First, a confession. I have a deep andvisceral sympathy for Sartre’s line

about hell being other people.I see the point of community, of

course. The sangha – a fellowship ofseekers committed to living in harmonywith shared ideals – makes sense to me.It certainly seems saner than the individual groping for meaning in a stateof splendid isolation.

But. And there’s definitely a but.Community living, judging by the historical grapevine, has always been amixed bag. There are the inevitable concomitants – a pecking order, regi-mentation, self-abnegation. And thosedaily irritants – mismatched chemistries,

ego collisions, complacency, pettiness,partisanship. In any case, isn’t a community that’s discovered or chosen– however blunderingly — preferable toone that’s imposed or designed? (A bitlike preferring a serendipitous love overan ‘arranged’ marriage, I figure.) Thenotion of a spiritual kibbutz appeals, butI have misgivings about its workability.

So it’s not without apprehension thatI embark on my visit to the Isha YogaCentre in Coimbatore. My feelings aboutits founder aren’t particularly ambiva-lent, however. Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudevremains one of the most alive people I’vemet. I’m drawn to his ability to combinea sharp intellect with compassion, an

irreverent wit with gravitas, intensitywith gentleness. Above all, his under-standing of spiritual tradition is keen butnon-puritanical – a vital stance in timesof growing religious fundamentalism.

I still have reservations about guru figures. The equation with them is oftentoo totalitarian for comfort. But I’m awedby this man’s ability to give of himselfwithout being patronising. And I doacknowledge a certain urgency about myinteractions with him. A growing trustas well. I don’t quite understand it. I fig-ure that it’s based on some primal hunchthat he represents a live connection witha power source into which it makes senseto plug. But that’s another story.

spirit ~ F I R S T P E R S O N

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is communit y living all that it is cracked up to be?

a sceptic investigates

by Arundhathi Subramaniam

Ashram life:

heaven or hell?

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I tell myself I should logically have fewproblems with an ashram that’s anembodiment of his vision. When I firstvisited the place a couple of years ago,I was impressed. Set against the cloud-smudged magnificence of theVelliangiri hills, the ashram, with its starkstone and wood décor, exuded an austerebeauty. Nothing ostentatious here, butnothing joyless either.

There was also an air of naturalnessand self-containment that so many of theresidents seemed to radiate. There wasno impression of ‘having arrived’, no self-important need to prove a point.

Bondage or freedom?And yet, living out one’s entire life in obedience to someone’s diktats – how-ever visionary – sounds stifling to me.A couple of days into my recent visit, andI find myself chafing just a little, an irrational spirit of rebellion rekindled. It’snot just the Guru Pooja and yoga at 5.30a.m. It’s not just the lack of access to mydaily dose of caffeine. I know my creakyadjustment to these rules could just bea process of city-slicker-detox.

What unnerves me somewhat is thesight of the orange-clad, tonsured brahmacharis. I find myself self-consciousabout referring to every second person as‘Ma’ and ‘Swami’. Something about theuniformity of their appearance also strikesme as cheerless (though I know this couldwell be the illusion of ‘out-group homogeneity’).And I’m unsettled by thelooming persona of the guru – even in hisabsence. Love and gratitude towards himI understand, even share. But there seemsto be a disquieting air of glazed-eyed adoration and hushed reverence.

Does my disquiet say more about methan my environment? Perhaps. But thequestions start fermenting nonetheless.How do the inmates of a collective negotiate their space? Is there no simmering discontent? Open protest?While dismantling the ego is the aim ofany spiritual community, do people gethomogenised in the process? What

exactly is the difference between a faceless mob running on auto-pilot anda sangha of renamed monks and nunsrunning according to a guru’s strictures?Does a realised master end up becomingsomething of a Big Brother?

I am curious. Sceptical? A little. Butalso willing to be surprised.

Swami Abhaya is an ashram stalwartwho’s been here over 12 years. Somethingabout his wry humour makes me suspecta mind complex enough to see that dis-sent needn’t spell disloyalty. He tells meof how his inadvertent exclamation(‘Oops!’) once started a discussion onwhether there ought to be a systematisedcode of conduct for brahmacharis.(Nothing ever came of it though.And hestill says ‘oops’ on occasion, though hesees that his role, as a sanyasi, has a certain public significance.) He alsoassures me that there’s more of an innerparty democracy at work than I suspect.“There’s always been room here to question, to disagree,” he says.

After a Masters degree in computerscience and engineering, he taught at analternative school in Ooty before joiningthe ashram at age 25. It was in college thathe first met Sadhguru, however, andremembers him as “clean-shaven and jeans-clad, still an awesome andinspirational presence, but not yet explicit about his future role as guru”.

From ashram inmate to brahmachariwas a journey that took a year.“One day,Sadhguru called me. We talked foraround 10 minutes. At the end of thatconversation I knew I wanted to takebrahmacharya. I don’t remember all hesaid, but I do recall this: he reminded meof my college days when my friends werealways going to see Rajnikanth films. Inever did. ‘Did you ever feel you weremissing out on something?’ Sadhguruasked.” The implication was clear:renouncing the householder’s life needbe no more dire than abstaining from acertain genre of cinema for life!

Have there been crises of faith over theyears? “There’ve certainly been moments

of frustration,” he concedes, with the candour that is more credible than any dewy-eyed rhapsody. “But I see brahmacharya as a process, and not anirrevocable one. That helps. Besides, thebig advantage of this life is that your spir-itual process, your interiority, is entirelytaken care of by Sadhguru. Why wouldanyone in their right mind give that up?”

Is there no resentment at being sub-jected to a life of obedience? “What makesme trust Sadhguru,” says Swami withquiet logic, “is the fact that he’s a manwho values his freedom. That makes meconfident that he’d never do anythingto compromise mine.”

Life on the edgeFor Kavita, an intense 27-year-old whorecently plunged into brahmacharya, lifeat the ashram is about adventure, ratherthan bovine placidity. “It’s about livingon the edge, walking consciously. It challenges you to be conscious, alert,every moment. I’ve always dreamt of asituation where everyone is fired up anddedicated to dissolving the limitations oftheir personality. And here it is. The people here are without agendas, vestedinterests. They don’t merely offer support; they offer themselves.”

Raised in Detroit and subsequentlyemployed as a schoolteacher in Arkansas,Kavita decided to spend time at theashram after doing some courses withSadhguru in the US.“I was already expe-riencing heightened levels of energy,clarity and vibrancy, and I thought I’dturn myself into Superwoman here andgo back! I was also struck by the volun-teers here – their dignity, grace and gentleness. Trying to emulate Sadhguruseemed ambitious. But trying to emulatethese people was an inspiring prospect.”

Before she knew it, she’d enrolled fora Teachers’ Training programme andfound her grand ambitions punctured.“It was humbling. I thought I had toclimb, conquer, and be the best. Butbecoming a teacher is about unlearn-ing, melting, becoming a conduit. I found

myself growing more childlike, playful,unrestricted. I liked the change anddecided to stay on.”The challenge is nowdifferent. “Earlier, I wanted to makemyself a person of worth. Now I want tounmake myself so something worthy canshine through me.”

And does she never yearn for colour,I ask curiously. Does she never wake upwith the urge to wear turquoise blue, forinstance, instead of the prescribed orangeor white? Even the thought is unsettling,says Kavita.“There’s nothing wrong withblue, but I know it isn’t for me. That’show deep the transformation goes.”

And that proves to be one of the recur-rent motifs of my conversations withpeople here: the silent interior transfor-mation initiated by the alchemist guru.Each one I talk to vouches for it. Thatremains, they say, one of the chief rea-sons underlying their allegiance to Isha.This is not an easy place to be. It showsup one’s warts with more clarity than onemight care for. It’s not a sanctuary asmuch as a laboratory where the subjectof experiment is the self. But it’s a placecommitted to growth. And that makesthe discomfort worthwhile.As Sadhguruonce remarked, the growth of all Ishameditators was assured; their only choicewas to mature willingly or unwillingly.

The other subject that keeps surfacingis the paradox by which commitment (toa spiritual process or guru), actually fosters a process of inner freedom. Eachof them seems to feel this sense ofparticipation in a common journey – avoyage from compulsion to growingchoice. Having watched myself grow atad less rigid about some of my ownhabits during my two years of Isha yoga,I have a sense of what they mean. It alsobrings to mind Sadhguru’s frequent declaration that he will never allow hismeditators to be enslaved or entangledby their relationship with him.

Naheed is wide-eyed, soft-voiced,Lebanese and all of 24. She left a burgeoning career as a stage actor inBeirut to train as a teacher in the ashram

two years ago. “Through my growingyears, I had a burning quest for something authentic,” she muses.Attending an introductory talk bySadhguru was a turning point. “I wasfloored by his logic, his commonsense.”

Two programmes later, she found herself feeling more energetic and alivethan ever before. There was also amounting recognition of the fact that shehad discovered an ‘authentic’master. Sherecalls hastening to meet Sadhguru at afellow meditator’s home. “I ran to him,bowed down at his feet (though that’sentirely alien to my culture) and wept fora long, long time. He just let me be there.”

Soon, she scraped together herresources and came to Coimbatore tospend a few months and do the advanced

Samyama course.“It was painful. My oldhabits were being demolished, and yet I felt he was holding my handthroughout. It seemed like the authenticexperience I’d always been looking for.”

If Samyama made life seem sudden-ly simple (“All the emotions that haddominated my life fell away, and I felt Icould finally breathe”), the Teachers’Training programme brought a freedomshe’d never known. “I still have garbageto get rid of, but I’m freer than I’ve everbeen. Earlier, my greatest fear was com-mitment. Today, I want my life to be anendless offering to my guru – and I knoweven that’s not enough. I also know he’scommitted to me in the same way.”

Is the stage now an abandoned voca-tion? “I still love acting, but don’t need

it,” she says.“Earlier, there were no rulesin my life, but absolute bondage. Today,I live with rules but few compulsions.”

Hazra is in her early 50s, also Lebanese,and generates a warmth to which I’mdrawn. A deep feverish need for a spiritual guide had preceded her firstencounter with Sadhguru in Nashville,USA.When she met him, she recognisedhim as the strange figure that hadappeared to her in a dream not so longago and taken her on a ‘cosmic tour’,as it were. Her journey followed a now-familiar trajectory: an increasing involve-ment with Isha, followed by the decisionto move to the ashram.

Yes, community living presents itsshare of challenges. Dorm living, for one.She shares a room and bathroom withfour others, but is now used to it. She’salso had her share of yearnings – for cof-fee, for pasta, for books (none of whichare encouraged in the ashram). But she’sreached the point, she says, when sheenjoys them when they’re available butdoesn’t miss them when they’re not.“Living in an ashram is about breakingyour limitations, not reinforcing them.”

While she still visits the US andLebanon annually, she maintains that anyother kind of life pales into insignificancebefore this one. “Why do we settle forcrumbs when we’re all invited to a mag-nificent feast?” she asks wonderingly.

Her question stays with me.A magnificent feast? Paradise on earth?

I admit I still don’t quite see the ashramthat way. But as I sit outside my cottagewatching the morning mist swirl aroundthe stillness of the Velliangiri mountains,some of the fevered questions fall away.

I remember the way I once felt in a cabon my way to the ashram – the inexpli-cable sense that there’s no place else I’drather be.

At least just then.And for a while, for just a little while,

it feels like perhaps I could allow myselfto unbelong — and still be home. �

(Names have been changed to protect the identities of the interviewees.)

september 2006l i f e p o s i t i v e60

v

It’s not a sanctuary

as much as a laboratory

where the subject

is the self.

u