Craving Consecration in Chicago
Gandhi once said, “A nation's culture resides in the hearts and souls of its people,” and his words ring particularly true for us desis, or the Indian diaspora, in America. Of course one could say that this curious spirit of harmony stems from the craze of Bollywood movies and cricket matches - they never fail to bring us together. But beyond this broad, national purview, I have seen that strong ethnic correlations are abloom – be it at a graduation party, a pre-wedding Sangeet ceremony, or simply a visit to the temple during the festive season – we come together to revive and celebrate even the most arcane of traditions.
In a country where life is always on fifth gear, and mostly materialistic, most of us seek spiritual serenity in temples. To get away from the hustle-bustle of everyday life, we all flock to our local sanctuaries. We attend weekend discourses on the Gita, and partake in festive
commemorations. And it’s in these simple, unnoted proceedings that our Indianness is kindled, just as it is when we recount stories from Ramayana, or say, Vikram Aur Betaal, to our children.
If the Sri Venkateswara temple in Pittsburgh can bring the matchless spirit of Tirupathi alive, Chicago’s own Aurora and Lemont temples are certainly not to be left behind. And it’s not just the efforts of the managers, volunteers, and trustees that make these temples special. It is also the diligence and dedication of the priests that add extra merit to these shrines. So I decided to go on a sublime sojourn to discover the divine obsession and way of life of these unassuming Godmen.
Even on a chaotic workday, the Aurora temple is brimming with devotees. A serenade of ‘shlokas’ falls melodically on my ears as I calmly walk the untainted floors of the temple. A whiff of burning incense mixed with fumes of the ‘aarthi’ gushes into my nostrils, and the tinkling of a bell that follows makes my hair stand on end. I am face-to-face with the most beautiful idol of Lord Krishna, and suddenly, everything else seems insignificant. No worldly thoughts to stir my mind, and no apprehensions to disrupt my feelings. It is a moment of sheer bliss, almost celestial, and it makes me want to freeze and hold on to it forever. The priest, Hanuman Prasad, offers a platter of dry fruits to the Lord, and steps out with a gleaming silver carafe in his hands. Without uttering a single word, he begins to proffer pint-sized drops of holy water to everyone. Everyone just knows what to do - how to hold their hands out in devoutness, and sprinkle the remnants on their heads. It’s almost like a powered, perfunctory action.
Later, with a simple wave of his hand, the priest beckons me to a spot where his prayer books lie scattered, behind a soaring pillar. Greeting me with an assertive ‘Hari Om,’ he tells me that it’s been a decade since he left Tirupathi to set up home here, taking me down memory lane with his fluid, chaste words. “I have attained utmost contentment - performing pujas and imparting the spirit of sanctity on thousands of devotees - in these ten years.”
Pointing out that the ‘Sathyanarayana Puja’ is the most popular service among South Indian devotees, he quickly adds that the number of weddings he has conducted easily outmaneuvers its repute. He jokes about how he is forced to explain the appositeness of ‘gulika kala’ and ‘rahu kala’ of performing pujas, given how weekend-oriented people are in this super fast world. “But on occasion, even the rules have to be overlooked,” he says. “These ten years of my life have been the most rewarding, and the one thing that still makes me heady with satisfaction is the relief on their anxious faces when I counsel and point them to righteousness. That makes my life worth living.”
“Do you have your family here with you?” I ask. He smiles, and says, “Not yet. I got married last year, and hope to have my wife here by the next. But if you insist, the temple, and all of you devotees - make my family circle complete. Hari Om.” I bow down in reverence and look in awe as he takes leave gracefully, to tend to another devotee.
The scene in the Lemont temple is much the same. The same sacramental sensation and the same sense of belonging hit me as I pass fellow devotees with a knowing look on their faces, as they scramble to receive a morsel of the ‘prasadam’.
Chanting his ‘mantras’ with the ultimate ease and commitment, priest Krishnarajan culminates the end of the day’s pujas by bowing obeisance to the Lord. He then flashes a cherubic smile at me, and coyly breaks the ice by using a South Indian dialect. He is happy to learn I’m equally conversant in it. “I hail from a small South Indian town, and have been serving at this temple for the past two decades, my dear,” he says. “Although I had my initial struggle with acclimatization to settle in here, I always looked back to the one piece of advice that my guru had given me - ’Desha-kala-sankeerthya,’ meaning - regulate your life depending on the time and location of your subsistence. Yes, it does matter to me that the disparate timings, the environs, and overall, the distinctive way of life affects the manner of rituals in this faraway land. But it’s still the same sun that rises and sets, the same moon, the same stars, and the same earth. And I am here to serve my fellow Indians, through my prayers to the Lord. That is more important to me, as is devotion and wholeheartedness.”
He says he has blessed several thousands of inter-continental couples over the years as they entered holy matrimony. He finds it surprising that the number of Indians marrying Indians is severely low in comparison. “But it hardly matters. Where there is love, there is the presence of the Lord,” he adds. His family lives with him, and they visit their native town every couple of years, just so they can stay in touch with their roots. Even as he excuses himself to serve sanctified droplets of water to new devotees queuing up, I curtsy respectfully and stare in awe at the positiveness he exudes. I then turn around, and heave a sigh as I leave the premises to join the blast of peak hour traffic. But the elephant-faced, pot-bellied, adorable little Ganesha sitting pretty on the dashboard, reminds me of my heritage and to be proud of it.
In a country where life is always on fifth gear, and mostly materialistic, most of us seek spiritual serenity in temples. To get away from the hustle-bustle of everyday life, we all flock to our local sanctuaries. We attend weekend discourses on the Gita, and partake in festive
commemorations. And it’s in these simple, unnoted proceedings that our Indianness is kindled, just as it is when we recount stories from Ramayana, or say, Vikram Aur Betaal, to our children.
If the Sri Venkateswara temple in Pittsburgh can bring the matchless spirit of Tirupathi alive, Chicago’s own Aurora and Lemont temples are certainly not to be left behind. And it’s not just the efforts of the managers, volunteers, and trustees that make these temples special. It is also the diligence and dedication of the priests that add extra merit to these shrines. So I decided to go on a sublime sojourn to discover the divine obsession and way of life of these unassuming Godmen.
Even on a chaotic workday, the Aurora temple is brimming with devotees. A serenade of ‘shlokas’ falls melodically on my ears as I calmly walk the untainted floors of the temple. A whiff of burning incense mixed with fumes of the ‘aarthi’ gushes into my nostrils, and the tinkling of a bell that follows makes my hair stand on end. I am face-to-face with the most beautiful idol of Lord Krishna, and suddenly, everything else seems insignificant. No worldly thoughts to stir my mind, and no apprehensions to disrupt my feelings. It is a moment of sheer bliss, almost celestial, and it makes me want to freeze and hold on to it forever. The priest, Hanuman Prasad, offers a platter of dry fruits to the Lord, and steps out with a gleaming silver carafe in his hands. Without uttering a single word, he begins to proffer pint-sized drops of holy water to everyone. Everyone just knows what to do - how to hold their hands out in devoutness, and sprinkle the remnants on their heads. It’s almost like a powered, perfunctory action.
Later, with a simple wave of his hand, the priest beckons me to a spot where his prayer books lie scattered, behind a soaring pillar. Greeting me with an assertive ‘Hari Om,’ he tells me that it’s been a decade since he left Tirupathi to set up home here, taking me down memory lane with his fluid, chaste words. “I have attained utmost contentment - performing pujas and imparting the spirit of sanctity on thousands of devotees - in these ten years.”
Pointing out that the ‘Sathyanarayana Puja’ is the most popular service among South Indian devotees, he quickly adds that the number of weddings he has conducted easily outmaneuvers its repute. He jokes about how he is forced to explain the appositeness of ‘gulika kala’ and ‘rahu kala’ of performing pujas, given how weekend-oriented people are in this super fast world. “But on occasion, even the rules have to be overlooked,” he says. “These ten years of my life have been the most rewarding, and the one thing that still makes me heady with satisfaction is the relief on their anxious faces when I counsel and point them to righteousness. That makes my life worth living.”
“Do you have your family here with you?” I ask. He smiles, and says, “Not yet. I got married last year, and hope to have my wife here by the next. But if you insist, the temple, and all of you devotees - make my family circle complete. Hari Om.” I bow down in reverence and look in awe as he takes leave gracefully, to tend to another devotee.
The scene in the Lemont temple is much the same. The same sacramental sensation and the same sense of belonging hit me as I pass fellow devotees with a knowing look on their faces, as they scramble to receive a morsel of the ‘prasadam’.
Chanting his ‘mantras’ with the ultimate ease and commitment, priest Krishnarajan culminates the end of the day’s pujas by bowing obeisance to the Lord. He then flashes a cherubic smile at me, and coyly breaks the ice by using a South Indian dialect. He is happy to learn I’m equally conversant in it. “I hail from a small South Indian town, and have been serving at this temple for the past two decades, my dear,” he says. “Although I had my initial struggle with acclimatization to settle in here, I always looked back to the one piece of advice that my guru had given me - ’Desha-kala-sankeerthya,’ meaning - regulate your life depending on the time and location of your subsistence. Yes, it does matter to me that the disparate timings, the environs, and overall, the distinctive way of life affects the manner of rituals in this faraway land. But it’s still the same sun that rises and sets, the same moon, the same stars, and the same earth. And I am here to serve my fellow Indians, through my prayers to the Lord. That is more important to me, as is devotion and wholeheartedness.”
He says he has blessed several thousands of inter-continental couples over the years as they entered holy matrimony. He finds it surprising that the number of Indians marrying Indians is severely low in comparison. “But it hardly matters. Where there is love, there is the presence of the Lord,” he adds. His family lives with him, and they visit their native town every couple of years, just so they can stay in touch with their roots. Even as he excuses himself to serve sanctified droplets of water to new devotees queuing up, I curtsy respectfully and stare in awe at the positiveness he exudes. I then turn around, and heave a sigh as I leave the premises to join the blast of peak hour traffic. But the elephant-faced, pot-bellied, adorable little Ganesha sitting pretty on the dashboard, reminds me of my heritage and to be proud of it.
posted by Ranjini | 12:16 PM
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