Seeradhi Panindhorku

It is Deepavali after all, yet, can it ever be the same without Swamiji? This is a picture i have taken of swamiji's sannidhanam in shivanjali, coimbatore in july. it is with great love and devotion that abhishekam, alankaram, and puja are done here daily.

Many years back, on a tape of swamiji's songs, i found my heart and my mind struck and stuck to the love and longing in swamiji's voice as he sang this song. the feeling was difficult to describe, yet utterly memorable and deep. he sang of shivananda as if his heart would break against the cascade of notes, through the cascade of notes. it is in this song, hearing it, that i experience a little of what i can do to experience deep love. i have the lyrics here and i have loosely translated them into english, to offer the sense of the song, in my own words. i have also changed the original "shivananda" to "shantananda". as swamiji felt for swami shivananda, his guru, so do i, in my own humble way, feel for my swamiji, swami shantananda. swamiji composed the song in the ragam of mohanam - the scale of enchantment.

yaar tharuvaar enakku
arulinaal anubhavam
adhishaya aananda
aathma sudaroliye
seeradhi panindhorku
sevadi thandharulum
chinmaya moorthi satguru
shantaananda

gnaana gangaiyin ootru
nin thiru paadam
prema pravaaham
nin thiru meni
bodha pravaaham
nin thiru vaakku
moksha samraajyam
nin thiruvarule

seeradhi panindhorku
sevadi thandharulum
chinmaya moorthi satguru
shantaananda...

om hreem shantaananda hamsaaya vidmahe
thanno hamsaaye prachodayaat

who else will bless me but you, swamiji?
you who gave me your love
the very moment my head touched your feet
you who showed me divine beauty
flowing like the ganga
you who showed me love that
flows like a river in flood
you who showed me the light
of the sages
will you show me too the final goal?
but
will you show me you once again?

Remembering Love 7

"O SWAMIJI spent so much time with us," Chellamah mami told me. "Those days, whenever he came to kuala lumpur, either from colombo or bombay, he would come home. he would come to our homes. there would be morning satsangh in someone's house... he'd sing, and carry us along with his beautiful voice... and then, he'd talk to us about life, about living, about god, about philosophy and religion. it was such an experience to listen to him. he filled our hearts with hope.

"after the satsangh, he would have breakfast with us, and then he'd talk some more, joking and laughing with us. making us feel that we belonged to him, and that he belonged to us." chellamah mami would smile with tears in her eyes, and look distant for a little while, and the memory would return. "then, someone would whisper something to swamiji, and he'd say, alright, we are going to jey's house for lunch. all are welcome... and the lunch would flow into tea and dinner at someone else's house..."

chellamah mami told me of those days when swamiji had first begun to plant seeds of a special kind of love in all their hearts. this love was himself. he cajoled, inspired, teased, hugged, advised, taught... he loved them with his being, with his presence in their midst. they had never met anyone like him who would give of himself so freely. whatever knowledge he could give, whatever little morsel of care and concern he could reveal, they received, and knew that it was truth and sincerity because they felt it in their hearts.

it needed no words.

i listened to chellamah mami's stories of this one long, continuous picnic with swamiji, and it reminded me of the leelas that krishna would play with the gopis and the gopas. all that i had read of krishna, in the puranas, those were just stories... but here was a man who recreated and sustained a similar atmosphere of love and spontaneity in the lives of simple, humble people who were looking for something...

there was arulampalam mami who told me many stories too, and between the two ladies, i would often sit and listen in amazement, moved to tears by their wonderful experiences of and with swamiji.

my clearest thought: i had missed the boat. i had come too late to enjoy that time of getting to know swamiji. now it was just work, carrying out his work. no doubt with him. but they all had a fifteen year headstart!

i made a wish with my tears...

within the year, swamiji announced at tryambakam that he wanted me to start hansa designs in kuala lumpur, revive hansa magazine. nagen stretched out a hand, "i will help you with a few things, ket."

and from that time onwards, there was not a day that swamiji did not call me into his presence. my desk was just outside his office, and each morning, when he arrived, we would all enter to do namaskaram. before everyone could finish doing that, he would start talking to me. each day, he would tell me something different. about the masters, about the blank check, about surrender, about karma. he would give me work to do... "design this for me... write this for me..."

he would take me in his car rides, to anywhere. he would make me listen to music with him. he would invite me to have lunch with him. not a day went by without my seeing him, and spending hours at a stretch, listening to him, getting to know him, letting him get to know me (as if that was necessary)... slowly, surely knitting a warm web of familiarity...

he kept me close to him for the longest time - i bow my head now in gratitude, my heart almost bursting - so that i could begin to understand his love. it took me awhile but it finally did dawn on me that he was granting me my wish to spend time with him, to get to know him, like others did.

he showed me that i was worthy of his love, that he could give me that. it was there for the asking. i received... now, looking back, i realised that i had received in great measure...

this is how i remember his love. my swamiji who loves me.

Remembering Love 6

Swamiji's 60th year must have been the most glorious for all of us at the Temple of Fine Arts.

well, at least for me, it seemed that way. this was the year when he took "a midsummer night's dream" everywhere, after his birthday celebrations in kuala lumpur. that april of 1994, the shrine he caused to be created in our midst in brickfields, with the sonorous chanting of the kasi priests every morning from the 7th onwards, the homams, the prayers, the ceremony, the cultural events, from dawn till dusk, and then, over to the pj civic centre for the performance of shakespeare's comedy...

it was the morning of his 60th birthday... he was seated under a canopy of fragrant jasmines, decorated with orange and yellow blossoms. he had been worshipped with love and devotion by everyone who had come. the place thronged with adoring devotees, gazing at this man who had caught all our hearts, won over many, many times by his unsurpassing love for us.

at the beginning of the puja of the morning, swamiji was garlanded with a hugely thick rose blossom garland. when the puja was over, he took the mike, and spoke of me, called me to him, and then, gave me the sweetest honour one could ever ever hope for as his devotee - he put his rose garland onto me. it was moist and heavy, and as i bowed my head to his feet, i knew not what to think, except that here was a moment of which i knew not the reason for.

looking back, thinking back, i believe now that he loved me deeply, knowingly, and wholeheartedly. and there i was, unconscious, unknowing.

will i ever be able to measure his love? get a glimpse of understanding? so that i can be resolutely grateful?



that year was glorious for me because he decided to take "a midsummer night's dream" everywhere. from kuala lumpur, we went to singapore. from singapore, we went to perth. and from perth, we took it to penang. it had never been like that before - the intensity of purpose and performance, its frequency, its all embracing capacity to hold everyone in each centre close to him.

it was glorious because i observed that the production required and necessitated the participation of shiva family members - his devotees who were not dancers but who had been watching all the time, perhaps nursing a secret wish to be able to take part. in this production, every uncle and auntie who had the inclination for the stage was picked, dressed up, made up, given a few tips on stage work as actors, and then, they were plunged into the colour and festivity of a beautiful experience. for the first time, the production gave so many of swamiji's devotees the chance to be in the great centre of his vision and his work. his work of sharing something beautiful but ephemeral that came through from the stage.

in my work with them, the joy in their eyes, the light on their faces, and the laughter that came from their hearts was always something for me to behold in wonderment, in appreciation, and in humility. i began to understand a little about how much he meant to each and every one of them... and the purpose of his presence in their lives.

every centre gave the opportunity to members in that centre to tread the boards of the stage. they thrilled to the costumes, the discipline required of them, the movement on stage. every nerve in their bodies sang to the song of his love, which manifested on stage as this shakespearean production.

in perth, while we were rehearsing in one of the studios of edith cowan university, he had given me a drink of mango juice. seated next to him, he had taken a sip of the fruit drink, and then he gently nudged me with the drink in his hand. i took it and, wordlessly, drank the whole thing.

was there another time that he had given a drink to someone else?

at that time, sujatha, arriving from singapore for the performance, was diagnosed with chicken pox. rehearsals went on. as the performance came to a finish, kalidasan, who was staying with me in dr bose's house, went down with the pox, too. i had never had the pox, and i was a little anxious.

nothing happened.

the show went to penang. but swamiji had to be in madras for a little while, and we had to make the necessary preparations for the show without him.

one afternoon, in the hall, as we were rehearsing, swamiji arrived. we jumped with joy, and quickly gathered around him, looking at him eagerly, so pleased to see him again. he started to tell us that while he was in madras, he felt that he was going to come down with chicken pox as well! but he had quickly taken some medication, and then, he smiled and looked at me deeply for an instant: i felt he was telling me something without saying it. "i would not get the chicken pox!"

in my mind, i said "thank you, swamiji."

when the show finished, and we returned to kuala lumpur, it was ganesh who came down with the pox and he was down for three weeks!!!

i knew then that he had protected me from suffering, and then, gave it to ganesh who was strong and sure.

this is how i remember his love. my swamiji who loves me.

Remembering Love 5

SWAMIJI told me, "I was in a bookshop, flicking through the pages of A Midsummer Night's Dream, and the line "i want that indian boy" caught my eye." this had started swamiji's mind ticking. what was the connection here? was it possible to bring out this almost submerged element in the play, and give it a bit more elaboration? was it possible to relocate the action of the play in india? "ket, i want you to write the script."

wow! to tackle shakespeare, the haloed bard of english literature, and represent the story in the way we do things at the temple of fine arts! i was too excited to be scared. if he believed i could do it, i could do it, i told myself. i set to work almost immediately, and finished the adaptation in two weeks. i indianised all the names of the characters, relocated the action in rajasthan where the pomp and glory of martial prowess could match theseus' and hippolyta's background. and the element of parental oppression - easily identified with in the new scenario. the lovers' quarrel and final reconciliation were no problems at all, that being universal.

"let the fairy king oberon be ananga, and his titania, the goddess bhogawati," swamiji said. "puck can be renamed deepak!"

we went into production in march 1994, straight after we had finished odissi odyssey. the performance would be offered on his 60th birthday in april! we worked day and night, in the control room, swamiji choosing music with us. we found ravi shankar's sitar concerto no 1 highly useful. the choreographers worked on the floor from morning till night. umesh, sukhi, shankar, sarasa, and geetha painstakingly created new movements to match the colour of the music. borrowing from past dance sequences, they pushed at the limits of their imagination. the work was feverish. so was the tension. it seemed to be a haphazard way of doing things. but it was exciting nonetheless. at least for me.

since every single dancer who could take part had to be dancing in some scene or other, i had to wait till 10.30 each night before i could work with those who were cast as the group of villagers who would present a play in the king's court. and for the first time, the dancers were given a chance to create and dramatise their characters themselves. with a little help from me. thus far, this had been a neglected aspect of most productions - or at least the approach to drama came from the dance perspective. the oft-repeated court scenes in previous dance productions always required a dignified delivery of lines, and in time, this became the style of delivery for most scenes during the voice recordings.

the drama improvisation sessions helped to free up the voices and characters, and gave many scenes a more natural quality. i believed that it made the performances more accessible for the audience. and being so passionate about the work, i began to throw ideas on costumes and set design at shyamala and sarasa. i envisioned a huge tree trunk, fallen and aged, as the centrepiece for the set. it would delineate the forest immediately. we would do without the painted backdrops. it would be more realistic!

swamiji said no! i was curious. and perplexed.

later on, he whispered to me about krishnamurti mama, the uncle who had been painting backdrops for us throughout the years. swamiji told me that he got the feeling it would be mama's last project. this gave me a new perspective to swamiji's work.

it opened my mind to other existences, other thoughts, other feelings apart from the work at hand. at the temple of fine arts, every production had always been a collective endeavour. each person who came, could volunteer and give of himself in whatever he or she could, and go away feeling that something had been offered. it was swamiji's way of affirming our sense of belonging, our sense of usefulness, and our sense of purpose.

it immediately struck me then, that life is not just the work at hand but more so the work on the soul. this was swamiji's work. he saw krishnamurti mama's need to contribute, even at his advanced age, so that he could continue to feel useful and needed, to feel that he counted in more ways than one. through the work on the production, swamiji gave krishnamurti mama back to himself.

i understood then that swamiji knew how each of us needed to do things for him, so that he could affirm our belief in ourselves. and there was also the possibility that by krishnamurti mama's working on the production, his dedicated service would count for more merit, more punyam, so that he could continue to serve swamiji in years to come.

i learnt then that there is more to life than work - even work done as dedicated service to a guru. there is death. there is hope, and more important, there is love. love so wide and open, it embraces and soothes. it nourishes the soul. there is love.

this is how i remember his love. my swamiji who loves me.

Remembering Love 4

SWAMIJI said, "ket, i want to do a production called 'odissi odyssey', so that geetha can choreograph and teach our senior dancers this beautiful dance form. and then, i want you to write a script on the story of emperor ashoka. before he became a buddhist king, he waged war on kalinga, the area that is now known as orissa. i see a connection..."

imagine my delight: to write a script for an entire production. i jumped into it with excitement and fervour. swamiji's idea was to bring the elements of ashoka's personal and political struggles onto the stage, culminating in a devastating loss of peace, especially after he had won the war. "victory! this is not victory," swamiji quoted to me, "but ugly defeat masquerading as victory!" emotionally and psychologically, ashoka would suffer desolation and inner darkness. until the grace of buddha came upon him.

with geetha, i wrote an odissi dance programme based on the rites of spring, how with the heavenly surya riding his horses northwards symbolised the coming of spring: a new beginning, a new illumination upon the world.

it was an exciting time for everyone at the temple of fine arts. because finally, there came in the person of geetha someone who could teach them odissi. odissi odyssey was a brilliant and colourful production, though the dramatic structure and final production of ashoka lacked flow and cohesion. nevertheless, it was a wonderful opportunity to create, to choreograph, to perform, and to watch it all unfold on stage. "ket, i want you to play emperor ashoka!"

in january 1994, immediately after our second run of ramayana in kuala lumpur, played to full houses, swamiji took us to orissa! geetha, shankar, hari and i, plus rupa damodaran, flew to calcutta with unbelievable excitement. i had been to india before many, many years ago but this would be the first time we would go with swamiji.

he had arranged everything. from calcutta, we flew to bhubaneswar. brown and red earth everywhere but also fresh green fields in the morning, undisturbed country. it was on one of the rides through the countryside that i thought i could live my life in india.

swamiji took us to a small town where we could buy all the costume jewellery for the production of both odissi odyssey and emperor ashoka. swamiji almost bought the whole shop! and the shopkeeper was of course very, very pleased.

later on, we visited the great doyenne of odissi, sanjukta panigrahi, and pandit raghunath panigrahi himself - the man with the voice of heavenly devotion. sanjuktaji then took us to pay our respects to the great kelucharan mohapatra. could this be true? that i had only read of such people, looked at their pictures in books, and now we were in their homes, eating a meal with them, sitting next to them, speaking to them. most of the time, my head was in a whirl, what with hari still a little toddler. and we were zooming here and there with swamiji. with visits to temples and holy places - all in a flash.

one morning swamiji took us to puri jagannath. the most famous temple of them all. where the gitagovinda is sung daily during worship, where the dance odissi became more beautiful, and had acquired an aura of sublime grace by being performed here for the deity.

at the door to the temple, we were stopped. swamiji was told that they could not allow me in! since i did not look like a hindu, and was definitely not indian. "hey, this man here was born in malaysia, not indian, but he is my devotee, he recites the trishati with me. he is mine. he belongs to me, so he has to come in with me," swamiji countered. "ah, you say, swamiji he is hindu, what is his gotra, his lineage?"

"he belongs to the gotra of viswamitra, and his name is sharan!"

my ears caught this last revelation. it was a gift. in front of the temple of puri jagannath, swamiji called me "sharan". i held it in my mind, kept it in my heart with feelings of having been given a treasure! "sharan" - surrender. did i not come to him to do exactly that?

"no, swamiji, this cannot be. he is not of our caste, and so he cannot come in. but you must come in, swamiji!" the man said. "if you won't allow him in, then i am not coming in. we are not coming into your temple," swamiji said quietly. "no, no, swamiji, you must come in and come to the sannidhanam. leave him out here, he will be alright. the others with you can come. swamiji, please, please, please do come in... i will ask them to do archana for you, come, come..."

"come, let's go, ket. i don't know what curses are on jagannath to have people like this run his temple. we don't have to go in," swamiji said to us, and began to walk away from the temple. i felt bad. did i spoil things? it was amusing to encounter this kind of situation. i did not mind going anywhere or not going anywhere. i was already with swamiji. and watching him show me all these differences in life... in any place.

to cheer us up, swamiji put us all in a rickshaw and we went for a ride up and down the street - and he told us how during the grand festival of the puri jagannath temple, the place would be jam packed with people - a sea of humanity - the temple car of jagannath would be pulled by thousands of devotees in a procession. and all the time, he would address his explanations of things to me.

when the rickshaw came to a stop, the man from the temple came running with prasadam from the pooja and offered it to swamiji, possibly expecting some gift of money. swamiji just took it from his hand and offered it to us. "no, i am not coming in. it is alright," he told the man.

i felt swamiji watching me, observing me and my responses to the different circumstances, to the strange behaviour of discrimination. was there a lesson there in it for me? i did not see it. it did not bother me.

"tomorrow, we will go to konarak," swamiji said. and all of us whooped with delight. especially geetha. shankar was of course pleased as pie. this was a treat we had dreamed of... every one of us who had ever danced odissi.

this is how i remember his love. my swamiji who loves me.

Remembering Love 3

"my heart aches... and a drowsy numbness pains my senses..."

would i ever have imagined that i would feel the way keats wrote: "as though of hemlock i had drunk..."?

the heart is increasingly burdened by swamiji's absence. his absence in my life. so i try to remember the good things, the amazing things...

sometime in 1993, young hari caught a cold, and a slight fever came upon him. but it would not be shaken off even after a week. he was teething, perhaps. but then, his left eye began to swell. he was given antibiotics but it didn't help. then uma called to say that it had struck her that morning something was not right. we should take him to the hospital.

my child had been crying in discomfort, especially at night. my darling boy who clung to me - and neither geetha nor i knew what was happening. the only comfort he could find was in watching prakash play hanuman in our ramayana. that beautiful scene seemed to take his mind off his fever and his pain.

when we showed him to the eye specialist, dr sukumaran, it was decided that hari would be admitted and put under observation and medication. my poor boy clung to me with fear, and i couldn't bear to leave him alone in the hospital. both geetha and i watched him day and night, and the antibiotics seemed to work. but on the third day, dr sukumaran came in on his routine check and found that the swelling inflamation did not abate completely. he ordered a scan. hari had to be drugged, and i had to watch my little boy struggle with the pricking of the needle and then going under.

geetha and i waited anxiously outside the scanning room. when the doctor came out, he said that he would have to book the operation theatre for wednesday, the very next day, and call in the e.n.t. and the brain surgeon. i slipped into the control room and gazed at the computer screens that showed hari's head. it was quite obvious. there was something that was pushing out from behind his left eye!.

was i in a scene that i had often seen in movies when parents learn of the terrible truth? fear and numbness gripped my insides. i was filled with helplessness. the technician who did the scan then said that she would do the scanning again, just to be sure. and as hari was coming out of the stupor, he had to be given another dose.

the second scan showed the same thing.

my little boy clung to me as geetha watched helplessly. my poor child filled with fear and me not knowing what to do for him. in the late evening, the brain surgeon came to hari's bed, and introduced himself to us. he said that he had not seen the scans yet but before he did he would prime us on the challenges that lay ahead of us if he had to perform surgery! he said that when an operation had to be done so close to the eye and the brain, there were many risks of damage. i listened in amazement to this man who droned on and on. i realise now that he wanted me to be certain that he should not be blamed afterwards for any negative consequences of the operation. my mind and my heart was racked, and i was almost breathless.

he then took out the scans from the envelope, took one look, and announced that his presence was not necessary!!! my relief was flushed with anger; why didn't he look at the scans first, instead of giving us such a terrible scare?

but still, hari had to be operated upon. i sent out word to swamiji about hari's condition, and i was told that everyone was already praying for hari.

the next morning, chandra came to the hospital with vibhuti and a black kasi string for hari. from swamiji. he tied the string on hari's wrist and told me that swamiji said everything would be alright. i told geetha that i wanted to go home for a short while, bring some things from the house, get a shower... just a short break.

i wanted to go home and in the quiet of the house, rail and scream at shivananda in the pooja room. but when i got there, all i could do was kneel in front of him and said, with pain and tears, that i accepted all that he was giving me - the torture of seeing my child suffer like that.

two weeks earlier, during a short discussion with swamiji in tfa, i had noticed that swamiji was staring at hari with great interest. he was having his coffee and watching hari scamper about among us. hari was barely two years old. i noticed that swamiji was glaring at hari in a curious way. it was as if he saw something that we couldn't. then swamiji called hari, and strangely, gave him some of the coffee he was drinking. hari lapped it up. i was sure that swamiji was blessing him in some way. all of us in that room were sure that it was so. but i could understand this only much later. after hari's ordeal in the hospital.

dr sukumaran told us that he did not need the brain surgeon but would require the presence of the e.n.t. specialist. hari was prepared for the operation theatre, and geetha and i sat. and waited. it seemed that our lives were hanging in the balance. our little boy, so sweet and cute and loving, to go through something like this at such a young age. one part of me knew that things would turn out well... yet another part of me had never experienced something like this before. three hours. of eternity.

a nurse came out and called out hari's name. geetha and i jumped up but were told that only one of us could go in. geetha nodded to me, and so i went in. my little boy had a white bandage over his eye and he was still groggy from the drugging. he was calling out to me in a gruff voice and i quickly held him close. so close. i was given back my child. already his face had lightened. the pain had gone. "papa's here, hari, papa's here..." he grabbed me close and clung tightly to me. dr sukumaran remarked that for someone so small there was a lot of stuff to be drained from the sac that had collected behind his left eye. i am sure i was thoroughly relieved but yet, now i only remember the pain.

leaving the hospital, with hari well on the road to recovery, geetha and i were happy to be home. but something else awaited me at work. the manager empathised with me over my son's ordeal at the hospital but nevertheless told me that they couldn't keep me anymore as business was not good. i was shocked but then, a voice in me said "shivananda wants you to change your lifestyle". i smiled at them and went home. made a call to an ex-boss, got a new position as consultant in her firm, and realised that when a door closes, a window opens.

i called swamiji in madras and told him of the state of affairs. he said, "ket, don't work for people who don't want you!" i told him i had already found another position.

two weeks later, in annalakshmi, para told me that hari's ordeal was his own sacrifice for me! that if not for my son taking on some of my karma, i would have lost an arm or a leg. i knew that this revelation had come from swamiji himself. it was then that i remember swamiji's talk to me about how the masters deal with karma for those who surrender to them, how in a group of devotees, people who love each other, through someone kind and compassionate could lighten the karmic burden of one individual among them.

could it be that this child of mine has such a loving soul that he would go through pain and torture for me? god knows that i was almost mad with the pain in my heart and my head watching him suffer.

then i remembered swamiji giving hari a sip of his coffee weeks earlier. then it struck me that he had seen what was to come to this little boy, and perhaps, for his bravery, for his deep love for his own father, swamiji blessed him, gave him strength, gave him the boost to withstand the onslaught of a father's karma.


then i began to understand a little of swamiji's deeply profound and mystical influence on our lives.

i bow my head in gratitude and humility.

this is how i remember his love. my swamiji who loves me.

Remembering Love 2

"hello, ket, this is swamiji speaking. are you free to talk?" his voice was easy and slow, and it took me straight away from the frenetic office environment i was in. "yes, swamiji.." my blood was rushing. it was an exciting occurence. earlier, bavani had called me earlier to invite me to play the sage viswamitra in the singapore performance of the ramayana. she had assured me that everything would be taken care of. i would only need to take leave from work.

"ket, i want you to come to singapore. you and geetha and hari. you will stay with me, and i have spoken to the journalists in singapore about you. they are waiting to interview you." i was curious. did i need this? did i send out any signals about wanting any publicity for myself?

i had been bowled over by the whole experience of the ramayana that swamiji created in november 1992. for the first time in my life, i could experience something mystical - the role of the sage viswamitra in his relationship with rama and lakshmana. moreover, right now, it seemed to me that swamiji was going all out to bring me and geetha to singapore to reprise the role, and get geetha to rehearse the dancers there for the janaka's court scene of odissi dancers which she had choreographed. so why would i need a bait like this?

"yes, swamiji, bavani had spoken to me, swamiji. and i will come," i quickly offered. and not without excitement. "you will be staying with me, ket. i will take care of you and geetha," he said simply, but already i felt something tremendous was to happen. what was it? i became even more curious.

in singapore, the show went on with much colour and excitement for all of us. the tremendous experience i had expected did not happen. the morning before we left for kuala lumpur, we went to a bookshop and bought some nice books. one of these was autobiography of a yogi by yogananda. earlier i had not had the desire to read it but this time the book was beckoning from the shelf.

back in kuala lumpur, i began to flip through the books we bought and decided that when both geetha and hari had gone to bed i would start reading. one night, past midnight, i casually opened the autobiography of a yogi... within its pages came forth thoughts, ideas and explanations of the beautiful, mysterious and mystical life of a seeker... and i began to understand who swamiji was... and seeing it clearer, it dawned on me with increasing excitement and joy that there was hope for me. each night i would devour pages of this book with overflowing happiness and gratitude with the knowledge that it was possible for me to experience the love of a guru. he had come to me in the form of swamiji.

i knew then this was the tremendous experience he wanted to give me.

this book spoke of the otherworldly relationship of the guru sishya manifest in this mundane world. how a life of deeper spirituality of the seeker is only possible with the loving guidance of a guru. the key word here is "loving". for compared to all relationships, none can come close to this special relationship of the sishya and his guru. this love for another that springs from an ocean of all embracing compassion... these words are not sufficient...

it dawned on me that my search - for what i had not known - had finally brought me to the feet of someone whose love for all who came to him cannot be measured. did my heart tremble with joy? yes! an understanding, an awareness, a sort of seeing experience i had never felt before, never imagined before, came upon me.

i had come to where i had wanted to be. i had reached the destination from where my journey would begin... he had held out his hand to me... and taken mine.

this is how i remember his love. my swamiji who loves me.

Remembering Love 1

"hey, ket, if you have the time, swamiji wants to see you," vasu revealed to me, watching me for resistance. i was curious, of course. this swami who seemed to have everyone eating out of his hands. who appeared to have their minds, his devotees, (how wrong i was).

i was just a dance student here at the temple of fine arts, having found myself liking it - its otherworldliness, so far removed from the stressed out corporate world of advertising and consumerism - and then, i was also informed by my dance teacher, vatsala sivadas, that swamiji wanted to see me.

curious. fascinated. i was eager to find out the reason for his singling me out. when i did approach swamiji a few days later about when i should meet up with him -"anyday or time, ket, when you are free," he said. i offered the coming saturday, 24th december. he said that 4 o'clock would be good for him.

that saturday morning, a certain calm, and yet, a slight sense of excitement was stirring inside when i made preparations to do the laundry at home. in a huge basin of water filled with soap bubbles, i found myself holding the water hose and drawing a six pointed star in the foaming bubbles. strange. it was the star of david.

that afternoon, in his office, swamiji began to tell me of how he wanted to do a homam on 1st january 1990 for dancers. and i was to take part in it. in his explanation of the homam, he began to draw pictures - and he drew a six pointed star. a single dot he placed in the dead centre of this diagram, explaining that offering ghee and fuel into the homam fire was in fact offering to the self - the dead centre.

a part of me was transfixed. another part of me was questioning. what did this man do? did he read my mind? or did he plant that thought in my head earlier that day? was he going to hypnotise me and take over my mind? something then told me that i need not be afraid, for nothing could harm me.

it was christmas eve, after all. and from that day onwards, i found myself eschewing cigarettes, alcohol and meat. without effort. and while my friends wanted to party on new year's eve into the wee hours of the morning, i chose my bed so that i could rise at 5 before dawn, to attend the homam.

what happened after the homam? nothing. nothing i could discern. except that i was aware of something else within. what it was i couldnt know or describe. how ignorant i was, then. and how wonderful it became. with the little i know now, i believe he made me take a step towards something very special. a life of great love and great awareness. without my knowing it, he took my hand and led me to a path of immeasurable richness - treasures of the spirit, an awareness of giving and thankfulness.

now looking back, it would seem that he was creating a connection with me, or reestablishing a connection that was from a different time. and though, i had gone on my way with my life then, circumstances over the next year brought me back to him.

in 1991, april 10th it was, when geetha and i brought our wedding invitation to him out of courtesy, he quickly set aside the work he was doing, to announce to everyone around him that geetha and i were getting married. he told us then that we were very blessed for among us then was a kashi vadhyar who had come, and swamiji would ask him to recite a mantra to bless our impending wedding. a silk sari, groom's dhoti, kumkum in a silver peacock box, and the loving looks of the dance teachers, together with the sonorous chant of the priest, presided over by swamiji, we were "married" there and then.

i knew that he was blessing us. but i did not know how deep and profound this was until much later. laughingly, he said, "now you are married. you did not have to go to kashi because kashi (referring to the priest) has come, and you won't even have to worry about the wedding ritual now!" someone we hardly knew, so eager to show kindness and concern.

what a strange man! inspired by god-knows-what to do such things!

now i know what inspired him.

this is how i remember his love. my swamiji who loves me.

A Measure of Thankfulness

Sunday July 23, 2006


DAWN. When the sun is just beginning to burnish the horizon. An eight-year-old girl is in rapt concentration, holding a rose petal to her heart, as the chant of a hundred voices resonates amidst the glow of oil lamps, praising and seeking benediction.

She offers the petal, picks up another, and offers it; repeating this simple act of devotion until the prayer is over.

Two other youngsters wave the arathi – the container of burning camphor – to signal the conclusion of the prayer.

All eyes are on this simple but profound ritual: the soft amber light moving in a circle against the early dawn. It ushers in the light of knowledge and wisdom.

And so, another Sunday at the Temple of Fine Arts (TFA) in Kuala Lumpur begins. The open spaces near the shrine fill up with dance students. You hear the tuning of the violin and the veena and the drumming of the tabla. Then the brilliant sound of the nattuvangam (cymbals) heralds the sound of stamping feet.

It is the beginning of a busy week of bharatanatyam, odissi, kuchipudi and contemporary dance classes; singing and music lessons both Carnatic and Hindustani; and rehearsals for a forthcoming fund-raising event.

For 25 years, and under the guidance of the founder, Swami Shantanand Saraswathi, the dance and music teachers at TFA have painstakingly, consistently, moved towards the ideal of serving the community through the arts. Arts practitioners will know that this is an uphill task. It requires self-motivation, faith, and sacrifice.

And yet, because of Swamiji’s deep love for dance and music, and because of his uncommon wisdom and compassion, many students have discovered a connection between a deeper part of themselves and the spirit of the songs and dances they are learning.

It is a connection that allows the student to experience a glimmer of the luminosity that is Indian classical dance and music; to grasp, albeit fleetingly, a layer of understanding about the vast network of myths, legends, and spiritual history that makes up Asia’s cultural heritage.

Case in point: I had come to Indian classical dance at the “never-too-late” age of 28. Nothing had prepared me for the sharp contrast between the highly stressed and materialistic corporate world I was living in then and this rare and nourishing shrine.

Two months into bharatanatyam classes with my teacher, Vatsala Sivadas (one of the founding directors of TFA), and it struck me one evening that, for the first time in my life, here was someone who was giving me something without asking for anything in return.

The teaching of dance was the vehicle for this spirit of giving and sharing.

Much later, I was taught a short dance choreographed by her and set to one of Swamiji’s songs in praise of the Goddess Lakshmi; I performed it during the Navaratri festival of that year (the nine-day long festival celebrating the goddesses Durga, Lakshmi and Saraswathi).

What was it like? There was a deep sense of connection between the mind, the imagination, the emotions, the heart and the body. It seemed to me that I could communicate with the ethereal world through dance. A door had opened. I was engulfed in thankfulness.

In a scene from the Ramayana (the Sanskrit epic narrating the story of the abduction of Sita, wife of Prince Rama) adapted by Swamiji in 1992, the monkey Hanuman is seen singing of his adoration for Prince Rama.

All of a sudden, something tells him that the one he has been thinking of so deeply has come. He turns around, and there before him are Rama and Rama’s younger brother, Lakshmana.

He rushes forward with palms together to touch Rama’s feet with his forehead, and then, offering himself as servant, he hoists the princes onto his powerful shoulders and sets off to find Sita.

Each night, after I had doffed my guise as the sage Vishwamitra, I would watch this scene, overcome with emotion. I did not understand the emotion then, but I do now; it was thankfulness. It told me that the one I sought would come, what was needed would be given, and my thirst would be quenched.

I was not alone; throughout the performances of the Ramayana in Malaysia, Singapore and India, it was always this scene with its sincere voice of devotion and celebration that moved and inspired performers and audiences alike.

It was not just the dance drama and the story. It was the collective effort culminating in that stage performance.

As with all the other stage productions of the TFA, Swamiji gave everyone a chance to give of themselves in whatever way they could: dancing, music making, designing costumes, doing backstage work, painting backdrops, cooking.

There were opportunities to learn, to give, to create, to express, to experience and, at the end of the day, to take a measure of thankfulness home.

Thankfulness is a beautiful thing! It gives meaning and clarity to what has gone on before and also to what is to come.

In 1981, Swamiji lit a lamp, offered a prayer, and declared the Temple of Fine Arts open. Its ideal: to share this light with all. It was a simple act but its profundity has illuminated many lives and will continue to do so for a long, long time.

Remembering Love

this july, i finally took a flight to coimbatore, with my family, to see what, in many ways, i had not wanted to see. the shrine at which my beloved swamiji is buried. he passed on last year on july 27th. he had been ill for quite a while - for a few years - and in those years, i saw him waste away, diminish in strength and vigour, but up till the very end - at least until january 2005, he continued to give of himself to us at the temple of fine arts. he had little energy left but he went on with his work. he had just returned from a trip to new jersey, usa, to show us off there at the lincoln center with a colourful performance of our talents in dance and music. i did not go.

the day he returned, i had opened the car door for him, and it was an emaciated swamiji who came back to me. in february, he left for coimbatore for a battery of tests, and to rest. and then we kept getting news of his trials at the hospital - going in and out of the intensive care unit.

for his birthday in april, he insisted that it would be celebrated his way. when we arrived at the airport, he was there. in a wheelchair to welcome all of us. he was weak and sick from the journey, but he said he had to come, to welcome us, to see us arriving there for him. but the fact was, he was there for us. he told me that each time the car he was travelling in was jostling over a bump or a hole in the road, his innards would come loose. it was with this discomfort that he had come to the airport to receive us.

at his birthday celebration, there were many people and there were many performances dedicated to him, but it was clear that he was finding it increasingly difficult. foolishly believing that i could "make" him better, i made him a concoction of red dates, thinking it would boost his energy. i knew it would be of no use. it was just my desperate offering of my love and affection. at the back of my mind, i thought perhaps, even as he was slipping away from me, from us, he would remember me.

so we returned to kuala lumpur believing that we could carry on as usual with our lives.

i never saw my swamiji again.