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COVER STORY: SRI SRI RAVI
SHANKAR
The Art & Smile of Sri Sri
The fastest growing guru in the marketplace of
happiness is presiding over an empire of air-and breathing with him are
the despairing and the dandy in over 135 countries
By S. Prasannarajan
Sacred flames laminate
him. Searing shlokas intensify him. Swaying bodies encircle him. He is
the garlanded centre of a magnetic field, a dark-and-white stillness placed
on the elevated seat of awe and adoration. Here, in this sovereign Republic
of Love, which has an iron roof and cement walls, he is His Holy Happiness,
and the citizens, a tranced multitude in folding chairs or rhythmic species
spread on the clothed floor, are travelling light in the space of bliss,
a private space sealed by eyelids. In this confluence of flowers, flames
and mantras, he is the highest guru, the sovereign lord and best friend,
and when the flames envelop songs, he sheds stillness and soars. Like
a painted resurrection of Jesus, he, in a psychedelic moment of sound
and smoke, floats towards the exit, hands reaching out to heaven, feet
miming I belong to you
 He
is the beloved this moment, the lover the next, like an unshaven Krishna
amid English-speaking Radhas, the teacher the next, the counsellor a few
minutes later, a playful Vedanti a few songs hence Flamenco, the electricity
of his smile migrating to the audience, the darkness of his flowing locks
and trimmed beard clashing with the whiteness of his clothes, into the
slushy reality of a rainy Kolkata morning, into a waiting car, leaving
behind an enchanted sea of happiness hoppers. The song of salvation is
driven away into the infinity of rain.
overwhelming absence, as now, in the aftermath
of Rudra puja in Kolkata's Najrul Manch. A puja for the man and cosmos.
Just one part in the art of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, the fastest selling
guru in the soul bazaar, chosen by the fashionable as well as the desperate
as the deliverer of peace, as the philosopher of happiness, as the soul
meister at large. The artist of life. For, the Art of Living (AoL), his
yogic system of permanent smile, is spreading, in varying national colours,
across a canvas stretching from Wayanad to Vancouver, from Bangalore to
Berlin, from New Delhi to New Jersey, an art animated by the neurosis
of the New Age. Taking a deep breath and giving themselves in mind and
matter to his art are the beautiful and the bored, the disillusioned dandy
and the despairing diva, the stressed chief executive and the curious
school student, the nirvana-hungry housewife and the karma-crazy city
slicker. He, on his part, is the beloved this moment, the lover the next
moment, like an unshaven Krishna amid English-speaking Radhas, the teacher
the next, the counsellor a few minutes later, a playful Vedanti a few
songs hence.
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I BELONG TO YOU
He is beloved this moment, the lover the next, like an unshaven
Krishna amid English-speaking Radhas, the teacher the next, the
counselor a few minutes later, a playful Vedanti a few songs hence
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So, you ask him, as he is now with you in the
privacy of a room in Jain House, Kolkata, owned by the Times of India
Group, sitting on an abundantly upholstered sofa, fresh after a satsang,
the high-octave song therapy, and an interactive session with thousands
of unhappy souls: "Who are you then, essentially?"
"A child. I haven't grown up."
Maybe childlike, certainly the twinkle in his
eyes, not piercing but kind, and the smile, the broadest in the benediction
bazaar. Otherwise, going by his soft-spoken words, he is as ancient as
the Upanishads, as timeless as the Vedas and as recent as the information
age, though the body, slim and dark, most of the time covered in golden
brocade or, in post-dinner conversational mood, in white kurta-dhoti,
is only 45 years old. For the Sri Sri seeker, though, it's all about growing
up with fun: God Loves Fun, reads the title of one of his books, where
he writes: "God is very naughty and God loves fun!"
Sri Sri too is fun, that is, whenever he wants to be. He will tease you,
play with you, crack jokes with you, sing and dance with you-yes, like
a guru who is not destined to grow up. The satsang, the grand finale of
a guru day, is chant 'n' roll, the masculine Shiva being the favoured
deity of songs. Swaying bodies and waving hands mark late-night fun with
so much released energy. Satsang is peace in trance, which defines the
night of the Art of Living. It is a way of life as well as an organisation.
It is all about air and man: breathe in, breathe out, and be happy. Instructors
chosen by Sri Sri will lead you through yogic positions, through various
breathing methods, through soul-baring conversations, through meditation,
to the realm of belonging-"I belong to you", that is how the
artists of living greet each other instead of a hollow "hello".
So there's nothing to be embarrassed about uttering
these four words of intimacy to the co-artist of the opposite sex on the
first day of your class, though the forced sense of belonging is a bit
disconcerting. Perhaps, as much as holding her hands and staring into
her eyes or sharing with her your life story as a ritual of total acceptance
of the fellow being. But breathe out bad thoughts, for air is pure, air
is life, and pranayama and sudarshan kriya are the two cardinal bliss-by-breathing
techniques perfected by Sri Sri. Breath in-life begins; breath out-the
end of life. In between, it is a non-stop air show. As he relaxes post-dinner
on a hammock in the private balcony of Jain House, as the night breeze
whispers I-belong-to-you to the hair and linen of the swinging Sri Sri,
as the close coterie of Sri Sriites looks up to him from the floors, like
whitewashed sculptures in search of revelations, you ask him, "So,
shall we say an airborne system of happiness?"
"Breath and mind are linked, like body
and mind. Breath sorts out the imbalances in the mind and the body. It's
the secret of life we have forgotten."
Remember it by being the monarch of the moment.
For ardent devotees, that means, be with guruji himself, be in love with
him. When he dances, they like to be his unchoreographed movement, when
he sings, they want to be his tune, when he smiles, they hope to be the
mirror. In one inspired moment of submission, they put a jasmine crown
on him, making him look like a laughing Jesus, then they make him the
bridegroom of the whole world, he beaming with an uneasy headwear. And
they are mostly beautiful women with names other than Radha. They wait
for the privilege of washing his clothes, cooking his food, guarding him
from the crowd.
"What is he to you?" you ask Rhea
Pillai, model and artist of living, and a global teacher of the AoL. "He
is everything. He is unlimited. When I'm with him, he is part of me."
For her, it was a slow awakening. "In the beginning, I was very sceptical
about gurujis and godmen. I had a couple of meetings with him. Still,
within, I had been fighting. I wanted to ask him a thousand questions.
Then it began. Without my asking he was answering all my questions. Questions
turned into wonder. And I realised, my goodness, here is much more than
meets the eye."
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