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.