Come On Inner Peace

by Sachin Garg

  I reached the Yoga hall at sharp six. And then, I met our instructor, guruji. His name was Narendra Sinha. He had been with The Ashram for twelve years now. He seemed like a simple man in his late forties, born and brought up in some small town in Uttar Pradesh. He had a thick moustache and he spoke English with a thick Uttar Pradesh accent. And in fact, he couldn’t pronounce many sounds like ‘sha’. For example, he would pronounce ‘English’ as ‘Inglis’.

  We carried out the Yoga asanas as guruji explained to us the benefit of each of those. I realized that as simple as they look, they were actually extremely tiring and taxing on the body. By eight, I was exhausted.

  Thankfully, it was to be followed by an hour’s rest. So I came back to my room, and didn’t move a muscle until nine. We were supposed to report for breakfast at nine but my body would protest even the smallest movie I’d make; I decided to skip breakfast. We had lectures at ten and one more hour of rest was something I could really use. I reached the lecture hall at ten and as I walked in, I realized everyone stopped doing what they were doing and looked at me. I wasn’t sure what had happened and went and took a seat in a corner and waited for guruji to come.

  Guruji came two minutes later, and before he spoke anything, he looked for me.

  ‘Where were you during breakfast?’ he asked me, with almost a wooden expression.

  ‘Sir, I was in my room. I needed rest and also, I have a habit on skipping breakfast,’ I said.

  ‘Listen Samar, you are in The Ashram, and all your city-boy habits won’t be accepted here. Over here, you eat when you are supposed to eat, you sleep when you supposed to sleep. You need to do everything as a yogi supposed to do. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ I said, not knowing what had hit me.

  ‘As a punishment to this, you will have to fast today. That will make sure you have breakfast tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Okay sir,’ I said.

  He then went on to talk about Yoga, but I had blanked out. I had chosen to spend a summer here. It was supposed to detox me, make me feel better, forget the negativity and become more positive. Right now, it just seemed like a very strict boarding school.

  I spent the lunch time in my room again, which I didn’t really mind. The ways of the hostel and my past life had made me capable of spending at least a few days without food. As I sat in my room, I wondered if this was going to work. And then, I just waited for the clock to strike two. At one, I was supposed to report at the library. And the library was full of only Yoga books. So I picked up the only book in the whole library that I had heard of, ‘The Autobiography of a Yogi’.

  At two thirty we had some free time, until our next lecture at four. So we chit chatted, and I tried to intermingle with the others. Out of nowhere, Vandana slapped me at the back of my shoulder. I turned around and saw a wicked grin on her face.

  ‘Punishment on the first day itself?’ she said, like she was relishing my pain.

  ‘Not really, I could use some starving,’ I said, trying to hold out that almost non-existent fat I had on my tummy. ‘I love rule breakers. Before you came, I was the biggest rule breaker here. Now I think I have competition. We will make good friends.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to?’ I said, with a plain face.

  ‘What if fate doesn’t let you choose?’

  At four, we had what Vandana said was the most important part of The Ashram. Meditation.

  I had never meditated in my whole life. In fact, I wasn’t even a big believer in the art of meditation. I used to believe it’s for people who believe they are broken, while actually they’re just dumb. My thoughts were about to change.

  I followed Guruji’s instructions. I sat in Padmasana and closed my eyes. Everybody else followed suit. I mentally pinned my attention on every body part, starting from my feet. I tightened and then relaxed every body part, releasing the captured intangible stress. Guruji gave us elaborate instructions, making sure that new comers could do it as properly as the veterans.

  ‘Relax. Relax your shoulders, relax your arms, relax your chest, relax your tummy, relax your hips, relax your thighs, relax your calves, relax your feet, relax the last toe of your feet. Breathe deeply. Now, breathe out. Concentrate on your breath,’ he said.

  And then, I tried converging all my attention on my breath. I breathed in, and then I exhaled. And repeat. Then Guruji asked us to imagine ourselves in a calm, serene space. I thought about the idea, and only one place came to my mind. Goa, and the times I had spent there. My mind began to wander but I brought my thoughts back to my breathing.

  I stayed in the posture for what seemed like a long time. I wanted to feel calmer and better. I stuck around to feel a higher connection. I waited with closed eyes to feel the way I was told I would feel.

  But it never came. I didn’t know the reason and somehow, the physical strain of that posture took a toll on my unflinching concentration. I gave up and I realized I had, in fact, been right all along: Meditation was not meant for me.

  I opened my eyes and then the world almost came crashing. A twenty one year old college student, who loved football, was now wearing a plain white kurta and a plain white pyjama, sitting in Padmasana, on the floor and surrounded by a bunch of people, mostly elders, who were making a nasal sound, which sounded like an Om.

  Where was I? What was I doing here?

  I looked out of the window and I could see only trees and birds chirping. It was definitely a pleasant place. I mentally pictured a map of India and imagined myself on it. But what the fuck was I doing here?

  Slyly, I took my phone out of my pocket and messaged Saloni.

  ‘Where have you sent me? This place is not for me!’

  ‘Why? What happened? What are you doing right now?’

  ‘I have been trying to meditate and it is just bloody not coming.’

  ‘How long have you been trying?’

  I checked the clock on the wall. It had actually been three minutes since I had started. With a smile, I decided to write that to Saloni.

  ‘Three minutes! That too with your phone on your side? Are you kidding me?’

  She had a point. Probably I wasn’t trying the right way. Perhaps, I would speak to Guruji after the session. I knew Guruji wasn’t really fond of me, but maybe, he would have some answers for me.

  With these thoughts, I sat there with my eyes closed, with not an iota of stability in my head, waiting for the clock to strike six.

  At six we had Karma Yoga hour. Karma Yoga was an hour every day that we spend in some sort of social service activity, when the whole batch did something for the society. Today’s task was to clean the campus. I decided to stick close to Guruji, and hoped to get some feedback. I realized that somebody was trying to stick close to me too. It was Vandana.

  When our eyes met while picking some pieces of paper together, Guruji asked me, ‘How are you liking it here?’ I looked at Guruji. Just this morning I had upset him by skipping a meal. And now, the calm smile on his face made me feel as if he was incapable of ever being angry.

  ‘It’s mostly nice. But I think I will take a while before I get a hang of everything.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, this Yoga and meditation is tricky, no? It will take me a while before I can get a proper hang of it.’

  ‘Well, not really. I mean there is this thing about meditation. It’s not about how many hours of practice have you put in. It’s about how at peace you are with yourself. If you are at peace, you could reach a higher state in no time. But if you aren’t, it could take you a life time and you would still not go anywhere. I would say that more than the number of hours of practice, it’s about that special moment, that blink of an eye, where everything becomes clear and you get a hang of everything.’

  I nodded. I didn’t know if it encouraged me to perform better or made me feel more lost. In the corporate world, bosses show a carrot to an employee, which he keeps on chasing, knowing that at some point he would get the carrot. But i
n my case, Guruji had shown me the carrot and left me fending for it.

  Will I ever get it? No idea.

  ‘What do you think as you do Karma Yoga?’ Guruji asked me.

  I pondered over it for a few seconds and then recollected that I had been thinking about the place, and whether I fit in here or not and if it was a good idea to come here to spend the summer et cetera. As I gathered my thought to answer Guruji, he signalled me to stop.

  ‘You don’t have to answer me,’ he said. ‘Answer yourself. Are you at peace? Are you stable in your mind? Are you thinking about the next rag you are going to pick? Or about your past life which is bothering you to hell?’

  I didn’t really have to think too hard to get an answer.

  Post the Karma Yoga, everybody went for a shower, to come back for dinner at eight. Hunger was beginning to become a bit disconcerting now; I could feel the pangs. I looked through my window to see if there was a way to find food outside The Ashram. There was a tapri a little walk away. It was tempting. He would have tea and samosas. But I decided against it. I decided to make it through the punishment without cheating. It would probably cleanse and detox my body, if not my mind.

  So I stayed back in my room, lost in my thoughts, the same thought coming back to my mind, again and again.

  Was I cut out for this place.

  Still Wondering If It Was So

  I had porridge and milk for breakfast the next morning, and I was too hungry to have any sort of judgment on whether the food was good or not. It was mandatory to wash your own utensils in The Ashram. It wasn’t really a problem for me, as I had washed plenty of utensils in the past.

  It was during lunch that it struck me, that the food there was excessively bland. I elbowed Vandana, who was sitting beside me and asked her what was wrong with the food.

  ‘It is Sattvik food, Samar. It is spice-less and keeps your mind calm and composed.’

  ‘Hmm. Okay,’ I said, and looked at the dal which seemed straight out of a hospital canteen. This place just got even more loathsome.

  I had been looking forward to the evening meditation session, possibly because on the first day, Vandana had given so much weight to it. I was beginning to believe that this was the only useful/fun/ challenging aspect of this Ashram.

  I went and took the third place in the hall. Vandana came and sat behind me like she always did. She seemed in a mischievous mood today. I knew she was definitely not going to achieve anything in today’s session. But the sad part was that she didn’t seem to be trying to achieve anything. A lot of people around me had accepted their state as it was. It was as if, they had reached a comfort zone and probably didn’t want to reach a higher level.

  I kept my phone on my right side and closed my eyes, as Guruji told me. I tried to concentrate on my breath. I breathed in and I thought about it. I exhaled and I thought about it.

  I then tried to focus all my thoughts on one thing. I focused all my energy thinking about one thing.

  I had no idea how long I had been doing this. The room was quiet and peaceful. The environment was laden with tranquillity as the nasal sound of ‘Om’ rang in my ears, calming me even further. In the middle of all this, suddenly, a sharp sound shook me up.

  To my horror, it was the ring tone of my own phone. It blaringly echoed because of the pin drop silence in the room. I remembered clearly not only putting my phone on silent, but even turning the vibrator off.

  I rejected the call I was getting from an unknown number and looked straight at Guruji. He frowned hard. The last thing he would want to be disturbed by would be a ringing phone of a student who joined just yesterday. He gave me a stern look, which was equivalent to extreme anger in this place. But, within a few seconds, the wrinkles on his forehead disappeared and he went back to his meditative state.

  I looked at my phone. I had no idea what just happened. I looked at the number I had got a call from. I didn’t know the number. I was furious but I was clueless. So I tried to get back to meditation. But there was no way I could, with so much amazement and confusion in my head.

  Today’s Karma Yoga was gardening. Some people were supposed to pick dead leaves with their bare hands, others had to plant some plants. The remaining were supposed to add manure to the plants.

  Guruji’s eyes met mine, ‘Samar, you will not be doing Karma Yoga today. Instead, you will come for a walk with me,’ he said.

  I was two days old in this Ashram and I had already broken two rules. This wasn’t my college, and breaking rules was a rare phenomenon here. No wonder Guruji seemed very serious when he called me.

  ‘Do you think you are able to absorb the tenets and essence of the course?’

  ‘Yes, definitely Guruji,’ I replied, trying hard to sound genuine. ‘In fact, I thought I was having a much better session this evening than yesterday.’

  ‘Then what happened. Samar? It’s hard for me to understand how you can bring along your mobile to the meditation class? And not only that, you didn’t even turn in on silent?’

  ‘I know it’s hard to believe sir, but trust me, I not only turned my phone on silent, but also turned the vibrator off.’

  Guruji looked at me, and he seemed surprisingly convinced by my argument.

  ‘Show me your phone,’ he said.

  I handed him over the phone and watched him press some buttons. And then his expression changed as if he had just realized something. We had walked some distance away from where everyone else was.

  ‘Go and call Vandana behen,’ he instructed me.

  I followed the instruction. As I walked towards Vandana, I realized she had been expecting that I would come to her. She was digging the ground to plant some saplings when she saw me. She dropped the shovel and started coughing strongly for over a minute, cupping her face with her inside of her arm. I was so convinced that she’s doing it to annoy me. I looked away and waited for her histrionics to end.

  ‘He is calling me, isn’t he?’ she said, finally.

  I nodded. Within a few seconds, she was walking beside me, to Guruji. The moment Guruji and her eyes met, they exchanged a knowing smile.

  ‘You did it, didn’t you?’ Guruji asked her.

  She smiled and nodded. She had picked my phone, turned the sound profile to ‘general’ from ‘silent’, and called me from her phone. It was Vandana’s number which he had seen in my phone. Guruji understood the moment he saw the number. It wasn’t my fault after all; it was Vandana’s prank.

  ‘When will you stop Vandana?’

  ‘I never would. I don’t want to.’

  ‘I think I would have to do it this time,’ Guruji said.

  ‘No, you won’t. It’s not that big a crime.’

  ‘I’m supposed to report to Swamiji everything out of the ordinary thing that happens. And this incident definitely qualifies.’

  ‘Hmm. Right now?’

  ‘Yes. Right now. And you would also have to come with me Samar.’

  ‘Come where?’ I asked but neither of them paid any attention to my question. They just started walking towards the lonely hut in the premises. It was Swamiji’s house. Vandana and I waited outside, as Guruji went inside to have a chat with him. He came out five minutes later with the same calm smile on his face.

  ‘What did he say?’ Vandana asked him excitedly.

  ‘From tomorrow onwards, he is going to take your evening meditation sessions himself,’ Guruji said.

  It was a nervous hour next afternoon at four. For the first time, Vandana seemed to be behaving herself, possibly out of nervousness. I had never seen Swamiji, but the legend was that he had withdrawn from all things worldly when he stopped seeing a point. It was rumoured that he was very intimidating. Swamiji constructed his own hut, maintained it himself, grew his own vegetables, cooked them himself and even cut his own wood for fire. I was told the only thing he took from the outside world was the saffron cloth on his body.

  Vandana and I stood in front of the kutiya, observing how in today’s world, one
would deem the idea of building a house oneself as crazy.

  Vandana and I stepped in. I had heard Swamiji was in his mid sixties, but he didn’t seem a day over fifty. He had a shaved head, with a choti, hanging behind. He was sitting in padmasana, and was meditating. Vandana and I looked on, waiting for him to open his eyes. We didn’t dare disturb him, and out of sheer paranoia, I checked that my phone was on silent around a hundredth time since morning.

  Swamiji opened his eyes half an hour later and he looked at both of us. He kept staring for a few seconds as if he was studying us, as if our faces were telling him about our past life, stories which only he can see. And then he lifted his right hand and motioned us to sit in front of him.

  Even though he had a gentle smile on his face, there was something piercing in his gaze.

  ‘Son,’ he spoke to me first.

  ‘Ji Swamiji,’ I replied.

  ‘What is eating you up? Why so much unease in your shoulders? Why have you accumulated so many negative and unwanted thoughts inside your head?’

  I was taken aback. Did he say this to everyone? What made him say all these things to me?

  ‘There is so much tension in your forehead,’ he continued. ‘I can see the unrest in your eyes. It’s as if you are running away from something that you are here. And it’s something distinct, maybe a person or an incident or a memory. It’s not something vague. You know what you are running away from. And I am sure you would rather not talk about it, because you think you are a brave guy and brave guys don’t talk about their inner fears with anyone. But think of me as your doctor. If you have a stomach ache, what’s the point in hiding it from the doctor if you want it cured? Also, if ever there was a person who will not share your secrets with anyone, it’s me,’ he said, maintaining the feeble smile all throughout.

  I looked at Vandana, she nodded, egging me on to spit it out. I thought about it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had not talked about Kanika since the day she had passed away. I had not told my story to anyone.