I had singled out this particular ashram because, from what I could gather from information I found on the internet, the emphasis here was very much on developing one's own personal sadhana (yoga practise/path) with a strong focus on connecting with, and drawing inspiration from, nature. The total opposite, in many ways, to Amma's mega-ashram, Tureya doesn't accommodate more than about 5 people at a time, and whilst I was there we were just three students and the two 'teachers'. The emphasis on deepening one's spiritual practise in direct connection with nature had strong appeal for me; I am not someone who takes naturally to worshipping gurus or deities (in fact it often makes me decidedly uncomfortable), but I can't help but be in love and awe with our beautiful natural world - with this, I am comfortable and instinctively at home. I was looking forward to a couple of weeks of yoga and contemplation in the peaceful mountains of Tamil Nadu, and to being supported in this by the resident swami who, as I understood it, was to personally guide me during my time here.
On arrival at the ashram, one can't help but be absorbed into the silent beauty of the place. Apparently its location here is because this particular site has had a longstanding spiritual resonance, and I absolutely agree that the whole place does have an energy all of its own. Situated in the hills 10 kilometres beyond the small hill station of Kodaikkanal, down a broken, windy road that is a terrifying drive even in a 4WD, it was the first place in India where I couldn't here horns, loudspeakers, the barking of innumerable dogs, bells, general shouting and chaos. Only the sounds of birds and the odd cow, goat or dog in amongst the wind and the trees rustling. Ahh, proper time out. The ashram used to be a collection of mud huts dotted around the enormous ashram territory; in fact I was under the impression that I would be, and was rather looking forward to, living a basic, old-fashioned lifestyle for a couple of weeks. Not so: apparently this would have to wait until later in my trip, as the ashram now has a brand spanking new building with marble floors and solar-powered showers (luke-warm water - such a luxury!). Even more luxurious still, with only three of us in residence, we each got a room of our own. Quite a change from Amritpuri, that's for sure.
From the start of my time there, I couldn't quite figure the place out. It's such a small, quiet affair, and the young American man who showed me to my room gave me the impression that the ashram was pretty laid-back and all activities mostly optional, although time would tell that actually there were a fair number of unwritten and unspoken rules (a more formal introduction to the 'dos' and 'don'ts' would have been truly helpful - I am more than happy to abide by rules when I am aware they exist). It turned out that he was one of the teachers, although he never introduced himself as such. The other was a young local lady, who seems to fit more into a day than one would think possible - teaching Tantric Philosophy (although the lectures were sadly, at best, rather adhoc), studying for her PhD in Tantric Philosophy at Madurai University, and doing all the cooking at the ashram - truly scrumptious. I thoroughly enjoyed the one lecture of hers that she gave in my five days there - for some unknown reason, they didn't take place on other days. From the beginning I didn't quite hit it off with the young American; possibly something to do with the fact that, although I tried to keep an open mind, I know I didn't come to India to learn introductory yoga from a defensive 24-year old from Denver who seemed more interested in proving himself right than sharing knowledge on yoga and life. Om. So I was relieved when we finally got to meet the man behind the ashram, Swami Tureyananda. I took an instant liking to him as he is friendly, approachable and seems to be caring. So that night he led our evening puja (not quite on the elaborate scale of those at Amma's but touching and engaging nonetheless) and then two of us had a private 'darshan' with him, where we sat there in the dark (there is no power in the ashram after sunset) while he proceded to 'look into our hearts' (apparently a gift given to him by his own guru). I was left feeling slightly baffled and not sure what to make of it. Some of what he said correlated closely with some of that said by the astrologer at Amritpuri (namely that stuff about me having fixed ideas about life), and he also had some very precise convictions about the physical and energetic state of my spine. On the more positive side, he said he deeply appreciated my honesty (I hadn't said anything). Tied in with these things which did seem to have some true resonance for me, was a fair amount of stuff that seemed like shot-in-the-dark guesswork, although I am happy to give him the benefit of the doubt and let time be a moreobjective judge than me. Afterwards, as we sat about waiting for dinner, I discovered that he is deeply interested in psychology, specifically yoga psychology, and is also passionate about music, to the extend that he is leading projects investigating the power and potential of music in treating psychological problems and diseases. He refers to this as 'music therapy' but it seems to be what I would more accurately term 'sound therapy', a literal investigation of certain pitches (played on an electronic piano....? - that most intrinsically beautiful of instruments.....?) and their effect on the various chakras and on emotional/psychological states. Needless to say, being so close to areas I have been fascinated by in the past, this certainly grabbed my attention, although I found it pretty hard to sustain a conversation due to his rather fixed ideas for his investigations which didn't leave much room for alternative takes on things or, come to think of it, 'conversation' in any conventional sense. From here he effortlessly diverted the chat onto one of his other great passions - cheesy Western love songs. Whereby I discovered that this Tamil Swami counts 'It Must Have Been Love,' 'The Wind Beneath My Wings' and countless other eighties favourites amongst the best songs of all time. It turns out that he spends his days of 'solitary silence' happily listening to playback of the cheesy classics of my youth on his mp3 player. A truly modern swami.
That night was a full moon. After dinner we sat by the campfire (a truly lovely part of the daily routine here) looking at its various faces. It definitely looks different here in india. Never before have I been so mesmerised by the old grandmother rocking away - but here she is truly dominant. That night the moon was so bright it literally had the most enormous glow around it - so much so that although I tried to take pictures they simply wouldn't focus. My friend and fellow-ashramite Shana had a bit more luck, and at some point (...I am trying, I can't figure the technology!...) I will post some of hers. Mesmerising.
The following night was the quietest New Year's Eve I have ever had. And I loved every minute of it. I spent the day involved in the usual pujas, hatha yoga practise and karma yoga, and also chanted the Gayatri Mantra 108 times, which was a first for me and truly quite an exercise in concentation. Though I know the words well, the familiar pianistic mind tricks rose again with avengence - not that anyone was watching (other than myself) or that it mattered particularly, but nonetheless the minute the thought 'you're going to forget the words' entered my head.....boom!....speechless...no words. Old habits die hard. Thank you, oh lovely Mind. But that night after another lovely campfire beneath a glittering Tamil Sky, I headed bedwards at about 10pm and when I woke it was 2010. On New Year's Day I took proper advantage of the beautiful hills for the first time, and went off to contemplate my Old and New Years amongst the sights and sounds of Nature. My fellow ashramites had managed to do this the previous day, in time for the start of 2010....so I, a true Palin and never one to be ahead of time, was doing it in sync with the start of 2010 (better late than never). I took some time to sit and meditate in the very mini mountain temple, and was thoroughly enjoying the silence and the energy of the place when it all came to a rather abrupt end as the young american came barking at me, ordering me to remove my shoes (I had overseen this seeing as I wasn't actually in the temple but perching on the outside of it and the only thing underfoot was mud. Nonetheless, I was happy to oblige, but suffice to say a rather more delicate awakening and request would have been appreciated). So I wandered further down the valley to where some immense slabs of rock broaden out and a stream pours over them. And here I sat until the sun began to set, thinking through the stuff of past,present and future and not coming to any particular conclusions, let alone resolutions. Sitting on this large rock in the mountains of Tamil I took the time to work through some of my more negative feelings (no matter how immense or how imperceptible) and to put into practise the wonderful things that are acceptance and forgiveness (yes, the young american was included on the list). But beyond this, getting my intellect involved in making resolutions and decisions seemed the most unnatural and unnecessary thing to do. Much more preferable and natural for me at the moment is the 'follow your nose approach,' supported by a good bit of belly fire (aka gut instinct) and absolutely minimal planning. And I do believe it seems to be working wonders, not least for helping me shed the layers of contraction, grasping and worry that have accumulated onto me through my more predictable and routined approach to life. Ahh, the freedom of life on the road.
Fridays being 'ashram days off,' we took a trip into town for a bit of a change of scene. Not that any of us particularly wanted to get away from the peace, stillness and beauty, but we went nonetheless, 'as people do' (liek sheep). Kodaikkanal is a particularly friendly place with, thanks to the British, a focus on chocolate-making, so of course I wasbound toi be a happy teddy. So, like true ashram rebels having a 'day-off' from our purity (!), we gorged ourselves on chocolate until we all felt truly sick, following which we had no choice but to go and camp out by the beautiful lake. The following day, though, I yet again underwent the joyous task of cramming my numerous belongings into my bag and launching myself off into that unknown that was the temple trail of Tamil. Yes, I had originally intended to spend a rather longer time here in this mountainous haven. But, in reality, this was not the place for me - I appreciated the beauty of the place and the lovely home-made Tamil cooking, but beyond that I was left with a bit of a question mark. And it was at this point that I realised I truly must be looking for something on this trip, though I was stumped to say what exactly. Whatever, I certainly wasn't finding it here, so oft I jolly well went to Madurai, home of the beautiful Meenakshi Temple.
Wednesday 24 February 2010
Monday 22 February 2010
A very long journey inland
I forgot to mention one other glorious aspect of my stay at Amritpuri. On that last evening, after we got rained off the beach, I took myself off to watch a puja being performed in a small shrine that I believe used to be Amma's meditation room, before things started to expand on such a colossal scale. A puja is basically a spiritual/religious ritual or ceremony of gratitude performed for a special occasion or a specific deity. I arrived after this one had begun and wasn't really sure as to its exact purpose, not that it mattered particularly to me what it was for or about - I was simple totally entranced as a result of complete sensory saturation. It was hard to know whether to keep one's eyes closed or open as there was so much to take in. As the swami performing the puja continuously chanted a hypnotic and monotonous stream of verses, coming close second in the soundscape was the heavy sound of the rain clattering onto the roof and bouncing off the drainpipes, made all the more dramatic by the occasional crash of thunder followed by lightening. Added to this was the distant sound of Amma's musicians playing their celestial music in the nearby darshan hall, and the constant low-frequency buzz of Amritpuri itself. All the while, swami was repeatedely tearing up countless petals from beautiful flowers and showering them onto the altar, covering them with water from a silver jug, then adding more flowers, then water...ad infinitum. Add to this the flickering light from numerous burning candles, and what you had was a truly gorgeous feast for the eyes. To top it all off, with the ever-present smell of intoxicating incense, I again found myself lulled into some other-worldy blissed out state. I had never realised a puja coul be so beautiful; those Gods are truly blessed.
Nonetheless, the following day I managed to tear myself away from Amritpuri, with more classic lack of preparation. Bizarre, really, that I chose to take absolutely zero advantage of the numerous and helpful amenities at Amritpuri, especially that one quite useful place, the travel desk. Preferable to my adhoc mind with its bizarre priorities (an hour is always better spent doing yoga or meditating than on boring things like organising one's way around India.....) was to wait until the bewitching hour and launch myself into another unknown journey. Besides, I had looked on the map, and the next destination was only about an inch away, slightly north but mostly west. No problem, I thought, looks like about a five hour journey (I have never been much good at map-reading or visual things in general, and apparently still am not improving). Sadly, my predictions failed to take into account some rather large mountains that were in the way, namely The Western Ghats. Oops.
The journey didn't get off to a good start. For some reason, despite having walked passed it numerous times, when it came to the crunch I couldn't find the exit to the ashram. I literally spent 20 minutes walking around the complex with my heavy load, trying to orientate myself and find that gate leading to the bridge over the backwaters. So that by the time I finally did find it I was completely exhausted and had to sit down for a rest. Eventualy I found my way to the bus station in a tuk-tuk, and innocently asked for a bus to Kodaikkanal. When I finally managed to get the attention of the men standing around in the information office, who were far too busy contemplating each other's navels than to talk to me, all I got in response was a series of blank stares. One KEY thing about trying to communicate a Hindi word to an Indian person is that you have to get the pronounciation JUST RIGHT. No variations allowed, not even the slightest misplaced stress or hint of an accent. They won't even attempt to try to match what they hear coming out of your mouth to any possibly even remotely relevent word in their mindbank. No, it is YOUR JOB to get it right. Which sadly means you will end up standing there trying endless unintelligeable pronounciation variations, looking like a total freak as the crowds begin to form around the wierd white tourist. This was a particularly good example of such a moment, and wasn't helped by the fact that, not only was my pronounciation slightly off, but I also had some key letters in the wrong places. Somehow I eventually made myself understood, but rather than quash their bemused reaction, it only served to make it worse. Their faces read something to the effect of: "why on earth would anyone choose to take the bus from here to there?, you clearly have no idea and you are in for one hell of a journey, love." It turned out I had to backtrack all the way I had come, taking a bus all the way up past Alleppey and through to Fort Kochin on the coast, and only then could head inland. My route in to Kodaikkanal, a hill station in the Western Ghats, was to be possibly the most convoluted route possible, via countless tiny villages and towns, basically in something close to an enormous circle. And better still, the bus didn't leave until 5pm, three hours later, a small but significant fact that I could have found out if I had only bothered to glance at the easily accessible timetables on the ashram walls.
Still, apparently this is the way it had to be. Om.
That was one hell of a journey. The bus was totally rammed, so I found myself standing. No bother, I thought, I am young and fit, I can stand for a while, even though I do happen to be standing right at the front with my face far too close to the front window and not a lot of hope if we come to any kind of a sudden halt. Several hours later, my ears ringing from the glorious accompaniment of the ever-reliable horn-honking, I was still standing. At about 10pm I managed to get a seat and got chatting with a lovely Indian lady who was desperately trying to feed me digestive biscuits, insistently telling me that they were her new great "no fat" discovery (Indian biscuit culture is a whole other commentary in itself). As the journey continued into the night, more and more people piled into the bus, including an entire family who proceded to try to fit themselves into a two-person space next to me. Om. That night I learnt about sharing and caring - it doesn't matter whether others are your family, your friends, or whatever. We are all in this together, and you simply do accommodate anyone and everyone as you would yourself or your best friend. Personal space and barriers dissolve and you merge with those around you. And so, with the limbs and luggage and god-knows-what-else of countless new friends boring into me from all directions, I journeyed into the night. One Indian man did his utmost to ignore this unwritten rule, and boy did he cause a stir. Standing next to me in the aisle, somehow or other he managed wriggle his way down through the mass of people vacuum packed into a rigid standing mass, to actually lie, foetal position, on the floor of the bus. Bear in mind that it was about 1in the morning and he was no spring chicken - at least 70, at a guess. People let him be for a little while, but when even more people tried to get on the bus, they simply weren't having any of it - space was needed and he had to stand. He was either totally out for the count or defiantly ignorant - for, though people started to poke and push him, tug his hair, and shout streams of insults, he just continued to lie there. After about an hour the driver finally got involved and stopped the bus, refusing to go any further until the man stood up. And so he did eventually, and that was that. A few others gave him one last piece of their mind, but that was basically the end of the saga - no bitching, no hard feelings, just work with the system and everyone is happy. Something tells me it wouldn't quite happen like this at home.
At about 3am I simply couldn't hold it any longer and had to have a pee stop. We seemed to be having a break at yet another tiny mountain town where boatloads of people were hanging out at the bus station in the middle of the night, so I made a run for it, having thought I had communicated to the family next to me not to let the bus leave without me. After putting all my speed-peeing skills into practise, I emerged from the toiled only to see the parking space where our bus had been now empty and my bus, with all of my belongings aboard, nowhere to be seen. This was where the aforementioned, rather undignified, screaming and yelping Arianna saga took place, as I hopped about trying to find my bus, only to see it pulling out of the station. When I finally managed to get back aboard, needless to say I did feel like a bit of a wally as the entire bus (and bus station for that matter) stared at me wondering quite why I needed to make such a fuss.
And so the endless journey continued, with its noise, dirt, wind, incomparable bumpiness, and basically 5-star discomfort in every way. Better still was that I was surviving on the glorious nutrition that is Indian bus station food - every possible fried and sugared delicacy known to mankind - which makes one feel all the better once one's belly has been bounced around for a solid 20 hours. At 4am I got turfed off the bus in Palani and instructed to find my connecting bus further up into the hills from here. My first official Tamil Nadu bus reflected the starkly different economies of the two states - if I thought Kerala government buses were grimey, this took it to a whole new level. Thankfully, though, there seemed to be no light power on board, so I was pleased to remain blissfully ignorant about the true identity of the very wet and sticky stuff was that smothered the seat I chose to sit in. Om. And just when I thought I couldn't feel any more windswept, grimey, sugar-teethed, greasy and generally completely rank. Still, deep inside, and underneath all that tiredness, everything was still absolutely fine. Perfect, in fact.
The 60 kilometre ascent from Palani to Kodaikkanal takes about four hours, and is a breathtakingly beatiful if slightly terrifying switchback ride. Thankfully, as we started our ascent, the sun started to come up over the Palani Hills, doing a good job of fooling me into thinking I was fresh-as-a-daisy and ready for the day ahead. In true Indian style, we made the fundamental chai breaks which I used as chances to make friends with the local monkeys, and we finally made it into town at about 8am. From there it was a short taxi hop out again and even further into the hills to a stunningly beatiful and secluded spot, the site of my home for the next week or so, the little ashram that was the light at the end of my tunnel. Thank the Lord, the unprecedented 20-hour journey did eventually come to an end, not without leaving its trace in the dirt and grime residue caked into my every pore.
India. Om.
Nonetheless, the following day I managed to tear myself away from Amritpuri, with more classic lack of preparation. Bizarre, really, that I chose to take absolutely zero advantage of the numerous and helpful amenities at Amritpuri, especially that one quite useful place, the travel desk. Preferable to my adhoc mind with its bizarre priorities (an hour is always better spent doing yoga or meditating than on boring things like organising one's way around India.....) was to wait until the bewitching hour and launch myself into another unknown journey. Besides, I had looked on the map, and the next destination was only about an inch away, slightly north but mostly west. No problem, I thought, looks like about a five hour journey (I have never been much good at map-reading or visual things in general, and apparently still am not improving). Sadly, my predictions failed to take into account some rather large mountains that were in the way, namely The Western Ghats. Oops.
The journey didn't get off to a good start. For some reason, despite having walked passed it numerous times, when it came to the crunch I couldn't find the exit to the ashram. I literally spent 20 minutes walking around the complex with my heavy load, trying to orientate myself and find that gate leading to the bridge over the backwaters. So that by the time I finally did find it I was completely exhausted and had to sit down for a rest. Eventualy I found my way to the bus station in a tuk-tuk, and innocently asked for a bus to Kodaikkanal. When I finally managed to get the attention of the men standing around in the information office, who were far too busy contemplating each other's navels than to talk to me, all I got in response was a series of blank stares. One KEY thing about trying to communicate a Hindi word to an Indian person is that you have to get the pronounciation JUST RIGHT. No variations allowed, not even the slightest misplaced stress or hint of an accent. They won't even attempt to try to match what they hear coming out of your mouth to any possibly even remotely relevent word in their mindbank. No, it is YOUR JOB to get it right. Which sadly means you will end up standing there trying endless unintelligeable pronounciation variations, looking like a total freak as the crowds begin to form around the wierd white tourist. This was a particularly good example of such a moment, and wasn't helped by the fact that, not only was my pronounciation slightly off, but I also had some key letters in the wrong places. Somehow I eventually made myself understood, but rather than quash their bemused reaction, it only served to make it worse. Their faces read something to the effect of: "why on earth would anyone choose to take the bus from here to there?, you clearly have no idea and you are in for one hell of a journey, love." It turned out I had to backtrack all the way I had come, taking a bus all the way up past Alleppey and through to Fort Kochin on the coast, and only then could head inland. My route in to Kodaikkanal, a hill station in the Western Ghats, was to be possibly the most convoluted route possible, via countless tiny villages and towns, basically in something close to an enormous circle. And better still, the bus didn't leave until 5pm, three hours later, a small but significant fact that I could have found out if I had only bothered to glance at the easily accessible timetables on the ashram walls.
Still, apparently this is the way it had to be. Om.
That was one hell of a journey. The bus was totally rammed, so I found myself standing. No bother, I thought, I am young and fit, I can stand for a while, even though I do happen to be standing right at the front with my face far too close to the front window and not a lot of hope if we come to any kind of a sudden halt. Several hours later, my ears ringing from the glorious accompaniment of the ever-reliable horn-honking, I was still standing. At about 10pm I managed to get a seat and got chatting with a lovely Indian lady who was desperately trying to feed me digestive biscuits, insistently telling me that they were her new great "no fat" discovery (Indian biscuit culture is a whole other commentary in itself). As the journey continued into the night, more and more people piled into the bus, including an entire family who proceded to try to fit themselves into a two-person space next to me. Om. That night I learnt about sharing and caring - it doesn't matter whether others are your family, your friends, or whatever. We are all in this together, and you simply do accommodate anyone and everyone as you would yourself or your best friend. Personal space and barriers dissolve and you merge with those around you. And so, with the limbs and luggage and god-knows-what-else of countless new friends boring into me from all directions, I journeyed into the night. One Indian man did his utmost to ignore this unwritten rule, and boy did he cause a stir. Standing next to me in the aisle, somehow or other he managed wriggle his way down through the mass of people vacuum packed into a rigid standing mass, to actually lie, foetal position, on the floor of the bus. Bear in mind that it was about 1in the morning and he was no spring chicken - at least 70, at a guess. People let him be for a little while, but when even more people tried to get on the bus, they simply weren't having any of it - space was needed and he had to stand. He was either totally out for the count or defiantly ignorant - for, though people started to poke and push him, tug his hair, and shout streams of insults, he just continued to lie there. After about an hour the driver finally got involved and stopped the bus, refusing to go any further until the man stood up. And so he did eventually, and that was that. A few others gave him one last piece of their mind, but that was basically the end of the saga - no bitching, no hard feelings, just work with the system and everyone is happy. Something tells me it wouldn't quite happen like this at home.
At about 3am I simply couldn't hold it any longer and had to have a pee stop. We seemed to be having a break at yet another tiny mountain town where boatloads of people were hanging out at the bus station in the middle of the night, so I made a run for it, having thought I had communicated to the family next to me not to let the bus leave without me. After putting all my speed-peeing skills into practise, I emerged from the toiled only to see the parking space where our bus had been now empty and my bus, with all of my belongings aboard, nowhere to be seen. This was where the aforementioned, rather undignified, screaming and yelping Arianna saga took place, as I hopped about trying to find my bus, only to see it pulling out of the station. When I finally managed to get back aboard, needless to say I did feel like a bit of a wally as the entire bus (and bus station for that matter) stared at me wondering quite why I needed to make such a fuss.
And so the endless journey continued, with its noise, dirt, wind, incomparable bumpiness, and basically 5-star discomfort in every way. Better still was that I was surviving on the glorious nutrition that is Indian bus station food - every possible fried and sugared delicacy known to mankind - which makes one feel all the better once one's belly has been bounced around for a solid 20 hours. At 4am I got turfed off the bus in Palani and instructed to find my connecting bus further up into the hills from here. My first official Tamil Nadu bus reflected the starkly different economies of the two states - if I thought Kerala government buses were grimey, this took it to a whole new level. Thankfully, though, there seemed to be no light power on board, so I was pleased to remain blissfully ignorant about the true identity of the very wet and sticky stuff was that smothered the seat I chose to sit in. Om. And just when I thought I couldn't feel any more windswept, grimey, sugar-teethed, greasy and generally completely rank. Still, deep inside, and underneath all that tiredness, everything was still absolutely fine. Perfect, in fact.
The 60 kilometre ascent from Palani to Kodaikkanal takes about four hours, and is a breathtakingly beatiful if slightly terrifying switchback ride. Thankfully, as we started our ascent, the sun started to come up over the Palani Hills, doing a good job of fooling me into thinking I was fresh-as-a-daisy and ready for the day ahead. In true Indian style, we made the fundamental chai breaks which I used as chances to make friends with the local monkeys, and we finally made it into town at about 8am. From there it was a short taxi hop out again and even further into the hills to a stunningly beatiful and secluded spot, the site of my home for the next week or so, the little ashram that was the light at the end of my tunnel. Thank the Lord, the unprecedented 20-hour journey did eventually come to an end, not without leaving its trace in the dirt and grime residue caked into my every pore.
India. Om.
Tuesday 16 February 2010
My Sweet Embraceable You
Destination Amma's Ashram, Vallikkavu. Mata Amritanandamayi Ma, aka Amma, 'The Hugging Saint,' is world-famous for hugging anyone and everyone who comes to her for this unique 'darshan.' I had actually previously bypassed Amritpuri, having heard it was an ashram on an industrial scale, a mass of pink skyscrapers on the southern Keralan backwaters, with an equally univiting atmosphere. However, two of my newfound friends, the lovely Donna and Stuart, had been raving about it and were heading back for a more extended stay, so I decided to reroute, backtrack, and join them for a few days. Despite the inital shock of returning to real Indian life and buses after our blissed out 48 hours, the journey was relatively painless, and by lunchtime I found myself getting installed in my new quarters, shared with 3 new lady friends and a sizeable representation of the Keralan insect community. No bother, for 150 rupees per day all-in, beggars can't be choosers (although something - anything - to hang a mozzie net off would have been oh-so-much-more-than appreciated). After more rice and subji than I could eat I found myself to be one of the lucky few in the queue for Christmas Day Darshan - another serendipitous Christmas blessing that I just happened to turn up on Christmas Day (it turned out only those leaving or arriving on the 25th were entitled to a hug). Rather than the usual hours and hours spent queuing for one of Amma's world famous hugs, withing about 10 minutes it was over and done with - and I have to say I was left feeling a little bemused. Not least because of the rather impersonal nature of being herded along like a sheep, barked at to get onto my knees and inch my way forward, and as soon as I came within striking distance, having my skull firmly grasped and my face positively forced into Amma's scented bosem (thankfully ample to cushion the blow) by some seriously over-zealous head devotees. After just long enough for Amma to mutter something unintelligable in my ear, my head was retracted with equal force and both it and my body (that was just about still attached) were hurled in the opposite direction, gasping for air and wondering quite what had happened. Somehow I didn't quite feel loved, although apparently that was the point.
I decided to let my judgement pass the test of time and another hugging, if I was to be so 'lucky'. Humour aside, I was well aware that I was very new to Amma and to whatever it was that was really going on here, but I had a lot of time for the fact that the sheer scale of the place and it's palpable buzz must have spawned from something pretty special. Picking ourselves up and dusting off the stars popping around our heads, Donna and I went off to investigate the ashram swimming pool, in perfect timing to discover it was "womens' hour" (how many blessings in one day?). After two days on board ship and an Indian bus journey, suffice to say I was rather in need of a good wash, so nothing could have been more welcome. But BETTER STILL was the truly unique, compulsory ashram swimming outfits, which had more in common with 1940s clown outfits than anything I have ever seen in a bathing complex. Truly classic and pardon me but, boy!, did I look the picture. Imagine your most basic square-necked sack dress with the bottom half sewn into something resenbling baggy trousers, made in the most garish floral print attainable, and you'll be somewhere along the right lines. Then put a person inside, launch into water and watch it inflate. Sadly I couldn't take a picture as no cameras are allowed in the ashram complex, so imagination will have to suffice. But, those of you who don't like bearing all in western bathing suits, take note...this could be the answer, and has the dual function of providing hours of amusement for all of your mates.
After spending the afternoon fighting with my laundry and getting to know the vast ashram complex, I made my way to the beach for the 6 o'clock meditation. There is very little in terms of an ashram schedule here - very few formal teaching sessions of any kind - but you are encouraged to meditate on the beach at dawn and dusk. And so I came to understand why. Being simply further up and West from Kannyakumari, this is another stretch of coastline that was affected by the huge Tsunami a few years back, and even on a normal day the sea here is seriously powerful. Sitting down to meditate here I had absolutely no choice but to be totally consumed by the sea-dominated soundscape. It is simply awesome, inspiring and terrifying all at once, the thunderous crashing of the waves making their way up the coast towards little me and then beyond. Each wave literally lasts for a good 10 seconds, accelerating towards and away from you like an echoing, soothing motorbike, before the next onslaught makes its way up the coast. Utterly sonically mesmerising. Before I knew it 45 minutes had passed and when I opened my eyes it was nearly dark, most people had left, and the remains of my legs were starting to swell up in mounds whilst lots of overfaced mosquitos sat around laughing and pointing.
Evenings in Amritpuri have an energy all of there own - the busy busyness of the day, with its unfathomable quantity of duties being taken care of by many eager but rather highly-strung beavers, dies down a little and, by the light of the beautiful Keralan stars, the ashram residents seem to remember why they actually came here - for spiritual development, to dig deep and uncover the deep well of peace and love that exists in all of us. As the neurotic energies abate, the place glows with a happy red vibe as people enjoy nice chats accompanied by 5-star masala chai. I spent that first night ambling about and watching this all unfold, happy to be an individual silence absorbed in the atmosphere. I was most entranced by all the ashram children - for Amritpuri is an ashram for everybody and a seriously family friendly affair - who, whether residents or short-term visitors, simply exude groundedness, confidence, coolness and freedom-of-spirit. One particularly beautiful little girl, whose name slips my mind, I simply couldn't take my eyes of. With the eyes of wise old woman in the body of a 8-year old girl and a way of holding herself that screamed of a totally calm and integrated self-confidence. When I later chatted to her in the queue for a pineapple juice, I have to say I felt in awe and even a tinge of intimidation by this apparently totally 'sorted' 8-year old. When I discovered she was here on holiday with her parents and that she hailed from Glastonbury, needless to say I wasn't hugely surprised, although it did make me smile. And how totally fantastic that she wasn't unique amongst the children here. Thumbs up to all the parents, that's what I say.
My first proper day began with yoga of the rooftops, the only available but very lovely space where you are allowed to practise, in amongst immeasurable quantities of billowing ashram sheets. Not quite feeling up to 5 kilos of rice and dahl for breakfast, I indulged in the paying Western canteen, a whole 40 rupees or so (about 50p) for ashram-made organic muesli and hot lemon & ginger....mmmmmmm. All residents/guests are obliged to sign up for a seva (selfless service), basically a usually quite mundane ashram duty that you perform as an act of yoga through service, giving of your time, effort and skills to the best of your ability without any personal attachment or gain as to the consequences. Karma Yoga focus aside, the ashram survives as a result of the collective seva - everything is done by volunteers, and for an institution with 3000 permanent residents (and many thousands more when Amma is there), 4 canteens, an eco-garden, industrial laundry, communication facilities and countless charitable projects, this is a serious undertaking - and I have to say I was utterly impressed at the relative smoothness and self-sufficiency with which the place works.
So, that afternoon I headed down to the laundry to get on with my assigned seva. Comparable to looking for needles in haystacks, trying to decipher illegibly-written name labels on people's newly-washed clothes and organise them into personalised piles proved rather more trying than I had expected, particularly given the rather begrudging company. I can honestly say I was 100% willing and able to put my all into this task for a few afternoon hours, but as I got on with my share it truly did seem to me that my coworkers were slightly less enthusiastic. Perhaps I had the benefit of being a fresher in Amritpuri, enabling me to find some joy in the novelty factor, but nonetheless the spiritual purpose of this karma yoga seemed to have gotten rather clouded over for some of those apparently more established ashramites. A shame, I thought, seeing as Amma's message is one of boundless love and giving. And herein lies what I found to be the cloudiest aspect of Amritpuri. Here is this amazing lady who, to my eyes, is trying to teach the world by example, demonstrated in her countless acts of love and selflessness - free hugs for all and everyone (she has been known to embrace and lick the oozing sores of lepers who noone else would even look at let alone get close to), not to mention her perpetucally growing charitable endeavours on an industrial scale - exemplified by the fact that, in this local area, she seemed largely responsible for the rescue operations and regeneration that took place after the tsunami. Sadly, however, it seems to me that a good percentage of Amma devotees are missing the point somewhat. They seem to be so intoxicated by the love transmitted through her hugs that, rather than taking heed from her example, they are instead developing shameless addictions. And, like all addictions, this seems to be perpetuating their greed, selfishness and Self-separation from the rest of humanity. Rather than being a place of giving and sharing, the vibe I sensed most strongly in the ashram was one of 'each to their own' - self-satisfaction and hoarding of their personal blissful spiritual experiences, which finds aggressive and defensive expression in the unspoken but emphatic message: "don't you dare get in the way of me and MY Amma." I had read about something to this effect, and that as a result of similar sentiments the long-term ashramites don't take kindly to short term visitors like myself. Although I approached the place with an open mind, I have to say I did find this to be the case more often than not. Though I was more than keen to do my fair share of helping out, these good intentions were met with a begrudging 'you're really just getting in the way' and, when it came to Amma's darshan, this bad feeling transmuted into outright aggression and hostility; eyes and elbows on the warpath to protect that ever-precious place in the darshan queue ("...please, do go ahead in front of me, what's another minute waiting when I've been standing here for hours anyway?...."). It seems the long-term ashramites feel they have more of a right to Amma's love than anyone else, and will do anything to defend more-than-their-fair-share. A pity, I thought, that they can be so desperately missing her precious point, so much needed in this selfish world. So, rather than taking the opportunity to perform the laundry duty with selfless care and attention, my more long-term laundry workers chose to grumble their way through the ordeal, it being much more preferable to stay firmly attached to their bitterness towards those thoughtless clothes owners who deliberately scawled their names in order to make our lives more difficult. Something tells me a seva career change might be in order, not to mention some sat nav assistance along the path to enlightenment.
So that evening, after another gloriously thunderous beach meditation, followed by a Reiki healing from the lovely Donna, I took up my place in the darshan queue. Unlike the previous 'special' Christmas Day Darshan, this was the more usual formal affair in the vast main hall. Amma had starting her huggings at 11am, beginning with her Indian devotees who get priority because they mostly take day trips to see her. And she was still going strong at 8pm when the number for us Westeners to join the queue was displyed. Good thing too, as she still had about 4 hours to go. Yes, that's correct, 13 solid hours of relentless hugging with no apparent toilet, sustenance or rest breaks. Incredible. I sat happily in the line, every few minutes shuffling one seat closer to blissful enlightment, quietly minding my own business and trying not to even unwittingly do or say anything to ignite any irritation in my fellow darshanites. And, rather than as I had expected, being bored and wanting the waiting to end now as soon as possible please, I found myself being lulled into a happy contemplative bliss observing what was going on around me. A bizarre mix of people sitting in the endless lines (another prizewinning system - seriously), dealing with their waiting in their individual ways; others scattered around the cavernous space absorbed in meditation; throngs of people squashed onto the platform tring to get that little bit closer to Amma (quite literally upanisadically 'sitting at the feet of the guru') whilst a lucky few pushed and shoved their way through the special queue to be one of those blessed in assisting Amma in her ongoing task (duties involving either be wrapping darshan sweets, passing them to Amma or, if they were truly lucky they might have the sadistic treat of grabbing the heads of us innocent darshanties and shoving them relentlessly into Amma's breast). Despite not actually being able to see Amma because of the masses surrounding her, all of the onstage action is filmed live and projected into screens to entertain everyone else. Best of all, though, was that the whole ongoing scene was accompanied by the incomparably beautiful sounds of Amma's musicians, who appeared to have been playing and singing equally tirelessly all day. This, combined with the intoxicating smell of flowers and incense, lifted the atmosphere and my consciousness to such a level that I felt totally intoxicated. So, no wonder then, that by the time I reached the stage and came within an arm's length of my hug, I was literally reeling. I was so drunk on the sounds, smells and the palpably buzzing energy around me, the hug was really just the icing on the cake, and thankfully I was in such a state as to be able to rise above forceful head manipulation and the rather military style of the actual darshan process. Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate that this is a serious business, and with thousands of people to hug every day, there's no time for hanging about. However, something tells me that the ritual surrounding Amma's hugging could be refined in a more gentle and loving way. Anyway, this time I just about managed to make out her muttering of something like "bless you my child" whilst I inhaled her amazing smell with my face enveloped in her bosom, and despite being nearly pushed off the stage I dreamily wafted my way back to my buddies outside. We all quite literally sat around in a cloud of stars, drunk on something - happiness, love, whatever you want to call it. Barely a word was spoken as we sat soaking up this strange and lovely vibe, apart from the odd blissful 'ooh-ahh' or the occasional giggle - it was truly hard to believe this very intense and satisfying feeling was a totally natural high.
The following day I decided to try to get myself an appointment with the Vedic astrologer, having heard some good reports and figuring I might as well. With prizewinning (dis)organisation I managed to miss my chance with the main guy, but in the process made a new friend, a retired editor from Sri Lanka who was almost as inept with the system as me. Luck be my lady, though, he was in the know about another man who apparently hung out behind the Darshan Hall. So off we traipsed to find our guy, only to discover that he didn't speak a word of English. So as he went off to find a translator, I decided to call home to check the time of my birth. Forgetting, in my excitement, that in the UK it was 4am. Oops. After trying three times I think I managed to totally freak out my folks who, wondering what on earth could be so urgent in India as to persistently call at 4am, naturally thought the worst. When my flustered-sounding mother did finally answer the phone, wow what an amazing job she did of being totally forgiving, chatty and even interested in my moonlight vedic pursuits, despite having been woken from her beauty sleep with crude insistency. Sorry mum, how totally thoughtless and selfish of me :)
The chart-reading itself was a pretty interesting affair - made all the more unique and unfathomable by the indirect communication. I found it rather strange that, rather than being given a reading, I basically had to prize the information out of Mr. Astrologer myself by asking questions. It seems that in general things are going along a happy and balanced path for me at the moment and will continue this way in my life - all quite dull and boring for the moment. But most intriguing was the verdict on my love life, which I hadn't even bothered to ask about (which pretty much says it all, really). So as a result he picked me up on it, asking why I wasn't interested to know about my future in marriage. And then he proceeded to tell me that I am basically DOOMED. Apparently all three of the planets governing long-term relationships in my chart are in particularly unfavourable positions, which basiucally means I am destined to have the toughest of times making relationships work. Brilliant! The nice man wanted to assure me that he wasn't saying I won't ever get married ( 'marriage' = 'have a long-term relationship' in India, though of course the terms don't exist in isolation here), but simply that, because 'I have a very fixed idea about the world and how things work' I will find it very very difficult. Unless I am prepared to soften my views, be less idealistic and learn to compromise, all of which I will find very hard, then basically I am doomed.
Thanks.
Not much of a surprise though, really, but nice to have it set in stone like that, at least now I know ;)
After some recovery yoga of the hatha and service (seva) kind, I headed to meet Donna and Stuart to take them through some yoga on the beach. Somehow we all managed to get totally filthy doing our sun salutations in the rather black sand but, not-to-worry, we soon got rained off by a masseeve thunderstorm (not such a rarity in Kerala at Christmas, much to my surprise). I had decided that the following day I would head inland to another ashram on my agenda, and because of this I found myself entitled to another hug that night, because I was leaving. Three hugs on three consecutive days, lucky me. Despite the boxing day highs, I tried to keep an open mind and approach this as a new and distinct experience. And if I'm honest I have to say it wasn't that earth shattering. For some reason the wait was fairly minimal (about 45 minutes) and perhaps this had something to do with it - I didn't have hours to sit there and, with the assistance of the celestial music and the buzzing vibes, get myself worked up into an altered state. Nonetheless, still totally intrigued by the fanatasicm that surrounds Amma, I decided to try my luck at getting a spot on the stage after my hug. Though I had to use all my elbow-sharpening and shoving might, I did manage to secure a smaller-than-small spot on which to balance my bottom whilst I watched the Darshan fever from a different angle. Sadly, all this did for me was to certify my feeling that surrounding this amazing woman with apparently inexhasutible supplies of selfless love is a vicious and self-perpetuating greed, leading to hoarding, aggression, elitism and hostility.
I decided to let my judgement pass the test of time and another hugging, if I was to be so 'lucky'. Humour aside, I was well aware that I was very new to Amma and to whatever it was that was really going on here, but I had a lot of time for the fact that the sheer scale of the place and it's palpable buzz must have spawned from something pretty special. Picking ourselves up and dusting off the stars popping around our heads, Donna and I went off to investigate the ashram swimming pool, in perfect timing to discover it was "womens' hour" (how many blessings in one day?). After two days on board ship and an Indian bus journey, suffice to say I was rather in need of a good wash, so nothing could have been more welcome. But BETTER STILL was the truly unique, compulsory ashram swimming outfits, which had more in common with 1940s clown outfits than anything I have ever seen in a bathing complex. Truly classic and pardon me but, boy!, did I look the picture. Imagine your most basic square-necked sack dress with the bottom half sewn into something resenbling baggy trousers, made in the most garish floral print attainable, and you'll be somewhere along the right lines. Then put a person inside, launch into water and watch it inflate. Sadly I couldn't take a picture as no cameras are allowed in the ashram complex, so imagination will have to suffice. But, those of you who don't like bearing all in western bathing suits, take note...this could be the answer, and has the dual function of providing hours of amusement for all of your mates.
After spending the afternoon fighting with my laundry and getting to know the vast ashram complex, I made my way to the beach for the 6 o'clock meditation. There is very little in terms of an ashram schedule here - very few formal teaching sessions of any kind - but you are encouraged to meditate on the beach at dawn and dusk. And so I came to understand why. Being simply further up and West from Kannyakumari, this is another stretch of coastline that was affected by the huge Tsunami a few years back, and even on a normal day the sea here is seriously powerful. Sitting down to meditate here I had absolutely no choice but to be totally consumed by the sea-dominated soundscape. It is simply awesome, inspiring and terrifying all at once, the thunderous crashing of the waves making their way up the coast towards little me and then beyond. Each wave literally lasts for a good 10 seconds, accelerating towards and away from you like an echoing, soothing motorbike, before the next onslaught makes its way up the coast. Utterly sonically mesmerising. Before I knew it 45 minutes had passed and when I opened my eyes it was nearly dark, most people had left, and the remains of my legs were starting to swell up in mounds whilst lots of overfaced mosquitos sat around laughing and pointing.
Evenings in Amritpuri have an energy all of there own - the busy busyness of the day, with its unfathomable quantity of duties being taken care of by many eager but rather highly-strung beavers, dies down a little and, by the light of the beautiful Keralan stars, the ashram residents seem to remember why they actually came here - for spiritual development, to dig deep and uncover the deep well of peace and love that exists in all of us. As the neurotic energies abate, the place glows with a happy red vibe as people enjoy nice chats accompanied by 5-star masala chai. I spent that first night ambling about and watching this all unfold, happy to be an individual silence absorbed in the atmosphere. I was most entranced by all the ashram children - for Amritpuri is an ashram for everybody and a seriously family friendly affair - who, whether residents or short-term visitors, simply exude groundedness, confidence, coolness and freedom-of-spirit. One particularly beautiful little girl, whose name slips my mind, I simply couldn't take my eyes of. With the eyes of wise old woman in the body of a 8-year old girl and a way of holding herself that screamed of a totally calm and integrated self-confidence. When I later chatted to her in the queue for a pineapple juice, I have to say I felt in awe and even a tinge of intimidation by this apparently totally 'sorted' 8-year old. When I discovered she was here on holiday with her parents and that she hailed from Glastonbury, needless to say I wasn't hugely surprised, although it did make me smile. And how totally fantastic that she wasn't unique amongst the children here. Thumbs up to all the parents, that's what I say.
My first proper day began with yoga of the rooftops, the only available but very lovely space where you are allowed to practise, in amongst immeasurable quantities of billowing ashram sheets. Not quite feeling up to 5 kilos of rice and dahl for breakfast, I indulged in the paying Western canteen, a whole 40 rupees or so (about 50p) for ashram-made organic muesli and hot lemon & ginger....mmmmmmm. All residents/guests are obliged to sign up for a seva (selfless service), basically a usually quite mundane ashram duty that you perform as an act of yoga through service, giving of your time, effort and skills to the best of your ability without any personal attachment or gain as to the consequences. Karma Yoga focus aside, the ashram survives as a result of the collective seva - everything is done by volunteers, and for an institution with 3000 permanent residents (and many thousands more when Amma is there), 4 canteens, an eco-garden, industrial laundry, communication facilities and countless charitable projects, this is a serious undertaking - and I have to say I was utterly impressed at the relative smoothness and self-sufficiency with which the place works.
So, that afternoon I headed down to the laundry to get on with my assigned seva. Comparable to looking for needles in haystacks, trying to decipher illegibly-written name labels on people's newly-washed clothes and organise them into personalised piles proved rather more trying than I had expected, particularly given the rather begrudging company. I can honestly say I was 100% willing and able to put my all into this task for a few afternoon hours, but as I got on with my share it truly did seem to me that my coworkers were slightly less enthusiastic. Perhaps I had the benefit of being a fresher in Amritpuri, enabling me to find some joy in the novelty factor, but nonetheless the spiritual purpose of this karma yoga seemed to have gotten rather clouded over for some of those apparently more established ashramites. A shame, I thought, seeing as Amma's message is one of boundless love and giving. And herein lies what I found to be the cloudiest aspect of Amritpuri. Here is this amazing lady who, to my eyes, is trying to teach the world by example, demonstrated in her countless acts of love and selflessness - free hugs for all and everyone (she has been known to embrace and lick the oozing sores of lepers who noone else would even look at let alone get close to), not to mention her perpetucally growing charitable endeavours on an industrial scale - exemplified by the fact that, in this local area, she seemed largely responsible for the rescue operations and regeneration that took place after the tsunami. Sadly, however, it seems to me that a good percentage of Amma devotees are missing the point somewhat. They seem to be so intoxicated by the love transmitted through her hugs that, rather than taking heed from her example, they are instead developing shameless addictions. And, like all addictions, this seems to be perpetuating their greed, selfishness and Self-separation from the rest of humanity. Rather than being a place of giving and sharing, the vibe I sensed most strongly in the ashram was one of 'each to their own' - self-satisfaction and hoarding of their personal blissful spiritual experiences, which finds aggressive and defensive expression in the unspoken but emphatic message: "don't you dare get in the way of me and MY Amma." I had read about something to this effect, and that as a result of similar sentiments the long-term ashramites don't take kindly to short term visitors like myself. Although I approached the place with an open mind, I have to say I did find this to be the case more often than not. Though I was more than keen to do my fair share of helping out, these good intentions were met with a begrudging 'you're really just getting in the way' and, when it came to Amma's darshan, this bad feeling transmuted into outright aggression and hostility; eyes and elbows on the warpath to protect that ever-precious place in the darshan queue ("...please, do go ahead in front of me, what's another minute waiting when I've been standing here for hours anyway?...."). It seems the long-term ashramites feel they have more of a right to Amma's love than anyone else, and will do anything to defend more-than-their-fair-share. A pity, I thought, that they can be so desperately missing her precious point, so much needed in this selfish world. So, rather than taking the opportunity to perform the laundry duty with selfless care and attention, my more long-term laundry workers chose to grumble their way through the ordeal, it being much more preferable to stay firmly attached to their bitterness towards those thoughtless clothes owners who deliberately scawled their names in order to make our lives more difficult. Something tells me a seva career change might be in order, not to mention some sat nav assistance along the path to enlightenment.
So that evening, after another gloriously thunderous beach meditation, followed by a Reiki healing from the lovely Donna, I took up my place in the darshan queue. Unlike the previous 'special' Christmas Day Darshan, this was the more usual formal affair in the vast main hall. Amma had starting her huggings at 11am, beginning with her Indian devotees who get priority because they mostly take day trips to see her. And she was still going strong at 8pm when the number for us Westeners to join the queue was displyed. Good thing too, as she still had about 4 hours to go. Yes, that's correct, 13 solid hours of relentless hugging with no apparent toilet, sustenance or rest breaks. Incredible. I sat happily in the line, every few minutes shuffling one seat closer to blissful enlightment, quietly minding my own business and trying not to even unwittingly do or say anything to ignite any irritation in my fellow darshanites. And, rather than as I had expected, being bored and wanting the waiting to end now as soon as possible please, I found myself being lulled into a happy contemplative bliss observing what was going on around me. A bizarre mix of people sitting in the endless lines (another prizewinning system - seriously), dealing with their waiting in their individual ways; others scattered around the cavernous space absorbed in meditation; throngs of people squashed onto the platform tring to get that little bit closer to Amma (quite literally upanisadically 'sitting at the feet of the guru') whilst a lucky few pushed and shoved their way through the special queue to be one of those blessed in assisting Amma in her ongoing task (duties involving either be wrapping darshan sweets, passing them to Amma or, if they were truly lucky they might have the sadistic treat of grabbing the heads of us innocent darshanties and shoving them relentlessly into Amma's breast). Despite not actually being able to see Amma because of the masses surrounding her, all of the onstage action is filmed live and projected into screens to entertain everyone else. Best of all, though, was that the whole ongoing scene was accompanied by the incomparably beautiful sounds of Amma's musicians, who appeared to have been playing and singing equally tirelessly all day. This, combined with the intoxicating smell of flowers and incense, lifted the atmosphere and my consciousness to such a level that I felt totally intoxicated. So, no wonder then, that by the time I reached the stage and came within an arm's length of my hug, I was literally reeling. I was so drunk on the sounds, smells and the palpably buzzing energy around me, the hug was really just the icing on the cake, and thankfully I was in such a state as to be able to rise above forceful head manipulation and the rather military style of the actual darshan process. Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate that this is a serious business, and with thousands of people to hug every day, there's no time for hanging about. However, something tells me that the ritual surrounding Amma's hugging could be refined in a more gentle and loving way. Anyway, this time I just about managed to make out her muttering of something like "bless you my child" whilst I inhaled her amazing smell with my face enveloped in her bosom, and despite being nearly pushed off the stage I dreamily wafted my way back to my buddies outside. We all quite literally sat around in a cloud of stars, drunk on something - happiness, love, whatever you want to call it. Barely a word was spoken as we sat soaking up this strange and lovely vibe, apart from the odd blissful 'ooh-ahh' or the occasional giggle - it was truly hard to believe this very intense and satisfying feeling was a totally natural high.
The following day I decided to try to get myself an appointment with the Vedic astrologer, having heard some good reports and figuring I might as well. With prizewinning (dis)organisation I managed to miss my chance with the main guy, but in the process made a new friend, a retired editor from Sri Lanka who was almost as inept with the system as me. Luck be my lady, though, he was in the know about another man who apparently hung out behind the Darshan Hall. So off we traipsed to find our guy, only to discover that he didn't speak a word of English. So as he went off to find a translator, I decided to call home to check the time of my birth. Forgetting, in my excitement, that in the UK it was 4am. Oops. After trying three times I think I managed to totally freak out my folks who, wondering what on earth could be so urgent in India as to persistently call at 4am, naturally thought the worst. When my flustered-sounding mother did finally answer the phone, wow what an amazing job she did of being totally forgiving, chatty and even interested in my moonlight vedic pursuits, despite having been woken from her beauty sleep with crude insistency. Sorry mum, how totally thoughtless and selfish of me :)
The chart-reading itself was a pretty interesting affair - made all the more unique and unfathomable by the indirect communication. I found it rather strange that, rather than being given a reading, I basically had to prize the information out of Mr. Astrologer myself by asking questions. It seems that in general things are going along a happy and balanced path for me at the moment and will continue this way in my life - all quite dull and boring for the moment. But most intriguing was the verdict on my love life, which I hadn't even bothered to ask about (which pretty much says it all, really). So as a result he picked me up on it, asking why I wasn't interested to know about my future in marriage. And then he proceeded to tell me that I am basically DOOMED. Apparently all three of the planets governing long-term relationships in my chart are in particularly unfavourable positions, which basiucally means I am destined to have the toughest of times making relationships work. Brilliant! The nice man wanted to assure me that he wasn't saying I won't ever get married ( 'marriage' = 'have a long-term relationship' in India, though of course the terms don't exist in isolation here), but simply that, because 'I have a very fixed idea about the world and how things work' I will find it very very difficult. Unless I am prepared to soften my views, be less idealistic and learn to compromise, all of which I will find very hard, then basically I am doomed.
Thanks.
Not much of a surprise though, really, but nice to have it set in stone like that, at least now I know ;)
After some recovery yoga of the hatha and service (seva) kind, I headed to meet Donna and Stuart to take them through some yoga on the beach. Somehow we all managed to get totally filthy doing our sun salutations in the rather black sand but, not-to-worry, we soon got rained off by a masseeve thunderstorm (not such a rarity in Kerala at Christmas, much to my surprise). I had decided that the following day I would head inland to another ashram on my agenda, and because of this I found myself entitled to another hug that night, because I was leaving. Three hugs on three consecutive days, lucky me. Despite the boxing day highs, I tried to keep an open mind and approach this as a new and distinct experience. And if I'm honest I have to say it wasn't that earth shattering. For some reason the wait was fairly minimal (about 45 minutes) and perhaps this had something to do with it - I didn't have hours to sit there and, with the assistance of the celestial music and the buzzing vibes, get myself worked up into an altered state. Nonetheless, still totally intrigued by the fanatasicm that surrounds Amma, I decided to try my luck at getting a spot on the stage after my hug. Though I had to use all my elbow-sharpening and shoving might, I did manage to secure a smaller-than-small spot on which to balance my bottom whilst I watched the Darshan fever from a different angle. Sadly, all this did for me was to certify my feeling that surrounding this amazing woman with apparently inexhasutible supplies of selfless love is a vicious and self-perpetuating greed, leading to hoarding, aggression, elitism and hostility.
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