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