The Ashram Extravaganza Begins Immediately

Having arrived  and checked -in latish in the day, I had been given a key to what would become my home for the week.  I am in Om 9 of the Om huts. As I wheele my luggage over rambling paths that weave in and out of the thick vegetation towards where the map says these huts are located, I wonder what my roommates are like.  Om 9 accommodates 4 people in two sets of bunkbeds.  The last time I stayed in a dorm was back in 2002/3 during my backpacking trip around Oz and New Zealand. I loved it then and I have a feeling I'll love it now.  There is no better way to my mind of avoiding the "lonelies" than to share a room when you are travelling solo even if it does feel like summer camp in secondary school.

No-one is in when I get there but I can see the bottom two bunks are already taken. I'll have to wait a little longer to meet my roomies.  I chose the top right bunk.  I would have gone for a top bunk regardless.  I love the top bunk. It's so much more cosy up there, plus you're well away from any floor dwelling critters...even if you are "destination fart smell".

I set about making myself at home but all I really want is a shower.  I peel off my jeans (slightly warmer in The Bahamas than in West Hampstead and the sweat has made them stick to my skin) and push my trainers off one foot at a time.  I am immediately hit by a decidedly cheesy whiff (well I have just come off a 9 hour flight) and am very glad at that point the room's other occupants are not around to witness it.   First impressions and all that and oh! the shame of it.  I high-tail it to the shower.  Best shower ever.  The first one after a long flight always is.

I have a look at the schedule - will I have time to check the place out before evening Satsung?  (No, I don't know what satsung is either).  Whatever it is, it happens twice a day at 6am (yes, AM) and 8pm daily - and it is mandatory.  In any event I have a little spare time and head straight for the small convenience store.  I'm sure Lord Vishnu won't mind me having a little browse for trinkets before the serious business of whatever satsung is.

En route, I cross paths with yogis of all shapes and sizes and ages.  Also lots of up-tight New Yorkers.   I'll have to be careful of the yanks.   Perhaps I will just keep myself to myself. Good job I have a great book.  I've started reading Timothy Leary's biography and in retrospect, I couldn't have chosen a more apt book for the setting.

Still not entirely sure what satsung is, the cowbell clangs signalling the start of it.    I make my way to the temple, obediently and find a free cushion to sit on.  Everyone is sitting crossed legged, straight-backed with their hands in chin mudra as if meditating.  I am not sure what to do so I sit quitely checking out the weird and wonderful pretending to do the same but obviously nowhere near able to concentrate.

Then the big swami dude floats by dressed in the traditional bright orange swami uniform and takes his seat at the front of the temple.  He starts Omming.  The lights fade and the place falls silent...for half an hour.  No one moves.  I am so tired I find it quite easy - though I can't say I am exactly meditating.  And I am not sure I'll find it this easy again.  Then the lights flicker back on and we are told to refer to page 10 of the Kirtan.  WTF is Kirtan?  I take my lead from those around me. Turns out Kirtans are like hymns in a church and p10 is the page to turn to in the "hymn" book. 

So turns out Satsung is a hindu ritual that involves meditation followed by chanting (or to put it the christian way - singing).  And I love it.  I feel strangely rejuvenated and yet I've done nothing.  Literally.  I wonder if I will feel the same enthusiasm at 5:45 am the following morning.

So that all done and dusted I wonder what is next - probably a slow shuffle to the room and a spot of reading before lights out.  But to my utter astonishment one of the leaders of the ashram gets up and begins to run through the evening's entertainment.  Am I hearing this right.?.. "entertainment" at an ashram? 

Ok - I'll give this a go...wonder what passes for "entertainment" at a place like this?  Well, my friends - turns out these Swamis know where it's at because for the next hour we are treated to a show by the famous sitar player known in the west for his work with George Harrison and Eric Clapton - not Ravi Shankar I hasten to add...another one who arrives with his tabla player.  Jesus Christ it is astounding.


Well, now I was intrigued.  I can't wait for tomorrow's satsung. 

But first sleep.  I am a little concerned about the 5:30 wake-up and I suddently realise how freaking hungry I still am but with food only served 2 times a day, I have a long time to wait.  A teeny tiny frisson of panic runs through me.  How am I ever going to get through this week? Nevertheless with the hypnotic sounds of the sitar still floating in my mind, I find my way home. 

I finally  meet my roomies - large friendly Americans (only slightly uptight) who snore and think I'm Australian.