Gurukuli Blood

I have never acknowledged so fully my gurukuli blood than being here in India. Discussion over class, kirtan over japa any day. And I'll just leave if I'm not inspired.

So it's a huge sign for me that Radhanath Swami is my guru - my spiritual guide - when I can actually sit in his class and lose track of time.

The first day of Vrindavan Yatra, he gave a 4.5 hour-long class. Pretty standard for India. But for me, I have never sat through any class in my life for more than 2 hours, so for that first class I started getting dizzy at around 3 hours... and Radhanath Swami is my guru. But I didn't leave because I was in the center of a crowd of around 4,000.

So the following evening, I had a fully planned escape route - I sat near the exit so as not to cause a stir when I left out of non-absorption.

But I amaze myself. Or rather, Radhanath Swami amazes me. He spoke for nearly FOUR HOURS... and I was entranced the entire time. If he can get me to not only sit through a class but be attentive and inspired for four hours... that's a minor miracle. I thought for sure I would leave early out of restlessness or brain-saturation - that's just how I am.

But somehow he entranced me and thousands of others, and yet I also felt as though the two of us were the only ones present, and we were having an intimate conversation. Then every once and awhile, thousands of arms would reach for the sky. Tumultuous voices that rolled through the air like thunder would cry out the holy name... and I would know then that I was not alone.

In my humble opinion, Radhanath Swami is the certified master of hari katha.

Grace

Grace
dedicated to Radhanath Swami
on the occasion of his Vyasa Puja, 2008

swimming
gasping
burning for air

For millions of years
I was swimming
gasping
burning
drowning.
I was desperate
for refuge.

One day
Somehow
by grace
someone saw me.

He reached out
and clasped my hand.
He pulled me to shore.
And when I could breathe
he placed
a seed
in my trembling hand.

Never
ever
let go
of this seed
of devotion,
he told me.
Tend to it
with love.

He began
to walk
and I began
to follow
in his footsteps.


brahmana brahmite kona bhagyavan jiva
guru krsna prasade bhai bhakti lata bija

The King of Kirtan

Lifted from my journal:

The kirtan is building. People are amassing. The hands on the clock tick towards six o'clock.

The king is coming. Soon.

*

He's late. The crowd is growing more and more massive. Crazy. Amal is rocking the kirtan right now.... building, building... I'll see the famous Aindra for the first time any moment now... any moment now...

Aho! There he is! In tattered white, he entered the center of the kirtan from behind in a very quiet, very undramatic way. Such an unassuming man. This is Amal's hero.

*

Wow. Live at last. For years, always recordings. Now I am immersed in the spiraling voice, the mridangas, the crowd, the tumultuous clapping hands, the soft yellow light from the chandeliers, a faint breeze on my back from the fans. The rhythm of the drums reverberates in my chest.

Krishna Balaram smile upon the King of Kirtan.

Incandescent Moments

The Incandescent Moment is soft. It happens when there's no planning and no expectation. For me, it's like capturing one moment in the billions of ways the universe blossoms and unfolds.

Mumbai awaits.

Arrival of a Saint

From up here on the balcony, I observed the crowd of people who gathered below in the courtyard. Their black hair shone against white marble and caramel sandstone. Kirtan filled the hot yellow air.

Suddenly, everyone rushed towards the gate, like drops of water sliding down the inside of a basin. My heart drummed in my chest. Cries arose from the crowd, and many fell to the ground to offer obeisance. But I couldn't see anything yet, so I gripped the banister and riveted my eyes to the gate.

And then, an unassuming man wrapped in orange cloth entered through the gate. I could see his smile from up here.

In the most magnificent moment of all, this man - who everyone had come to greet - fell to the ground to offer his respects. And like a drop of water falling into a basin of water, everyone offered their obeisance in return in concentric waves. Even the kirtan halted for several breathtaking moments.

I didn't fall to the floor of the balcony. My astonished eyes would simply not leave the small figure of orange bowing down on the floor, in the center of the whorl of people.

Radhanath Swami had arrived to Radha Gopinath Temple.

In Love With Reality

So.

I'm falling in love with India.

A friend of my parent's who has known me since birth once said, "Oh Bhakti, knowing you, you won't experience culture shock when you go to India. Actually, it will feel like going home. The real culture shock - at least for me - was when I returned to America. That was the real shock."

I'm beginning to understand his words... and I haven't even returned to America.

In my various forays into Mumbai, I have witnessed birth, death, disease, and old age whirl before my very eyes. Trash, slums, starving women, hollow-eyed beggars, distorted limbs and faces... It's there. It's real. To me, this isn't culture shock. It's just reality.

Folks, welcome to the material world.

And when I return to the temple of Radha Gopinath at the end of the day, a sense of relief and peace washes over me... it's like I have entered the spiritual world, that I've returned home. More than just enough food or a place to sleep, I feel the deep concern for the welfare of my soul - not just my body - by the devotees here.

I feel such a deep, deep appreciation to whatever karma or sukriti gave me such wonderful parents, who are devotees of Krishna. Where would I be without the mercy of my parents? Krishna consciousness is the key for the solace of my soul, and I truly feel it here in India, surrounded by the rawness of the world.

Windows to Chowpatty

These snippets are from my journal, so I invite you to be transported to Chowpatty, Mumbai...

*

So here I am in the temple, writing in soft golden light. Someone just turned the overhead lights off in anticipation of Sayana Arati. High-speed fans and hums of voices fill the air. When I glance back, I see a little sea of faces, all turned to the altar, waiting.

*

I went down to Chowpatty beach today, and although it was quite filthy, I just stood on the shore and listened to the sea. Such a great, wild sound, so unlike human noises. The great sea air tangled through my hair and pressed on my sari. And I wonder what it must have been like in ancient times to stand on that beach.

*

So Harinam and I turned a corner... and there was Ban Ganga - a vast ghat that is fed by a crystal clear spring. We walked down the steps and crouched before the water. I felt so at peace there, watching the wind create ripples on the water. The world seemed to quiet a little. Various temples by various sampradayas (lineages) encircled the ghat, their architecture carving the sky like they had been for hundreds of years.

*

I am writing this in my room in Chowpatty; the fan is whirling above me, and rain pours in heavy whispers outside. Metallic drips sound through the window as water falls from the roof. A picture of Radha Gopinath is hung on the wall above me, and They seem to give Their blessings. And an old maroon copy of Srila Prabhupada's Lilamrita sits on the bottom shelf of my bookshelf, quietly telling me Srila Prabhupada's story, and that he is the reason I am even here.