Was it the Godman’s grace or a cult? The spiritual theatrics of my childhood — The Good (Part I of II)
It was not an ordinary day. I was on my vow of silence — a spiritual exercise where you stay mute voluntarily. I was serving beetroot sambar in the common dining hall. SPLASH! Hot pink beetroot sambar spluttered onto a man clad in white clothing.
I was apologetic. But I could not say sorry. I was on a vow of silence.
The man was stunned for a bit but showed no speck of anger. He was calm. He might have been the distributor of Vanish detergent (of the trust pink, forget stains fame). But I like to believe I witnessed the power of spiritual practice. The emotional modulation which podcasters supposedly achieved through meditation and daily green tea. It takes a lot to not be infuriated by someone staining your white clothes.
This man appeared to have conquered his mind, proverbially. As per the Bhagavad Geeta, to a man who has conquered his mind — all pains and pleasures feel the same. I am not that man (yet).
My experience with the Art of Living foundation was…. colourful. It had shades too, which I will touch in my part II. This blog is about things I look back with fondness and gratitude. To put it into context, I studied in a school run by the Art of Living foundation. I attended their many programmes. And I could never get lost in the Ashram of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar. And let me tell you, the Bengaluru ashram was huge. I just was associated with them long enough to develop this familiarity.
Today as I look around, I find decolonisation a theme of public discourse. Victorian valedictorian attires being replaced by traditional garments. The resurgence of native millets. Glamourisation of indigenous alcohol. And of course, some blind yet zealous praise of all things old and originally Indian. At the Sri Sri Ravishankar Vidya Mandir (brownie points, if you noticed the decolonised name), efforts were taken to recreate a gurukul-like environment. A co-ed gurukul for 2004. A modified Gurukul without the discriminatory or residential components.
We would sit on the ground. Classrooms had trees and farms around. I remember digging out a carrot from the school farm and taking it home. The carrot did not match the export standard. But to me, it was the sweetest I ever had. (The Ikea effect perhaps?)
There was no shame in playing with mud, climbing trees, or doing toddler things as pre-adolescents. To be in nature was not merely encouraged, it was the norm there. A practice challenged by today’s romance for all things concrete, aka urbanisation.
The school was a breath of fresh air, both literally and metaphorically.
More so to my parents who had the classic stuffy convent education. At school, we were taught yoga, taekwondo, Hindustani music, Bharatnatyam dance and Sanskrit mantras like regular subjects, without any gender bias. Today each part is sold separately as co-curricular activities.
Attachment to nature, appreciation of aesthetics and reverence for one’s health are taking the centre stage today. I opine that society needs mechanisms to normalise such intrinsic aspects, beyond recreational hobbies.
The belief that fun, frolicking and the arts are not profitable might just be our colonised conditioning. Hello Capitalism?
Our educational system is infamous for eliminating anything leisurely. I am happy, my school did not. I owe a chunk of my confidence to the connections this philosophy nurtured. Connections to nature, art, and culture — aspects that my design education later taught me to value.
The art of living foundation has moved worlds. Yazidi victims of war rapes became meditation trainers, hardened criminals reformed their ways and people who only had sorrow in lives finally learnt to smile. They were all touched by the godman’s grace!
The not-so-good side coming up in part II.
