Sri Sri and the Sunset Chants
(Note: This web log after occurred before the Taj story.)
Getting muggier by the minute, Bombay had been my home away from home. I was beginning to feel comfortable with the food, the people and the way of life, thanks to the Gupta family. Now, Roopa was encouraging me to leave the nest and venture out to Delhi where Sri Sri Shankar would perform a puja and satsanga. Although I still did not know what either of those meant, I knew it was time to venture onward to see what lay behind the protective fold of the Guptas.
I was fortunate to have had the Gupta’s waiting for me in Bombay. The city and the country of India can be overwhelming if you don’t have an initial plan or someone from whom to obtain good advice. There are a lot of people trying to make a rupee or two and unfortunately that often leads to fraud upon tourists. I am learning to go on what I feel more than what I am hearing as often what I am hearing is not accurate.
In my first week, I also came to realize my good fortune in meeting Roopa compared to other women in India, most of whom hold more traditional and ritualistic values of either Hindu, Muslim or Sikh. Roopa was different. Educated at a four year university in downtown Bombay, Roopa was exposed to and learned other ways of the world early in her life. Roopa was a modern Indian woman, who raised and counseled her daughters to be independent in mind and spirit as well. This modernity in contrast to one of her sisters-in-law whom I met, further confirmed that Roopa was not a chance meeting. She too believes that all religions ultimately lead to the same end, it’s just how you get there that most religions or spiritual practices differ.
All of this got me to thinking about how people grow in their beliefs. When I look at someone like Roopa, I wonder what would have happened if she did not have a university education. Only 2% of the entire country of India is formally educated according to Roopa. And already, I am seeing that education makes a world of difference. This can be seen in the U.S., India and many other countries. Would educating poor people in India or even Pakistan reduce the fundamentalism we see on our nightly news? I think so because their frame of reference is limited to family and friends who also have not been formally educated. Very quickly one can see why young kids adopt fundamentalist viewpoints.
Anyhow, enough of my campaign banter, more on that later. I booked a one-way ticket on Spice Jet (equivalent to Southwest Airlines) from Bombay to Delhi, packed my bags and shuttled off to the airport with Roopa’s driver, Ashok. Boarding the plane, I wondered if I would return to Bombay on this trip, or ever for that matter. The Gupta family was so pleasant and kind, it was hard to say “goodbye”.
Thirty-five thousand feet over the western coast of India, a clean cut twenty something sitting on the aisle seat next to me, leaned across the empty middle seat to inquire about “what call center I was tracking.” I smirked and explained that I was not working, just writing notes, but followed up with, “do you work for a call center?”
Turns out, Vikram (also known as “Victor” to his American callers) had worked in a call center for 2 years. Now he was a database manager for Oracle. He was flying home from Bombay where he attended a wedding. My chance for an expose on the call center landed in my lap. What went on in there? Was it a good job? In a soft tone, Vikram told me, “the call center work is bad. You work during the night and then sleep, or at least try to, during the day which is next to impossible as Bombay is such a loud place and without air conditioning (too expensive) the climate is steaming. And people calling in yell at you and are racist. It was very boring, but it was a starter job out of college.”
Vikram went on to tell me that many of his friends suffer from depression in part due to the lack of sleep and draconian environment where managers listen in on calls at will, pressuring them to keep accounts. He read from scripts all night as AOL users called in with a problem or to cancel their membership. For this job, Vikram moved to Bombay and rented a room, not an apartment, a room which he shared with two other guys who also worked the call centers. As I would come to find out, this modus operandi for work in India was not uncommon. Many men leave their wives and children six months at a time to work in the city and send money home. It is a common practice.
When the flight landed, I thanked Vikram for his sharing and proceeded into Delhi so that I could get to the grounds where Sri Sri Shankar would be hosting the event for which flyers were posted all over the city. Roopa had mentioned that there might be as many as 200,000 people, the thought of which was a bit unsettling. But I was determined to go, and after overcoming some communication difficulties with a driver, I arrived at the grounds opposite the Akshardham.
People were everywhere, it seemed as if they were growing out of the ground. An hour early, I lightened my backpack before leaving the car and then set out to find my way about the massive seating area. The event would be televised so cameras were strewn about and big screens made of white sheets were hung throughout for those too far from eyesight.
A cold wind blew over my exposed forearms which surprised me having just come from muggy hot Bombay. Just a 2 hour flight north and the weather had shifted to comfortably cool. Spotting a few western tour groups, I wound my way into one of the packs, hoping to move closer to the stage given my apparent affiliation with the tour. No one having noticed, I found my way to an international section with chairs. There were a couple hundred Europeans, Aussies and Americans. This Sri Sri guy was more well known than I previously thought.
My seat selected, I pulled out my camera to zoom in on the stage as my naked eye strained to see the details. The stage had a sky blue backdrop inclusive of white clouds. People, dressed in white, were seated on white pillows in a circle on the stage.
Closer to my seat, I felt as if a slice of Marin County or maybe Berkeley had flown in. Directions to make it so would have read: “Add wine and cheese here.” The atmosphere was electrified as people enthusiastically hugged and chatted about. Like all gatherings, there were the more reserved folks, like myself on this occasion, and there were the fresh out of the VW van types dancing and singing. It was fun to watch and I couldn’t help think that this is what it might have been like at a Dead concert or peace rally in the sixties, minus the acid (from what I could tell).
On time to the minute, Sri Sri began speaking, the crowd quieted and I once again realized I would not understand a word that was said as the entire event was in Hindi and Sanskrit. Bummer! Still, I was curious about the event unsure what was supposed to happen. I followed what everyone else did, standing up and saying “Om” in all four directions. It was soothing to hear the vibrations of tens of thousands “Om’ing” at once. And for effect, real thunder went off in the background as if God was answering the voices in his own way.
After this interactive part of the event, Sri Sri began chanting and the crowd joined in as onlookers closed their eyes and followed Sri Sri’s rhythmic chants. This lasted for maybe ten minutes before Sri Sri stopped and those on stage continued while Sri Sri went into, what I would later learn to be, a trance. That was the remainder of the gathering, a trance for well over an hour with many ceremonial tasks performed on stage, the significance of which was lost on me, but I figured it couldn’t be bad if thousands of people showed up to witness the puja and satsanga. All that mattered was I felt a greater sense of inner peace than before I had arrived.
Getting muggier by the minute, Bombay had been my home away from home. I was beginning to feel comfortable with the food, the people and the way of life, thanks to the Gupta family. Now, Roopa was encouraging me to leave the nest and venture out to Delhi where Sri Sri Shankar would perform a puja and satsanga. Although I still did not know what either of those meant, I knew it was time to venture onward to see what lay behind the protective fold of the Guptas.
I was fortunate to have had the Gupta’s waiting for me in Bombay. The city and the country of India can be overwhelming if you don’t have an initial plan or someone from whom to obtain good advice. There are a lot of people trying to make a rupee or two and unfortunately that often leads to fraud upon tourists. I am learning to go on what I feel more than what I am hearing as often what I am hearing is not accurate.
In my first week, I also came to realize my good fortune in meeting Roopa compared to other women in India, most of whom hold more traditional and ritualistic values of either Hindu, Muslim or Sikh. Roopa was different. Educated at a four year university in downtown Bombay, Roopa was exposed to and learned other ways of the world early in her life. Roopa was a modern Indian woman, who raised and counseled her daughters to be independent in mind and spirit as well. This modernity in contrast to one of her sisters-in-law whom I met, further confirmed that Roopa was not a chance meeting. She too believes that all religions ultimately lead to the same end, it’s just how you get there that most religions or spiritual practices differ.
All of this got me to thinking about how people grow in their beliefs. When I look at someone like Roopa, I wonder what would have happened if she did not have a university education. Only 2% of the entire country of India is formally educated according to Roopa. And already, I am seeing that education makes a world of difference. This can be seen in the U.S., India and many other countries. Would educating poor people in India or even Pakistan reduce the fundamentalism we see on our nightly news? I think so because their frame of reference is limited to family and friends who also have not been formally educated. Very quickly one can see why young kids adopt fundamentalist viewpoints.
Anyhow, enough of my campaign banter, more on that later. I booked a one-way ticket on Spice Jet (equivalent to Southwest Airlines) from Bombay to Delhi, packed my bags and shuttled off to the airport with Roopa’s driver, Ashok. Boarding the plane, I wondered if I would return to Bombay on this trip, or ever for that matter. The Gupta family was so pleasant and kind, it was hard to say “goodbye”.
Thirty-five thousand feet over the western coast of India, a clean cut twenty something sitting on the aisle seat next to me, leaned across the empty middle seat to inquire about “what call center I was tracking.” I smirked and explained that I was not working, just writing notes, but followed up with, “do you work for a call center?”
Turns out, Vikram (also known as “Victor” to his American callers) had worked in a call center for 2 years. Now he was a database manager for Oracle. He was flying home from Bombay where he attended a wedding. My chance for an expose on the call center landed in my lap. What went on in there? Was it a good job? In a soft tone, Vikram told me, “the call center work is bad. You work during the night and then sleep, or at least try to, during the day which is next to impossible as Bombay is such a loud place and without air conditioning (too expensive) the climate is steaming. And people calling in yell at you and are racist. It was very boring, but it was a starter job out of college.”
Vikram went on to tell me that many of his friends suffer from depression in part due to the lack of sleep and draconian environment where managers listen in on calls at will, pressuring them to keep accounts. He read from scripts all night as AOL users called in with a problem or to cancel their membership. For this job, Vikram moved to Bombay and rented a room, not an apartment, a room which he shared with two other guys who also worked the call centers. As I would come to find out, this modus operandi for work in India was not uncommon. Many men leave their wives and children six months at a time to work in the city and send money home. It is a common practice.
When the flight landed, I thanked Vikram for his sharing and proceeded into Delhi so that I could get to the grounds where Sri Sri Shankar would be hosting the event for which flyers were posted all over the city. Roopa had mentioned that there might be as many as 200,000 people, the thought of which was a bit unsettling. But I was determined to go, and after overcoming some communication difficulties with a driver, I arrived at the grounds opposite the Akshardham.
People were everywhere, it seemed as if they were growing out of the ground. An hour early, I lightened my backpack before leaving the car and then set out to find my way about the massive seating area. The event would be televised so cameras were strewn about and big screens made of white sheets were hung throughout for those too far from eyesight.
A cold wind blew over my exposed forearms which surprised me having just come from muggy hot Bombay. Just a 2 hour flight north and the weather had shifted to comfortably cool. Spotting a few western tour groups, I wound my way into one of the packs, hoping to move closer to the stage given my apparent affiliation with the tour. No one having noticed, I found my way to an international section with chairs. There were a couple hundred Europeans, Aussies and Americans. This Sri Sri guy was more well known than I previously thought.
My seat selected, I pulled out my camera to zoom in on the stage as my naked eye strained to see the details. The stage had a sky blue backdrop inclusive of white clouds. People, dressed in white, were seated on white pillows in a circle on the stage.
Closer to my seat, I felt as if a slice of Marin County or maybe Berkeley had flown in. Directions to make it so would have read: “Add wine and cheese here.” The atmosphere was electrified as people enthusiastically hugged and chatted about. Like all gatherings, there were the more reserved folks, like myself on this occasion, and there were the fresh out of the VW van types dancing and singing. It was fun to watch and I couldn’t help think that this is what it might have been like at a Dead concert or peace rally in the sixties, minus the acid (from what I could tell).
On time to the minute, Sri Sri began speaking, the crowd quieted and I once again realized I would not understand a word that was said as the entire event was in Hindi and Sanskrit. Bummer! Still, I was curious about the event unsure what was supposed to happen. I followed what everyone else did, standing up and saying “Om” in all four directions. It was soothing to hear the vibrations of tens of thousands “Om’ing” at once. And for effect, real thunder went off in the background as if God was answering the voices in his own way.
After this interactive part of the event, Sri Sri began chanting and the crowd joined in as onlookers closed their eyes and followed Sri Sri’s rhythmic chants. This lasted for maybe ten minutes before Sri Sri stopped and those on stage continued while Sri Sri went into, what I would later learn to be, a trance. That was the remainder of the gathering, a trance for well over an hour with many ceremonial tasks performed on stage, the significance of which was lost on me, but I figured it couldn’t be bad if thousands of people showed up to witness the puja and satsanga. All that mattered was I felt a greater sense of inner peace than before I had arrived.
posted by Global415 at 5:31 AM
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