora, of "Dear Brothers/Sisters" as the preferred form of address represents something of an acquired culture. Prior to my spiritualization, I was not in the habit of using this kind of address. My use of this address is however limited to this setting; I would not dream of using it with my colleagues in the office, for instance. If I did, they would surely think I am totally nuts, even the Indians among them.

Even on this devotional list/group, my first applications of this cultural change felt stilted and contrived. As I persisted in the habit, however, I found, over time, that I became more comfortable with the usage. Oddly enough, there was more to it than just becoming comfortable with the usage; what began as an artificial device, ended up having a real effect in terms of influencing my feelings towards this community. I began to feel more brotherly love. That actually brings me to a point that I should be making, when the discussion moves from the social implications to the spiritual ramifications of attempts to redefine self-identity to meet the spiritual purpose: sometimes the tail can wag the dog. In my case, what started as an empty ritual, ended up changing my real-world perspective in a small way.

Coming back to the social implications, it must be stressed that identity formation or redefinition is an activity that requires the expenditure of energy. Even Indians, snugly ensconced in their own culture, need to expend a certain quantum of energy to maintain their identity, but those from Western or other cultures who seek to effect a crossover must necessarily expend a greater amount of energy, to break with old habits and acquire new ones. Whether it is worth the deal is a question that can only be answered by the individual seeker, in the light of his/her own situation.

As an objective matter, since discontent provides the impetus to change, it is often the case that Westerners who cross over to Indian culture are alienated from their source traditions, for reasons good or bad. I guess the same could be said, for Hindus who convert to Christianity or Islam. However, the reigning orthodoxy of the Semitic religions does impose a certain pressure for conformity upon the new arrivals, that is largely absent for outsiders making the transition towards Sanatana Dharma (Hinduism), since the architecture of the latter is based on a version of the open systems concept. In other words, the gradient is very gentle in the case of the Western-to-Eastern transition; it is possible for a Westerner to imbibe the Hindu ethos, in bite-sized nibbles at a pace that is convenient.

The point to take away in this context is that the identity project is charged with a certain amount of tension. In order to adopt the customs of an alternate culture one is required to repudiate, however mildly, the customs of the native culture. The process, therefore, may be described as exothermic (to borrow a term from chemistry) ie. heat-generating. When actuated by the lofty goal of spiritual transcendence, the project is well worth taking on as the seeker's ego sublimes in the heat of transformation. But when the project is guided purely or primarily by the social imperative, then there is a risk that one may be seared by the heat. In its extreme versions, the process can result not in transcendence, but in the substitution of the individual ego by the group or collective ego, with a net increase in egoism.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 12: Western Devotees, Indian Names

My darshan done, I made my way off the dais where Amma was seated. I had to step gingerly over those still shuffling forward on their knees for their darshans. At this time, I noticed the usual throng of meditators seated around Amma. Apart from Her attendants, there were some devotees who sat cross-legged, for varying lengths of time in Her vicinity, hoping perhaps to benefit from physical proximity to the Master. I had never seriously meditated before, nor had I ever sat so close to Amma, for any length of time. I was tempted to give it a shot but decided to postpone the trial to another day. This was only my first day here after all. I was hungry, and a little abstracted with thoughts of the reunion with Amma I had just had, after an interval of four months. I needed to eat (food of the physical kind) and chew on my thoughts.

I exited from the temple and walked towards the Western canteen, which is situated near the front gate of the ashram. Just before I got there, I met the same Swamiji who had advised us to consult Amma, and seek Her blessings for our child. Perhaps due to the fact that we had met only days previously, he recognized me readily and smiled in greeting. I greeted him in turn with a breezy hello, before realizing that I had fouled up with protocol. The Swamiji, to his credit, did not convey the slightest hint about my slip. I should have touched my heart with my right hand and said "Namah Shivaya" (Salutations to Lord Shiva, whose embodiment I see in you) of course, but I forgot. I was still a relative newbie to this whole spiritual thing. The Swamiji asked me whether I had managed to meet Amma and convey my story. I replied in the affirmative and briefly narrated the exchange I had with Amma minutes before. He took note and then went on his way.

Presently I arrived in front of the Western canteen. It seemed little more than a converted cowshed. It was staffed by a couple of young Western girls. They had Indian names. My first encounter with the apparently common practice of adoption of Indian spiritual names by Western devotees, had taken place with my American travel companion (from the airport to the ashram). That brother had introduced himself to me using his Indian name. I found myself being mildly amused by this practice. Later, in my spare moments, I would muse more deeply about the social and spiritual implications of this process of acculturation, if that is the mot juste in this context. But for the nonce, I was content to order two vegetarian burgers and fries, while smiling inwardly (in the nicest way, without any mockery) at the sight of a white-sari clad, young, blonde Savitri in the kitchen shouting out to a 6-foot tall, middle-aged, Western man with shoulder-length brown hair, worn in a bun that had come half undone, "Mukunda, your toast is ready."

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 11: First Darshan In Amritapuri

At the end of my internal deliberations, I was left with a few operating principles or algorithms:
(1) Brevity was key. The length of my intervention could not be much more than the duration of Amma’s KISS (Keep It Short, Stupid?!)
(2) My agenda would have to reflect the most pressing concerns of my family and myself. While I had a healthy layman’s interest in world peace and quantum biology, I had to admit that there were other, more mundane questions that kept me awake at night.
(3) Within the area labeled family concerns there were some issues such as employment and sadhana that concerned me more than the other members, and other issues such as the health and welfare of our child that more actively engaged my wife. My wife argued, and I had to accept, that asking questions about my sadhana would have been too selfish, when we had a pressing child health issue to contend with.
(4) It was axiomatic with me that Amma already knew all there was to know about our situation. Therefore, I assumed that She would make the inevitable defects and deficits in my communication, respectively, good and whole.

The queue numbers rolled by. Pretty soon, it was time for me get up and join the queue. While waiting my turn, I tried to do the important things - focus on my speech and slip into a devotional mood, but my efforts were only partially successful. Periodically, I found my attention being drawn to a study of the surroundings. Just when it seemed most important for me to stay on beam and with the message, I found myself engaged by trivia such as, for instance, the way in which the person standing in front of me shifted his weight, or the snatches of conversation carried on by those nearby that wafted to my ears.

Notwithstanding these minor failures, I am happy to report that not a single inappropriate thought crossed my mind in that time, or for that matter in the entire time I spent at Amritapuri. As I say this, I do realize that all thought is perhaps inappropriate in a Advaitic sense, but I refer here only to the more gross varieties such as sexual thoughts, for instance. The credit for this phenomenon (the temporary suspension of all libidinous impulses; it lasted over 30 days and more than spanned the duration of my stay at the ashram) properly belongs to Amma, since it has few parallels in the rest of my life.

Finally, on to the great denouement of the day, actually a bit of an anti-climax. I reached the head of the queue, and the minders had us edge forward the last meter or so, on our knees. Having taken darshan before, I was reasonably familiar with the routine and tried to be as co-operative as I could. The air around Amma smelt nice. I had noticed that fragrance on previous occasions as well, and I put it down to some kind of incense or perfume or cleaning agent, that Her attendants probably employed on a routine basis. By now, my whole attention was focused on the mission at hand and I had become less conscious of the people around me. Strangely enough, I cannot remember a single face from this darshan crowd, although a number of faces from previous and subsequent darshans are still etched in my memory.

At the penultimate position, an attendant asked me, as usual, what language I would understand. I answered, “Malayalam”. I was told how to approach Amma and how to rest my weight, so as not to hurt Her. Then I found myself in front of Amma, and She took a-hold of my head with Her right hand, while winding down a near-simultaneous darshan with a female devotee from the other queue on Her left side. Then she tucked my head under Her, so that Her lips were upon my right ear, and She said “Ammade kuttoo” (meaning “Amma’s dear son”, as nearly as I can translate) a number of times. It felt nice but I did not glimpse ‘Brahman’, feel the kundalini shakti (latent reservoir of spiritual power) surge or anything like that. I wanted to hug Her back warmly but did not do so for fear of hurting Her. Then She let me go, but instead of rapidly making way for the next devotee’s darshan as I normally do, I straightened my back so that my eyes were almost level with Hers, and sought permission to speak to Her for one minute.

She assented with a nod and I launched into my little talk. I told her that I had a child with a seemingly intractable medical condition, that I had previously seen Her in country X before, and that one of Her Swamis who had recently paid us a visit, had suggested that I bring a stick of sandalwood, for Her to bless. I then fished out the stick of sandalwood, from a pouch I wore around my waist, over my shirt. Amma heard me out and gave instructions for the sandal-paste to be applied on my child’s forehead every night before sleep. I did not say a word about anything else and She did not either.

I sensed that the darshan was over. I looked for Her feet, so I could touch them and then touch my forehead, to express my reverence in the customary manner. As usual, I failed to spot Her feet, since She sits cross-legged with Her feet tucked under Her, so I contented myself by lightly touching Her knee with the tip of my right ring finger and transferring the touch to my temple. Then I backed away and the next man closed in. I found some space and did a prostration. There was not enough room for a full-length prostration, so I did something like a three-quarters version, kneeling forward and touching my forehead to the ground but not extending my body full-length.

I was a little self-conscious as I did this, so I am afraid I did not do it very well. I was torn between doing it well and doing it quickly, as I was loathe to upset the progress of the queue, and take up the most valuable real estate in the world – at Amma’s feet. As a result, I ended up doing a rapid-fire prostration, that must have seemed odd to anyone who was watching. I imagined the unspoken censure of bystanders: “What does this idiot think he is doing? Is this a sashtanga pranamam (full-body prostration) or a caper by a circus clown?” Fortunately, I think it was only my imagination working overtime and that nobody noticed, or if they did, they did not really care too much.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 10: Atmikam And/Or Laukikam?

In the last episode, I wrote about the thought I devoted to the form of the impending communication with Amma. I may have neglected to cover a parallel mental struggle to decide the content of my communication. Such games are constantly being played out, in infinite variations, one after another in the arena of my mind. In the present instance, it felt rather like simultaneous, multiple mud-wrestling matches going on, in different pits at the same venue.

There were, broadly speaking, two main areas of concern that I was bringing to Mother. One area, which I looked upon as being in the laukika (worldly) realm, pertained to the material situation of my family and myself. The other area, which I tended to classify as atmikam (spirituality), was related to my own spiritual progress. There were a number of focii of interest within each of these areas. The medical condition of my child, a perpetually unstable job situation and relationship issues (among members of my family) were some of the pigments on the laukika canvas. The atmika canvas was dominated by the brush strokes of faith and practice. More on faith, in a moment.

I have not yet narrated the story of my first meeting with Amma. At the present rate of centipedal crawl, it may take a few years yet before that particular tale gets told, if ever. My intention, in holding that back, is not born of a perverse desire to stoke the suspense. As a matter of fact there is no suspense at all; that tale is as plain as the rest of my life. It is only in the telling that colour sometimes creeps in. However, the point to be noted at this juncture is that my coming to Amma did not have any finality about it. In some ways, the drift towards spirituality in general, and Amma in particular seems to have been inexorable, even inevitable, if you study the events of my life, but there was no specific clincher that anchored my devotion. And that brings me to the issue of faith. I had come to Amritapuri, looking for something that would either shake my evolving faith in Amma as God and Guru, or solidify it beyond all doubt.

So that was one of the implicit items on my atmika agenda. I was looking for some evidence; my mind framed a proposition for Amma, a challenge in a way, that ran roughly like this: "If You are all that is purported, please give me some evidence. It does not have to be big or grand, or alter the conditions of my life in any appreciable way, but it must meet my standard of proof, a standard which I expect You (Amma), in Your omniscience to divine, not out of my arrogance, but as a matter of course." I fancied that I had a bit of a scientific temper, and a rational bent of sorts, and I expected that Amma would know exactly how to go about convincing me. I was prepared to settle for something considerably short of a published and peer-reviewed finding in Physical Review Letters (a leading journal of physics) for instance.

I also mused about the propriety and prioritization of these issues. Was atmikam to take precedence over laukikam or the other way around? Were my categories, a priori as they were, even approximately correct? What if what I considered to be spiritual was really worldly and vice versa? About a year ago (but well after my Amritapuri encounters), a senior Swami (monk) in the Ramakrishna order whom I consulted, told me that it was folly to draw a line in the sand to divide the spiritual from the material within my life, and that an integrated and holistic perspective was better. This basic idea, in spore form, had been present in my mind even before the RK Swami brought it to life by the addition of his teertham (literally holy water, used as a metaphor here, for his words of wisdom). If my atmika-laukika polarization dissolved in the face of such logic, how would I decide on what issues to prioritize? On the other hand, if I held on the categorization, how would I decide which issues within each class to take up? My mind was taken up with questions of this nature. I was a little vexed for a time, but eventually clarity descended, and I was able to approach Amma with the semblance of a plan.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 9: Preparing For Darshan

After unpacking my bags and settling into my new penthouse ;) I headed down to see about getting a darshan token. As I said before, it was a lean season and the crowds were not that large. Still my number was in the 1200+ range. But I was in no hurry, since I had all day and then some. I had some time to kill before Amma's arrival in the hall of the Kali temple. I tried calling home on my mobile, to give my family an update on my situation, but found that it could not pick up the network signal. So I walked over to the pay phone booth and made my calls. After I was done running up a bill of several hundred rupees, I stepped out and began talking to people.

My first contact was a householder ashramite in his early 40s (I'm guessing). He and his wife had no children and had been with Amma for a number of years. I opened conversation with an introduction and brief sketch of my situation and he responded likewise. While we were talking, I noticed a general flutter among people at large, and guessed that Amma had arrived. She had indeed. I did not see which way She made Her entrance but at any rate, She was now in the temple hall. I tarried for a while longer with my new acquaintance, before going over to the darshan hall.

I sat down cross-legged in the hall, while queues formed on both sides - on the left side for the men and on the right side for the women. I felt some mild excitement, a sense of anticipation but it was nothing to write home about. I went over my agenda in my mind, rehearsing exactly what I would say when my 20 seconds of air-time came up. The complexity and difficulty of the task cannot be overstated. As most of you are probably aware, compressing your life's events and concerns into 3-5 short sentences is not something that is easy to do. I found myself thinking about structure, composition, prioritization and such other technical questions pertaining to the delivery of my intended message.

I also had to wrestle with the issue of language. I had the choice of speaking to Amma directly in Malayalam - my mother tongue, in which I was reasonably fluent but far from being accomplished (my knowledge of spoken Malayalam is fair but I don't know how to read and write in the language) or, in the alternative, of speaking to her via an intermediary in English, a language which despite its foreignness, is my strongest suit. I decided that English would be (sort of) fake, unnatural and even misleading; I did not wish to represent myself as a brown Sahib, an Indian-foreigner, typical of a species that is alienated from its own culture and tradition. Also, at our first darshan, although it had been my wife who did the talking (I had not said a word), the language used was Malayalam. Therefore in deference to tradition, and with regard to continuity/consistency, I opted to sacrifice the higher clarity that might have accrued through my resort to English; I decided I would speak in Malayalam.

While I actively pondered the modalities of speech delivery, a part of my brain was passively engaged with the idea that Amma's omniscience (an article of faith with me and a necessary axiom for any devotee, IMHO) rendered physical communication somewhat redundant. I figured that the superfluity, such as there might be, was extant purely on Amma's side. For my part, I clearly had a need to engage Amma physically and I saw little point in repressing or denying that drive. What then was the true import of verbal communication with Amma? I fell upon the notion that it was a ritual, a shell devoid of meaning on its own but meaningful as an expression of some underlying truth. And what was that underlying truth? Children babble, not always coherently, but the Mother always listens. To Her children, She might appear to respond (or not at all) in ways that seem variously intelligent, empathetic or just abstruse. However, regardless of the quality of physical communication, the Mother or Guru (remover of darkness) is at all times doing what is necessary for the betterment of the child or disciple.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 8: The Purpose Of My Visit

Before coming down to Amritapuri, I had met Amma, for the first time in my life, in the country where I reside. My first darshan (I plan to leave the narration of that event to a later date) took place just four months prior to my Amritapuri visit. It was only after going through the first darshan and attendant interaction with other devotees that I began to grasp the contours of Amma's routine and methods. I quickly figured out that I wanted to take mantra-diksha (initiation into disciplehood with a holy phrase) and learnt that it was normally done during Devi Bhava.

My first darshan was a quick in-and-out affair and I had not bothered to stick around for any of Her satsangs (spiritual gatherings), much less the Devi Bhava. However, soon after Her departure from my country, I found my spiritual hunger increasing by leaps and bounds. I wanted to do something, anything to get started on the spiritual curve. I kicked myself for not taking mantra-diksha, when I had the chance during that very first visit. I thought things over and decided I could not wait for another year to pass, before I did something that at least seemed concrete.

Mantra-Japa (continuous chanting of the mantram) appealed to me more than some of the other forms of spiritual effort such as pooja (ritualistic worship) or seva (service). All my life, I had been inclined to view poojas as something of a spectator sport at best, and a nuisance at worst. My visits to temples also had been few and far between, undertaken with reluctance or under family pressure. As for seva, although I had read enough by then to appreciate that selfless service was an integral element of the spiritual path, I was not yet ready to grab a broom or write a cheque.

So anyway, the point of that preamble was to explain that one of my missions in visiting Amritapuri was to take mantra-diksha from Amma. There were other objectives as well. I have a child with a serious medical issue and my family (more than I) hoped for some kind of benevolent intercession from Amma. My wife and child had accompanied me on my first darshan, so the issue had already been brought to Amma's notice, but my wife wanted me to make a second reference. This (the child's condition) is an issue that absolutely dominates my wife's consciousness, so I saw no harm in following her suggestion. Also, prior to my travel, I had consulted with one of Amma's Swamis (ascetic disciple); he told us that Amma sometimes asks for sandalwood paste to be applied, and that with Her blessing we might observe some amelioration of our child's condition. So I had come down to Amritapuri, armed with a stick of sandalwood and expected to get it blessed by Amma.

Apart from these two major objectives, I also intended to use my visit to conduct a deeper survey of the Amma phenomenon. I had been attracted to Amma via her biography and the Road to Freedom books but now, as I stood on the cusp of a deeper involvement with Amma, I wanted to check things out in person. My intention was not to conduct any rigorous kind of study; rather the idea was to absorb influences that would either confirm my intuition that Amma was my Guru or weaken it. The mission was data collection, in other words.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 7: Finally, A Room With A View

Before I go further with this interminable account of my stay, I would like to make a small clarification. Since I have arrogated to myself the right to post anonymously, I believe I also have a duty to protect the identities of the people I encountered during my stay. Therefore my descriptions of characters in these accounts may be altered to mask their true identities. There are no deep or dark secrets to hide, and none of the participants in my experience stipulated confidentiality, but I still deem it appropriate to take the identities out of the narrative. There is a story to be told (some may join issue with me on that!) but I see no reason why any of the characters that feature in it must be addressable.

So let us see, where was I? Yes, in the Indian accommodation office, waiting for the Western accommodation office to open. It opened at 11am as scheduled and I went up to meet whoever was in charge there. Achan in the Indian acco office had smoothed my path with a phone call even before I set out on this mission, so I climbed the steps to the Western acco office in the old temple with confidence. Over there, I spoke to a brahmacharini (female reunciate) of European origin. She took my passport and handed over the keys to a room in the Western block. Although I was travelling alone, and the normal policy was to group people together three or four to a room, she was kind enough to allot me a vacant room where I would be the sole occupant for the first 3 out of a total 5 days of intended stay. I had arrived, quite deliberately, in a lean season and there were probably lots of vacancies.

I had arrived after midnight on a Wednesday morning and planned to stay until Sunday to take in the Devi Bhava (Amma in Her Divine Mother aspect). So my plan was to take in a darshan (audience with a sage) every day when it was available. Friday was the only non-darshan day in my calendar, so I would take in a darshan a day upto Monday morning, when I planned to depart the scene. I had mentally gone over the dosage (in pills of Amma experience) beforehand and figured it was about right: 3-5 darshans in India, and the same number in my country of residence, when Amma comes a-visiting once a year. That was more than enough for me at the existing level of longing for Amma. After all, I had not felt, upto that point or even subsequently, the waves of indescribable bliss that many have claimed to experience in Amma's presence. Therefore I approached this calculation pragmatically; I was not out to spend every minute and second with Amma.

I gathered my luggage, thanked the brahmacharini at the counter and went off to my new quarters. It was in the building overlooking the swimming pool and kayal (inland waterway). The room was located at the end of a long corridor on a high floor. I let myself in and surveyed the scene. After my experience of the night before, this was like the Presidential Suite at the Waldorf Astoria. (I have never stayed at that swank hotel and never will, given my modest means, but I exaggerate merely for dramatic effect). I was overjoyed. The relief I felt was so immense, that even with my limited literary skills I could have composed a sonnet, on the spot, to 'The Room'. Posterity will record with gratitude that I did not succumb to the temptation to litter the universe with my uni-verse.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 6: Rescued By Bombay Achan

I woke up early in the morning (early by my lax holiday standard, not the stringent Amritapuri standard) around 6.30am, feeling fine and rested. My sleep had been deep and uninterrupted, a minor surprise given that the physical conditions were less than sublime. Actually, I ought to amend that. Contrary to the impression I may have lent so far, the conditions, for sleep at least, were not all that bad. I forgot to mention earlier that there was a ceiling fan in the room which worked. However, the night was cool, so I only had to run it at a very slow speed.

More importantly, I was spared an attack by the Amritapuri Air Force (mosquitoes!). Amma's grace? Possible, but in this case I thought it likely that Amma's grace was working more at the back-end than the front-end of the phenomenon. The more classical explanation, suggested by my years spent battling mosquitoes in Kerala, was that these aviators, unlike those currently (this was at the time of the second Iraq war) poised over the Persian Gulf who are capable of working round the clock, tend to Shock and Awe at specific times of day/night (6am, 6pm and midnight being the usual timings when attacks are launched). Oops! Did I make an inadvertent political comment there? Sorry.

On second thoughts, I must censure myself more severely. That was a poor joke. I should probably have erased it but decided to let it stand as a monument to my own crassness. It is never a good thing to find humour, even peripherally as I did just now, in suffering. One must always sympathize with the sufferings of others. One is permitted to laugh at one's own sufferings, but who has the stomach for that? Not me for sure; everytime life has walloped me, I have found my tail between my legs.

Coming back to my non-story, the trials of the night were now a faint memory. I was upbeat enough to actually use the much detested toilet. After a bath, I stepped out to inspect the world. I made my way, once again, to the accommodation office. This time, the person on duty was an elderly man addressed by all as Achan (the Malayalam term for father, used in a general way by nearly all ashram residents, to respectfully address old people ; having never come across this practice anywhere else before, I found it quaint). I briefly explained my situation to him and sought his help. He was extremely helpful and sorted out my problem in no time.

He explained that the one-room apartment which I had heard about, and wished to stay in, was usually reserved for foreign passport holders or families - be they Indian or foreign. I guessed that foreign residents holding Indian passports such as I, who come visiting sans family fell between the cracks; either there were not enough people in this category or, more likely, such members as did exist, were less demanding (and therefore better sadhaks) than I was. Now here was a commentary on my year and half of carefully cultivated austerity (turning vegetarian etc.): It didn't amount to a thing! I had flunked the exam right then.

This Achan invited me to bring my luggage down from my room and park in his office until the Western acco office opened at 11am. He would make an exceptional recommendation and have them allot me an apartment. Whew! I gratefully accepted his offer of assistance and returned to his office with my luggage in tow. When I had settled myself in his office, I chatted with him when he was not serving any devotees at the counter. He made a lot of sympathetic noises about my predicament, and went out of his way to make me feel good, but in my heart I was ashamed that I had taken the soft option, sought and obtained privilege.

Even at that early stage, before I had interacted with other ashramites and come to appreciate the rigours of the monastic life, I sensed that his empathy was a product of pure compassion; it could not have been an objective position, as my so-called suffering was next to nothing, compared to what the brahmacharis and brahmacharinis (male and female renunciates, respectively) undergo on a 24/7/52 basis. I felt humbled and doubly grateful at being granted consideration that I did not really deserve. Further conversation revealed that Achan had been with Amma for 18+ years. It was now clear to me that the compassion and power of accommodation that he manifested (and I was privileged to observe) did not merely arise because he was sitting in the Accommodation Office but was a function of his long exposure to the mother lode of compassion - Amma.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 5: Meeting Ms. Maya

Once I had made my big decision (to clean or not to clean, that had been the question), I went about executing it. I swept all the rubbish into the corner where the termite mound was located and cleared some habitable space for myself. It took me over an hour but it was not physically exhausting. Just tedious. Then I entered my version of hell - the terrible toilet and went about cleaning a bucket and broken mug in it. I also poured lots of water all over the place to clean it up, since I had no brush or other implements, to do the kind of job that really needed to be done. It occurred to me that things could have been a lot worse in a dozen different ways, and that I should be grateful for being spared a higher level of difficulty. For instance, what if there had been no water in the tap? Having grown up in parts of India where water is rationed, I was well aware that 24-hour water supply is only a dream for many people. At the end of it, I washed myself and then returned to the room.

Using newspaper sheets to cover the ground and some of my clean clothes (the change I had brought along) for a pillow, I laid down and prepared to sleep. My earlier feelings of inadequacy were gone and in their place now was a quiet pride. I had done it! Old Mr. Ego rearing his head again in a different guise: the hurt hen had morphed into a confident rooster. What a transformation in my attitude and outlook an hour of working had wrought! This had to be Maya (illusion). As I lay there musing, I noticed that I was starting to get attached to the very same room I considered to be a dung-heap not so long ago. Starting to think of it as "my room" even. The termite mound was still there in the corner but some of the cobwebs in my mind had cleared.

I went over all that had happened so far, in my mind, with a view to uncovering any lessons that might be embedded in my experience. The main theme that came to mind was: Talk is cheap; action is what counts. As I explained earlier, I have often made much of my being a sadhak around the house. Most of the time when I talk up my sadhana in this manner, I am kidding, but I now realized that there was something rotten at the core of my humour. It was really the ego, masquerading as humour, that had encrusted around the seed crystal of my pride in renunciation, my pride in being more spiritual than those around me. I guessed that while I had been cleaning my room and toilet, Amma had been doing the same with the toilet in my mind which, as far as I knew then, had never been cleaned before.

I also felt, at some level, that none of what had been happening in my life in the run up to this visit to Amritapuri was an accident. I had a strong sense then, which reappears from time to time, that the seemingly chaotic events in my life were all part of a deterministic scheme, a plan. Of course, it was also abundantly clear that I was several yugas (eons) away from figuring out what that plan might be. With these thoughts and others, I dozed off, imagining my head placed at Her feet, as is my normal practice.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 4: Tests For A Yogi

The reason for my mounting exasperation must be obvious, but embarrassment? Being recently clued into some of the essentials of the spiritual orientation - renunciation, frugality, humility and so on, I was not unaware that my role in the acco discussion was turning out to be far from exemplary. The way I saw it then, the unreasonable and insensitive attitude of that brahmachari was bringing out the worst in me, those parts of myself that I would have preferred to keep buried, at least for the duration of my stay in Amritapuri. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I see it was all Amma's leela (play).

When I left home I had bragged to my family, and only half in jest, about how I was a sadhak (one who undertakes spiritual practice) and yogi (one who seeks union with infinity through disciplined self-control) unlike the rest of them who were all bhogis (materialists). I had talked about cleaning toilets and doing other menial work, in the spirit of selfless service that I had read so much about. At that juncture, locked into a losing argument with this seemingly uncooperative brahmachari, some of my lofty speech came back to haunt me, in the back of my mind. I gave up the battle and decided to accept whatever I was offered. He handed over a set of keys and pointed me in the general direction of my room. After a little bit of to-and-froing, I managed to find the room. It was in the building behind the new auditorium - where the Devi Bhavas (audiences with Mother in Her Goddess aspect) are held, near the front entrance to the ashram. I opened the door and stepped inside the room. I flipped the light switch on but there was no light. The room had a window which was open and I could see with the aid of the moonlight that was shining through.

There appeared to be a toilet attached to my room, so I walked over and took a look. There was a light in there which worked, so I switched it on. The toilet cum bathroom was an absolute horror. At least, it seemed so for someone with my background. You see, I am a bit of a hygiene freak. For a good part of my life, I managed to avoid ever using any public toilet facility. It is only in recent years, that I have managed to overcome this aversion, to a certain extent. That is the way my mother brought me up, and that is the way I continue to be, for the most part. There was no wash basin, only a tap mounted very low, just above the floor. Horror of horrors, I would have to do all my washing with the water from this tap, with a close-up view of an ugly, open drain right next to it. The commode was as unclean as the rest of the bathroom, which incidentally was just big enough for me to stand in. Fortunately the flush was working, and there did not seem to be any organic waste (crap) in the toilet. The toilet had a second door to the adjoining room. It was latched from the other side, but I latched it shut from my side as well for good measure. The last thing I needed was for someone to walk in on my ignominy.

I left the toilet light on and the door ajar, so I could inspect the room using the light. What I saw made my heart sink. The floor was littered. There was sand all over the floor, a huge ant-hill or termite mound in one corner, and some sundry waste (paper and rags) here and there. It looked like the room had been in use as a godown or storehouse for construction material. I recalled seeing just such a room where sacks of cement were stored, very near the gate on my way up, and figured that my room had been used for a similar purpose, prior to my arrival.

I went through a serious crisis of faith right then. Something like the dark night of the soul described in Christian literature! I felt weak, and wanted to sit down, and think through things, about what I should do next. There was no furniture at all in the room and I could not even sit on the floor without cleaning it up. At that point, I remembered that I had picked up a newspaper at the airport, so I opened my bag and fished it out. I spread a sheet on the floor and sat on it. I held my head in my hands, and in great agony, began to absorb the situation. My first reaction was to call off the whole darshan program and run far, far away from Amritapuri. Maybe my folks were right when they said I did not have the stomach for real sadhana (austerity). Yes, that was it, I should admit defeat, cut my losses and run. After all, I was a born loser, and this episode was not going to be a radical departure from the main trend in my life.

I experienced a range of emotions. I wondered whether Amma knew of my situation at that exact moment. Of course she did. She had to. Otherwise what was the whole point of my taking to Her? I alternated variously through remonstrance, despair and hurt before finally settling on surrender. The situation was here and it was incumbent on me to do what I could. It was time to think, to strategize. The unusual thing was, even as I went through massive doubt, I felt the presence of Amma, in a way that is hard to describe. I felt sure that She was completely awake, completely present, and right there with me, though clearly not in any corporeal form.

As I sat there resolving to leave at first light, I realized I had two options. I could either spend the night sitting up and thereby avoid the unpleasant task of cleaning up, or I could clean up and try to make myself comfortable and try to catch some sleep. My first inclination was to sit tight and wait for the morning to stage my great escape. Then I remembered I had newspaper, a towel and soap. I could use the paper to sweep the room and also to lie down on, in lieu of a mattress. The soap and the towel would be enough for me to freshen up after the room-cleaning job.

My spirits lifted a little, the courage flowed back into my system. My brain decided in favour of cleaning up. When that decision was taken, I immediately realized that it would be a waste to make all the effort to clean up the room and still give up on the rest of the program. Although I had given up the battle for Western acco with the brahmachari in the office, I still intended to make another effort to try for better quarters in the morning, something superior to what I had, even if not approaching Western standards. But for now, I would have to proceed on the assumption that my efforts would not bear fruit, that any other officials I might talk to, would be as hard on me as this brahmachari had been.

Once I decided to clean up, it seemed logical to stick it out a little longer, if I had to derive some return on my investment (of effort). My strength increased and I resolved to stick to my original program. I would survive somehow, I told myself. I would certainly make an effort to get my room changed, but if that failed, I would still be able to survive. I was pretty sure there would be some kind of shop on the campus, where I could purchase whatever I needed - some cleaning equipment, a bucket, sheets and whatever else.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 3: A Sullen Welcome

The roads began to get narrower and the ride became more bumpy. I guessed that we were approaching Amritapuri. My American companion had woken up from his nap by now, seemingly refreshed. He immediately entered into a discussion with me on how we should divide the cab fare between ourselves. I had called up the ashram office from overseas and booked a vehicle to ferry me to the ashram, and at that time they had indicated that I was to pay 1200 Indian rupees or so for the service. Since that was what I had contracted over the telephone, I was prepared to pay that amount, without making a big deal out of the fact that I had to share the cab with another person. Since in my view, the charge was not exorbitant, the amount was small and it was after all going to charity of one kind or another, I was prepared to pony up the full share.

However my American friend was very keen to work out some kind of sharing arrangement so that the burden could be reduced, possibly by half. Knowing that my friend's financial condition was significantly inferior to my own, I sympathized with his attempts to derive some economy from the transaction, but I was also not comfortable with the ethical implications of striking a private arrangement, that would end up depriving the ashram of a legitimate due. I did not wish to start my visit to Amma on such a note of dubious economy. It seemed clear to me that our dharmas (duties) in this matter were different, since our conditions were different. So I suggested that he pay whatever he was comfortable with, but indicated that I did not intend to haggle. Anyway, it turned out that the money had to be paid at the ashram office, and not to the driver, so an adjournment was forced on us.

Our taxi stopped outside the front gate and we made our way inside on foot. It had been raining, not right then but before, and I carefully negotiated the puddles with my luggage. The American had nothing to carry except his pillow and blanket and he bounded off, like a rabbit, after saying good-bye. Before leaving, he pointed out the building where he was staying, and told me that was the building where most of the visitors from outside India were usually housed. I had made enquiries before my departure and had been told that the Western Acco was the thing to take.

It was way past midnight and there did not seem to be too many people about. I asked someone for directions to the office and was pointed one way. I lugged my bag and walked that way, only to be redirected elsewhere. The fun of the taxi ride had clearly ended. Delicately stepping over puddles, while carrying heavy luggage in the middle of the night, was not my favourite thing to do, obviously. Eventually I found the acco office, at the foot of the temple. There did not seem to be anyone on duty there. I was starting to get a little concerned. Was nobody expecting me here? If they sent a cab to pick me up, surely they should have someone at the office to process my accomodation? No such luck. This was no hotel, it was becoming clear.

I knocked on the wooden door of the office and after a while, a brahmachari (disciple) opened the door. He was bearded (I did not know then that all the brahmacharis looked like that) and rather sullen, having apparently woken up from sleep. I explained who I was and where I had come from, and made it a point to stress that I wanted the Western accommodation, and that money was no object. He asked me what passport I held, and I had to tell him that it was Indian but I stressed that I was a permanent resident of country X, in the expectation that I would be granted the acco normally given to foreign visitors. He turned a little hostile and began to interrogate me, "The Western acco is for Westerners. Are you a Westerner?" I had to say no. I tried to explain that while I still held an Indian passport, I had been living outside India for many years, but my explanations did not appear to be cutting much ice with him. I was starting to get exasperated and also embarrassed. I thought to myself, "Why is my precise status in my country of domicile so important to this matter? If I am willing to pay, why can't I have what I want?"

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 2: American Devotee, Indian Chauffeur

A little detour before we get around to narrating how the Mother Of All Truckers ran me over...this is India after all, and here we never go directly from point A to point B without going everywhere else first!

Before we began the ride, my American fellow traveller requested me to sit up front with the driver. He wanted to lie down on the back seat and sleep. He had come prepared with a pillow and a blanket. I was happy to oblige. The thought that my American brother was possibly a shade more attentive to his personal comfort, than I might have expected from a long-time follower of Amma, did cross my mind but only very briefly. I was in a happy, expectant mood and my mind did not pursue that line of thought very far. At another time, in another place perhaps my mind would have given that vasana (the tendency to evaluate others and spot their defects) greater play, but not that night.

So I sat on the front seat with the driver and brother Sam (not his real name) tucked himself in on the back seat. I initiated conversation with the driver in Malayalam. Before launching my
expedition to Amritapuri I had developed the intention of talking to as many people there as I could. Extensive socialization is not something I am normally pre-disposed to engage in, being an introvert for the most part, but I was determined to milk this trip for all the experience I could gather.

I learned that the driver had landed his job as ashram taxi driver through another branch of Amma's establishment in North Kerala. I tried to probe his attitude to and feelings for Amma but he was not very communicative. I asked him what he thought of Her and he said that since so many people come to see Her, and since She is doing so much by way of charity and education and so on, She must be good. I was a little disappointed that he seemed to be making intellectual deductions about Her goodness from circumstantial evidence, and was either unable or unwilling (more likely the former) to provide a first person view. On the other hand, I was happy to note the absence of any serious reservations or negative views.

I got the sense that he was not really into the spiritual circus (I use the word 'circus' not to display my personal irreverence but as an extrapolation of how I thought he might view it) but more concerned about his material situation. I detected in him a certain grudging acceptance that he was reasonably well off considering his family situation (which incidentally, we happened to discuss; he had some responsibilities but there did not seem to be any life and death issues) and considering that there are people in India and elsewhere in the world who are infinitely worse off. However I also caught a whiff of discontent, something in his manner that suggested he was not satisfied with the way things were and wanted something better. "Who does not?", I thought.

I am really getting into the swing of things with this narrative. For the uninitiated, that means we are in for a long haul here, a long and boring ride to nowhere in particular. I would urge all those I have bored thus far to take the chance to exit and not read any further. I am extremely sorry, dear brothers and sisters, but I cannot control myself. My verbosity knows no bounds! Once I let the words flow, they flood the plain. A flood of the very plain (dull), to put it otherwise, for those who are fond of puns and word play. But for those who wish to poke around in the garbage heap of my recollections, in the hope that a useful nugget or two might turn up, I shall continue.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

Part 1: Homeward Bound

This is the story of the time that I spent in Amritapuri some years ago. It is an ordinary tale, nothing dramatic, but I wish to record it for reasons not entirely clear or sound. Perhaps I wish to scour my mental garbage bin for little nuggets I can take home, or maybe, I want to reach out to an audience and share the confusion and mystery of the spiritual life. There may also be a creative/literary impulse at work behind my production. It is entirely possible that I am getting a kick out of experimenting with and showcasing my limited literary ability. Anyway, we shall leave questions of motivation aside for the time being and start the story.

I arrived at Trivandrum airport late one night and was driven up to Amritapuri in an ashram taxi. The ride was comfortable and unremarkable. I had company - an American returning to the ashram after seeing his son off at the airport and of course, the driver who was a local. I had a brief dialogue with the American in the course of which we exchanged basic information about each other. He told me that he worked as a checkout clerk in a supermarket in the States and that every so often he would save up and blow his savings (of many months presumably) on a trip to India just to be with Amma. He was an old-timer around Amma, apparently, having first met her in the early nineties and this was his third or fourth trip to HQ.

He was nice to talk to, mild-mannered and pleasant. He talked a fair bit about expenses - about how expensive it was to fly down to India and how he had to work for x months to spend y months with Amma and so on. He also gave me well-intentioned warnings about some of the ways in which Indians might try to rip me off. I was touched by his solicitude but did not feel the slightest bit of alarm given that I was very much at home in Kerala. Being Malayali might have had something to do with my confidence! I had been a 'local' years before, and now here I was, years later, returning as an 'expat' with dollars in my pocket and Hushpuppies under my soles. Nobody was going to take me for a ride, I thought to myself, least of all in Kerala.

As our taxi tumbled Ashram-ward in the middle of the night over familiar pot-holed roads, I looked outside through the windscreen and felt comfortable. Little did I know that before the night was over, someone with a heavy vehicle license was going to drive a 16-wheel truck over my smug, budding ego. No prizes for guessing who that trucker turned out to be; it was Amma! I was about to get my first taste of Amma as Kali several months before I had even begun to think, in conscious terms, of Her ego-slaying aspect.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah

My Amritapuri Experience: Introduction

This is a serialized record of my experiences with Amma in Amritapuri. These blogs may be of interest to those invested in religion/spirituality in general and Amma in particular.

Amma is Mata Amritanandamayi Devi. I look upon Her as God, Guru and the Self. However, I am currently situated on the distant outer margins of the spiritual involute and so my regard for Amma, such as it is, is more likely to stain than reflect Her glory. True regard can only be manifested when one has integrated all of Her teachings into one's daily life and I am a long way off from being able to do that.

I am a novice on the blogging circuit and am likely to maintain that status for the foreseeable future. I embark on this exercise with considerable trepidation, not knowing what risks lie in train. I hope not to attract too much attention, positive or negative. If these blogs sink without a trace, I shall be happy to have met at least one of my aims - to stay nondescript. If I crave anonymity that much, why am I posting at all? Especially to a dangerously wide audience as this one? I created these blogs primarily so I could see all of my previously scattered output in one place and secondarily, in the hope of connecting with and possibly providing some marginal utility to others who are inward-bound like myself.

Unless they get too numerous (an unlikely event in my prognostication), I expect to read all comments that are posted. However, I will respond to comments only rarely, if at all. This is not out of any disrespect but merely a hard acknowledgement of the constraints that life imposes on my time and attention.

And now, with a prayer on my lips invoking Amma's Grace, I move to push this little rubber dinghy out to sea...