Swami G
Yesterday was a moon day at the shala.
A friend Robin from New York is doing a documentary on the swami from BR Hills. I have never blogged about my experience at BR Hills for several reasons. I promise to one day. But he is a special soul, and I am glad that Robin is documenting his life in India.
So Robin had never been to Chamundi Hill, which is here in Mysore, and he had never met Swami G, Mysore’s resident swami renunciate who occupies the best decked out cave in the world. Actually there are two caves now, behind the huge (and I mean huge) statue of the bull half way up Chamundi Hill.
At the top of the 1000 steps up Chamundi Hill is a huge set of shops and lines and lines of people waiting to visit the temple there. The instant you arrive, you are accosted by people, selling souvenirs to the visiting Indian and Western tourists alike.
After walking up about 500 steps, however, you see the Nandi Bull statue. You can make your offerings to the priest who tends the bull there. Then tradition is to circumambulate the statue, the visiting pilgrims do this three times. The sellers aren't quite so aggressive there.
We were going to see Swami in his cave, which is behind the bull, so we only walked half way round. To get into the cave one has to duck, and walk in a squatting over fashion and step over a high doorframe, all at the same time, in order to avoid hitting your head. Swami says we must under stand the rock. And we must be careful, the rock is sensitive. Welcome to swami humor. He says we live in Silly con valley. That’s another of his favorites.
Swami loved Daniel, who was here with Einar, Khalid and I two years ago. Daniel came to see swami often.
At nine-thirty swami chants the Gita, large chunks, and other texts, most often from memory. After chanting he cleans his altar, each statue is washed and each flower replaced. And he entertains a constant stream of pilgrims. The Indians stay a few moments, sometimes longer if Swami G allows. They leave coins and rupees, and bow to Swami G’s feet. He blesses each one.
At six—thirty in the evening he chants again, but one usually must take a car up to be there then, as it gets very dark, and the ride home is treacherous. Also it is often past yogi bedtime by the time you are settled back in Gokulum.
Swami G’s eyes are warm, and rich, they glow with that inner source of happiness and joy.
When he speaks his words shine with love.
He was once a reporter in Bombay, although he admits he actually wrote articles even then on spiritual matters. After spending many years in the North, and four years with his guru there, his doctor told him that his health problems demanded that he return to the climate in which he was raised, in Southern India.
He said he had been consciously preparing to become a sadhu (renunciate) for many years. Part of this means, as I gather it means for all sadhus, that he has not had contact with his family since he made his vows, in the early 70s. And families in India understand. I suppose as best they can.
And in the cave with Swami G is Tracy. Tracy has been living in Mysore most of the time for several years. She retired from being a banker several years ago, went to Mysore to study yoga, and stayed to be with Swami G. After hearing his request to do good works, she founded ASIS (www.operation-shanti.org), and began raising money to buy land. They feed the leper colony in Mysore on Mondays, and spend the rest of their time getting medical treatment for the street children, and old and neglected of Mysore. You can read more…
So we sat with Swami, his pujas were finished at the time, as he received a steady stream of pilgrims and guests.
Tracy fixed tea for us, and we spoke of many things. Swami smiles a lot, too.
Robin, as a photojournalist, of course wants to do a portrait of Swami G. And raise money for Shanti back home next year.
Swami shows us his cave, the second cave where he sleeps, after we have drunk our tea and eaten our biscuits. He has a cell phone, and even a TV. He has told me before he is silly con swami. He turns the TV on briefly, and is instantly engaged in the India/ Pakistan cricket match. Even swamis are human. And it is after all cricket, which in India is more religion that sport.
That same cricket game is still playing later at Aunty’s, where we went for lunch. Along with the 5 Indians there eating lunch at Aunty’s, Uncle occupies his traditional floor space along with Aunty’s two sons. The neighbor boys watch from the hallway outside, through a 1x2 foot window. Everyone is glued to the cricket game.
Aunty feeds us, and ignores the alternating sighs of happiness and defeat. She feeds us, course after course of S. Indian Tali. It is wonderful, inexpensive, and served with “much love.”
As we say in India,
Much love is there,
A
A friend Robin from New York is doing a documentary on the swami from BR Hills. I have never blogged about my experience at BR Hills for several reasons. I promise to one day. But he is a special soul, and I am glad that Robin is documenting his life in India.
So Robin had never been to Chamundi Hill, which is here in Mysore, and he had never met Swami G, Mysore’s resident swami renunciate who occupies the best decked out cave in the world. Actually there are two caves now, behind the huge (and I mean huge) statue of the bull half way up Chamundi Hill.
At the top of the 1000 steps up Chamundi Hill is a huge set of shops and lines and lines of people waiting to visit the temple there. The instant you arrive, you are accosted by people, selling souvenirs to the visiting Indian and Western tourists alike.
After walking up about 500 steps, however, you see the Nandi Bull statue. You can make your offerings to the priest who tends the bull there. Then tradition is to circumambulate the statue, the visiting pilgrims do this three times. The sellers aren't quite so aggressive there.
We were going to see Swami in his cave, which is behind the bull, so we only walked half way round. To get into the cave one has to duck, and walk in a squatting over fashion and step over a high doorframe, all at the same time, in order to avoid hitting your head. Swami says we must under stand the rock. And we must be careful, the rock is sensitive. Welcome to swami humor. He says we live in Silly con valley. That’s another of his favorites.
Swami loved Daniel, who was here with Einar, Khalid and I two years ago. Daniel came to see swami often.
At nine-thirty swami chants the Gita, large chunks, and other texts, most often from memory. After chanting he cleans his altar, each statue is washed and each flower replaced. And he entertains a constant stream of pilgrims. The Indians stay a few moments, sometimes longer if Swami G allows. They leave coins and rupees, and bow to Swami G’s feet. He blesses each one.
At six—thirty in the evening he chants again, but one usually must take a car up to be there then, as it gets very dark, and the ride home is treacherous. Also it is often past yogi bedtime by the time you are settled back in Gokulum.
Swami G’s eyes are warm, and rich, they glow with that inner source of happiness and joy.
When he speaks his words shine with love.
He was once a reporter in Bombay, although he admits he actually wrote articles even then on spiritual matters. After spending many years in the North, and four years with his guru there, his doctor told him that his health problems demanded that he return to the climate in which he was raised, in Southern India.
He said he had been consciously preparing to become a sadhu (renunciate) for many years. Part of this means, as I gather it means for all sadhus, that he has not had contact with his family since he made his vows, in the early 70s. And families in India understand. I suppose as best they can.
And in the cave with Swami G is Tracy. Tracy has been living in Mysore most of the time for several years. She retired from being a banker several years ago, went to Mysore to study yoga, and stayed to be with Swami G. After hearing his request to do good works, she founded ASIS (www.operation-shanti.org), and began raising money to buy land. They feed the leper colony in Mysore on Mondays, and spend the rest of their time getting medical treatment for the street children, and old and neglected of Mysore. You can read more…
So we sat with Swami, his pujas were finished at the time, as he received a steady stream of pilgrims and guests.
Tracy fixed tea for us, and we spoke of many things. Swami smiles a lot, too.
Robin, as a photojournalist, of course wants to do a portrait of Swami G. And raise money for Shanti back home next year.
Swami shows us his cave, the second cave where he sleeps, after we have drunk our tea and eaten our biscuits. He has a cell phone, and even a TV. He has told me before he is silly con swami. He turns the TV on briefly, and is instantly engaged in the India/ Pakistan cricket match. Even swamis are human. And it is after all cricket, which in India is more religion that sport.
That same cricket game is still playing later at Aunty’s, where we went for lunch. Along with the 5 Indians there eating lunch at Aunty’s, Uncle occupies his traditional floor space along with Aunty’s two sons. The neighbor boys watch from the hallway outside, through a 1x2 foot window. Everyone is glued to the cricket game.
Aunty feeds us, and ignores the alternating sighs of happiness and defeat. She feeds us, course after course of S. Indian Tali. It is wonderful, inexpensive, and served with “much love.”
As we say in India,
Much love is there,
A
posted by Anne Finstad at 8:43 PM
1 Comments:
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing...
Post a Comment
<< Home