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 After just long enough for Amma to mutter something unintelligable in my ear, my head was retracted with equal force and both it and my body (that was just about still attached) were hurled in the opposite direction, gasping for air and wondering quite what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.

1 comment:

  1. Hey Ari!

    After deadlining for the first eight weeks of 2010 (yep, I'm still in the UK and therefore up to my old tricks!), it is Sunday morning and I've just spent several hours fully absorbed in India and your adventures, following your wonderful stories in one fell swoop, running up and down the stairs to give Joe the highlights every time I laugh out loud!

    Wow! It sounds like you and India are certainly making the best of each other - you've really brought it alive for me! Too much for me to really comment on as everything you describe seems to offer something different to the giant cauldron - the noise, the tut-tut strike, the 'above the knee' massage! Although I have to say that the embracing world of Amma sounds like something out of a Louis Theroux adventure!

    Keep warm in those frosty Himalayas Ari - you're on top of the world! I wonder what the next few weeks will have in store for you!?

    lots and lots of love
    Nat xx

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