She entered dressed in pure white and wearing one of those smiles that springs from some deep-down well of happiness. The entire room of thousands fell silent as she crossed the stage. It’s hard to believe such a tiny woman with a penchant for hugging can have such an enormous effect on people from every walk of life. Her crowds in the states are nothing compared to the numbers she draws in her native India.
Last week, two friends and I went to see Amma, “the hugging saint, “ at the DFW Hyatt. We walked in and got swept up in the rush of the sari-clothed crowds. I ran over to get in line where it said “Darshan Tokens”. (Darshan is what Amma calls the motherly hug she gives to everyone that meets her.) Unintentionally (I swear!), I cut in front of hundreds of people in the Darshan line. That’s right, I cut in line to have a spiritual experience. Sometimes even when I try to be good, it turns out bad. However, my accomplices in this spiritual theft were quite happy that we didn’t have to wait in line for four hours to get our hug.
Sitting on the floor in front of the stage, I took a moment to glance around the room at the huddled masses. There were black, white, brown, yellow, pink, very old, very young, middle aged, wrinkly, smooth, tall, short, and every combination in between. It felt like we sat there for ages, but maybe it was just the hard floor on my un-cushioned ass. Finally the ceremony started with a kind-looking bearded man telling of his experiences as a follower of Amma. His resemblance to another bearded holy man couldn’t go unnoticed. All the while Amma was on stage there was the cutest Indian boy of about seven sitting next to her. Eventually he got tired and fell asleep until the singing began. This was my favorite part of the service. I could close my eyes and imagine that I was somewhere in India. The music was repetitive, but joyful.
After three hours the service ended and it was time to wait in line for Darshan. We decided to get a cup of chai, but our numbers came up sooner than we expected, requiring us to abandon our tea and run into the next room. I tried to stay excited about finally getting to hug Amma, but the whole waiting in line, wait for your number to be called thing cut into the zen of the moment. It felt like a production line or waiting for concert tickets. Her followers kept asking to see my ticket and then rushing me into another seat.
Eventually I made it to the front of the line and was told to kneel in front of her. I must have had three different people dragging my arms in three different directions. Someone pushed my head down onto her ample bosom and asked me what language I spoke. “English,” I replied. Not understanding what difference it would make since Amma didn’t speak it. Amma enveloped me in her arms that were heavily perfumed with flowers. She marked my forehead with something wet. Then I was grabbed and pushed away.
Then I knelt down to try and stay in the moment and absorb some of the spirituality in the room, but a very angry man in a blue kaftan yelled at me and told me that I could not kneel there, “You are blocking the entire exit! Who told you that you could sit there?” I guess even people who are in the business of promoting peace have their off-days.
I asked someone nearby why Amma marked my forehead, since I hadn’t seen her do that to anyone else. A lady told me that it was a very good sign. That it was sandalwood paste and it had a cooling effect on the body. Maybe Amma could tell that I was in need of a little extra help.
On the whole the experience ended up being more cultural than spiritual for me. I didn’t walk away from Amma with a renewed sense of purpose, or smelling like flowers for the next few days like I had heard from others’ experiences. Instead, I walked away with some sandalwood paste on my forehead and a lighter feeling in my step. But really, what more could someone ask of a simple hug?
