"We'd like a room for three with air-conditioning, please."
The ashram was Stephen's idea. He'd been cruising the spiritual supermarket for a while and he made it known early on that he wanted to go to at least one ashram while we were in India. I didn't mind. I thought that, at the very least, it would be interesting. I also had no choice. Alan and Stephen were in charge of the itinerary and I had no idea where we were.
"Let me see what I can do," the French male volunteer said cheerfully. While he tinkered with the computer, we glanced around. The ashram seemed to be overrun by foreigners, clad in white from head to toe. There were a lot of Indians too - in regular Indian clothes - but it's the foreigners that stood out in their white cultish garb.
"There's a big group in town and they've taken all the aircon rooms."
"Could we please have a room on the 15th floor then?" As we got off the ferry from Alleppey, we got a hot tip from some people who had just been at the ashram: If we couldn't get an A/C room, we should ask for a room on the top floor, the 15th floor, where it was much cooler.
"The rooms we have are really rather spartan, but there's one on the 15th floor with two beds and one mat, if you'd like that."
The room turned out to have no beds and only two mats.
That's a pillow in the corner. In the same luxurious PVC material as the mats. At least we were sure that bed bugs weren't going to be a problem.
We had to request for an extra mat, an extra pillow and beddings at the downstairs office at 9 PM. We could buy Indian towels (- no relation to the terry cloth but may be the bastard sibling of the dish rag) at the shop at 8:30 PM.
Apart from the mats and the pillows, the room was bare. Save for a broom and a dustpan in what used to be a kitchen, and a brown, plastic chair. There was a clothesline that ran the length of the room. I supposed that one could get creative with the clothesline and the chair if one got too depressed about the room.
Where's Joan Crawford when you need her?
The bathroom was indescribable. Because if I describe it, I will hurl my internal organs.
Abandon hope all ye who enter here. (Although do note the ingenious Indian tabo - a.k.a. "scooper" - that can be clipped on doors, pails, etc. And the ubiquitous photo of Amma.)
I couldn't enter it without wanting to cry. Inside, there was a mop propped up against the wall, but what that bathroom really needed was a crime scene investigation unit. To dispose of the DNA that didn't belong to us.
Before Stephen left to do seva (selfless service) on our first night, Alan and I joked (but not really), "Why don't you just do seva here and clean the bathroom instead?" He was not amused.
Ashram Pamphlet: At Amitrapuri, selfless service is an integral part of the spiritual practice of residents and visitors alike. When we work for others without expectation, we reap the wealth of a peaceful mind and an open heart. Beyond that, when we participate in the daily upkeep of the Ashram we are in fact helping to maintain the headquarters of one of the most effective and far-reaching humanitarian organizations in India, and thereby bringing the light of love and compassion into the world.
During your visit, you are invited to participate for one or two hours daily. Everyone staying in the Ashram for more than one night is required to register at the Seva Desk, even if you are not able to do seva or you already have an assigned seva. This helps the seva coordinators to plan accordingly.
There was no way I was going to register at the Seva Desk, especially if the required seva involved toilets. And our bathroom was equipped with the most revolting toilet on the planet: the hybrid Western-squat toilet.
GROSS.
The massage school in Goa also had one, and one of the girls taking the course with me thought that it was a toilet for people with fat asses. (Internet file photo.)
I wanted to die.
On the plus side, the room was cool - temperature-wise, that is, and the top floor afforded us some pretty spectacular views of Amma's Own Country, which we took plenty of pictures of.
Code of conduct and ashram rules: No photo, video or audio recordings. All forms of recording are restricted to Ashram appointees.
Where we were was the Hugging Mother's ashram, somewhere along the backwaters of Kerala. Born Mata Amritanandamayi in 1953, she is now known as Amma or Mother, and is considered by her devotees to be a living saint and, by the secular public, as a great humanitarian on a worldwide mission to spread love and compassion by hugging people.
Nope, this isn't her campaign. But it could be.
Everything that was pink was part of her domain. And, from the barred windows of our highrise apartment, we saw a lot of pink.
Amitrapuri, the Amma(n) ashram in Kerala, "God's Own Country".
We arrived late in the afternoon and just missed the ashram tour but, if we hurried, we could catch the group meditation by the beach.
And that's where I had my first glimpse of Amma.
(Internet file photo.)
She was sitting in the middle of the crowd but, curiously, she wasn't leading the meditation. I tried to find the source of the voice on the microphone but, soon, dismissed it and tried to focus on the meditation. I figured that, since I was already there, I might as well be open to the experience and take whatever I could get out of it.
But Alan had just read an article on how Amma's family had enriched itself, and he wasn't having any of it. I sensed him hovering over me and gave him a cursory nod. He waited patiently for a few seconds before he finally snapped, "Let's get out of here!"
By this time, the meditation had finished and a Q&A was in progress. But just as Amma hadn't led the meditation, she also wasn't the one answering the questions. Well, she was. Through her translator. Alan told me that Amma was uneducated. (She was pulled out of school after the fourth grade.) What if she was merely a figurehead, and her disciples were the ones really running the show?
I was skeptical. And hungry. So I didn't need much coaxing to ditch the scene. We lingered by the beach and took photos for a while, then headed out to a streetside store where Alan had some chai and I had some cookies.
Code of conduct and ashram rules: Do not eat outside the Ashram. Several international visitors have gotten severe stomach ailments due to eating at shops or restaurants outside the Ashram. Please be aware that the Ashram takes no responsibility for people getting sick in this way. Indian and Western food served inside the Ashram is more suitable for travelers.
It's true. The food at the ashram should have been more than enough for us. But we didn't know that then.
There were three canteens: The free Indian canteen where the monks, nuns, the downtrodden, and the freeloaders were fed. Then there was the paid Indian canteen, where we had breakfast the next morning (- three heavy ones, with a bottle of coconut water each, only amounted to 250 rs.). And then there was the paid Western canteen, where each dish could cost anywhere from 25 rs. to 40 rs. That's not even a dollar!
We were in foodie heaven!
Especially since the kitchen was staffed by volunteers who also happened to be professional cooks, so the food was really quite outstanding. Even if it was vegetarian.
There was also an open-all-day bakery with very good chai and coffee, cakes and cookies, as well as pasta and pizza.
Suddenly, ashram life wasn't looking too shabby.
I was also buoyed by the fact that Amma's foreign devotees - both the men and the women - weren't too shabby-looking either. While Alan wanted to retire to our penthouse suite, where we had stashed a bottle of pastis, I didn't mind staying in the thick of things (i.e. the cafe) where I could admire the eye candy whilst nibbling on a wheat-free cookie.
But while the hot cultists were all very intriguing, they were also very strange. Most of them wore grave expressions and were quite morose. I have no doubt that my over eagerness and jubilance marked me as a non-serious casual observer. Apart from my outfits, but more on that later.
While queuing at the Western canteen on our first night, I turned to make small talk with this single, white, very young female, in full saree, behind me.
Me: Hi! How long have you been here?
Her: <shrugs> No one really counts the days that one is here.
Me: <struggles not to roll eyes> Well, certainly you would have some idea if you've been here a few days, a week or a month, no?
Her: <does Indian head wiggle and pauses as if to think> Maybe over a year.
Me: Wow! Are you studying?
Her: <almost defensive> I study online.
Me: <realizes she may have thought I was questioning her age> No, I meant are you studying with Amma?
Her: Oh! <laughs> I don't think one can ever stop learning from Amma.
Me:
Were cultists really so tedious? Or was it just visitors to India who had stayed too long? (I encountered someone similar in Goa, who had taken residence somewhere in the mountains of India. When I asked how she had spent her day, she replied, "Oh, enjoying life." It was all I could do to stop myself from asking if that meant that she had just discovered the pleasures of a strap-on. Sorry, but I become even more uncouth when confronted with the holier-than-thou.)
To be fair, a very wise lady later pointed out that devotees aren't at the ashram to socialize, but to meditate and reflect, or whatever else it is they are meant to be doing.
Which, my guess would be, is to be culty.
On our first night there, Stephen and I were listening to Amma sing in the big hall. (Alan sat with us for a while then gave up and went back to the room.) I was thoroughly enjoying myself.
The live music at the ashram was so beautiful that it could make a devotee out of anyone and, true enough, the longer I listened to the music, the more interested I became in what the ashram was all about. Well, interested enough, at least, to start leafing through the pamphlet that was handed out to us at the reception.
I was barely a paragraph in when I noticed movement around me. Everyone was getting up. Well, not everyone. Just the white folk in white. The Indians were just sitting there. As was I. Not so, these culty foreigners. They were really getting into it. They were chanting and gesticulating with a lot of fervor. And then, just as quickly as it it had begun, it was over. And everyone sat back down, exhausted by their efforts.
My thought bubble: Watdafreakinfaaaak??? I was seriously weirded out.
But not so much that I was put off by it. I was having too much of a good time to let anything get me down. We were surrounded by beautiful people, there was excellent food available for practically nothing, and I could listen to Amma's music the whole day. Plus we had made friends with the people who were on the ferry over with us so we hung out with them, exchanging impressions and having a good laugh.
Before going down to dinner on our last night, I asked Stephen and Alan if I should wear the kaftan I bought at Anokhi. They responded, disturbingly, almost in unison, with a swift and categorical NO. Then Alan followed it up with, "We have a very high tolerance for your outfits, Gai. Sometimes, too high, but we have to put our foot down on this. This is not 'The Real Housewives of Kerala'."
Stephen concurred. "Wait till we get to Varkala," he said.
I was flabbergasted. Whatever did they mean? What was wrong with my outfits? Did they not like the kaftan??? I checked the Code of Conduct.
Code of conduct and ashram rules: Dress modestly. This Ashram is located in a very traditional part of India. In accordance with the local customs, shorts, sleeveless tops and transparent clothes are prohibited.
My kaftan seemed to be kosher.
I was perplexed, but I was also excited about dinner so I quickly filed away the unpleasant topic under "Things to Ponder While PMS-ing", and hurried to the Western canteen.
It was only much later - long after we had parted ways in India - that I realized I had been swanning about the ashram in oversized dark sunglasses, high-heeled flip flops, holding a mustard handbag aloft whilst fanning myself furiously with an abanico (a Spanish fan). I may have been modest, but I was anything but appropriate.
Stephen and me, stepping out of the ashram after darshan. (Photo c/o Alan Montelibano.)
Inappropriate dress and inappropriate behavior? (Photo c/o Alan Montelibano.)
That night, as I finally did seva with Stephen and dried dishes (- I still didn't register at the Seva Desk), you would have thought I was Julie McCoy, or that I was vying with Stephen for the title of Miss Congeniality.
"Thank you for helping out," I'd beam at the diners after they brought us their washed dishes. "I hope you had a nice dinner. Enjoy the rest of your evening!" If the cultists were strange, I stepped it up to Stepford Wife level.
Code of conduct and ashram rules: Practice Brahmacharya. ... Observing silence and minimizing speech is another aspect of brahmacharya and helps to keep us focused inwards.
I was having such a good time at the ashram (- even Alan seemed to have made his peace with it) that, when it was time for us to leave, I was surprised when both Alan and Stephen agreed that we should start out early in the morning. Before lunch. Without breakfast!
"But, but, but..."
<cue Marilyn Manson's "The Beautiful People">
Seriously, I could have stayed another day. Or two.
That night, after a very long and satisfying evening, Stephen and I were enjoying a pleasant chat with one of the elders in the elevator. We said our goodnights when he got off at a lower floor, and Stephen and I smiled contentedly to ourselves. As soon as the elevator doors opened on the 15th floor, we exchanged nervous glances. The unmistakable aroma of pastis was wafting down the long, narrow corridor.
Code of conduct and ashram rules: No smoking. ... Drinking alcohol and using illicit drugs are strictly forbidden both on and off the Ashram premises while you are a registered guest here.
***
We attended the briefing that we had missed when we arrived and were a shown a video about Amma's humanitarian efforts, and I must say that what she's done has been pretty impressive. She's donated millions to disaster relief. She has a school and a hospital.
There are accusations of her mistreating staff. I think after 12 hours straight - and I mean straight - no bathroom breaks, no coffee breaks, no my-ass-has-gone-to-sleep stretching breaks - of hugging strangers and listening to sob stories - that I would be pretty grumpy too. I'd probably slap my kids around and kick a cat. (Which is why I have no kids or cats.)
There are allegations about misuse of funds but I do not know enough about Amma's organization to make a judgement on that. Did she take a vow of poverty? Did she coerce anyone into giving her money? Did she promise to do things with the money and not deliver? Does she use the money for illegal activities?
I was only there for two days and all I have to go by is what I experienced. I didn't feel pressured to pay for anything. And what I did pay for amounted to next to nothing. It was 250 rs. for a place to sleep and we've already established that I could have eaten for free if I wanted, and the food at the paid canteens was ridiculously cheap, even by Indian standards. No one hawked things for me to buy, although there were stores for if I did need some retail therapy. And I did. I paid a crazy amount for a necklace, but it's not something that I had to buy. I just wanted it.
So far as she's dealing with consenting adults who part willingly with their money, if she builds herself a nice house or buys a private jet, that's her prerogative, no? She wouldn't be the first spiritual leader to make money off her followers. If someone wants to pay $2000 to spend time with her, well, it's like paying for an overpriced cup of coffee. No one is forcing you to do it.
***
Darshan, (Sanskrit: “auspicious viewing”) , also spelled darshana, in Hindu worship, the beholding of a deity (especially in image form), revered person, or sacred object. The experience is often conceived to be reciprocal and results in the human viewer’s receiving a blessing. ... Darshan is also imparted by gurus (personal spiritual teachers) to their followers, by rulers to their subjects, and by objects of veneration such as pilgrimage shrines to their visitors. Source: Encyclopedia Britannica
Ashram Pamphlet: When Amma is in the Ashram, She gives darshan on Wednesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays. The morning darshan usually starts around 11:00.
Saturday, 1 February 2014, Darshan Day
32 million hugged. +3. (Internet file photo.)
We were killing time, waiting for our turn to queue up for a hug, when Alan checked one of the boards and saw that we all had schedules for sitting on the stage with Amma. His turn had passed but it was about time for mine. I rushed past the darshan queue and made my way to the back of the stage.
I'm not sure what this whole sitting-on-the-stage was all about because, while it did show that the organization was a well-run machine, with volunteers effectively managing queues, it also showed certain things that they probably should have been more discreet about.
For instance, the gifts or offerings to Amma. When she would receive, say, a garland from a devotee, she would wear it around her neck only for as long as the devotee was in front of her. After which, she immediately removed the garland and passed it to a volunteer behind her. I understand her not keeping the garlands on, as she did sit in that chair for a solid 12 hours and, if she had kept on every garland offered to her, she would have been buried to the rafters in garlands within the first hour. But what was plain as day was that the garlands and the offerings of fruit were being sent back to the table by the darshan queue to be resold.
Then there were the volunteers sitting around her. They weren't just sitting on the stage for the allotted 45 minutes. They looked like they had taken root to their spots and built careers out of it. CEO of Fawning. VP for Sweat Wiping. It was all rather creepy.
And then there was Amma herself. Someone told me that she had had darshan somewhere abroad before, but that Amma was distracted and was still talking to the man who had had a hug before her while she was getting her hug.
Well, that same scene was playing right in front of me on that stage.
Amma spoke to the Indians a lot. Some of them would break down in front of her and she would engage them in lengthy discusssions. Sometimes, she would share a laugh with her disciples (set apart from the cuckoos in white by their orange garb). Except that there were people to be hugged so she carried on hugging while carrying on conversations with others. Didn't she realize that her followers lived for that hug??? And there she was nattering away with someone else.
Although no one was watching the clock, after 45 minutes, I left the stage.
Later, when I returned for darshan, I willed myself to be open to the experience. If she was a saint, I wanted to be a believer. If she was a god, I wanted to be healed.
I sat there, watching how the queues were being managed. They were pretty orderly. Then I sat next to a woman who wasn't moving in the queue. She turned out to be a volunteer. She handed me a laminated information sheet and some tissue paper. I was supposed to wipe my face with the tissues before hugging Amma and I wasn't allowed to touch her but I should rest my hands, and therefore my weight, on the armrests when I was hugged.
As I neared Amma, an Indian volunteer asked me where I was from and what language I spoke. She noted that it was my first time.
And then it happened very quickly.
I was shoved on my knees and I remembered to grab the armrests, when the music and the sound of the people receded as Amma pulled me to her bosom. Concentrate, Gai, concentrate. I realized she was whispering something in my ear that I couldn't understand. I think she repeatedly said the word, "Ma". And then she released me and put something in my hand. As someone pulled me to my feet, I locked eyes with Amma for a second.
And then I was thrust back into the din of the outside world. I felt a bit disoriented and wasn't sure what I was meant to do. Unlike in the queue, when we were being herded by volunteers, after the hug, there was no one there to tell me where I was supposed to go or what I was supposed to do.
I glanced back at Amma and she was already buried in a hug. I glanced at the faithful gathered around her, watching her like hawks. I don't know what I was looking for. I think I was looking for a feeling. But there was none forthcoming.
As I stepped off the stage, I looked at the brown paper that she thrust into my hand. Inside was a piece of candy. What was it supposed to mean? Was I supposed to eat it? Was it supposed to bring me luck? Was it even any good?
But I didn't come to the ashram looking for answers and I didn't feel compelled to start asking questions. I took a deep breath, found my equilibrium, and went to look for my friends and for a bit of food.