Cartwheels in A Sari by Jayanti Tamm - Excerpt
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Ca rtwheels in a Sa Sari ri A Memoir of Growing Up Cult
J a y a n t i T a m m
Harmony Books New York
Copyright © 2009 by Jayanti Tamm All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Harmony Harmony Books, an imprint of the Crown Publishi Publishing ng Group Group,, a divis division ion of Random Random House, House, Inc., New York. York. www.crownpublishing.com www .crownpublishing.com Harmony Books is a registered trademark and the Harmony Books
colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Tamm, Jay Jayanti. anti. Cartwheels in a sari / Jayanti Tamm.—1st ed. 1. Ch Chin inmo moy y, Sr Sri, i, 19 1931 31–2 –200 007— 7—Cu Cult lt.. 2. Tamm, amm, Jayan ayanti ti.. 3. Spir Spirit itua uall bi biog ogra raph phy y. I. Tit itle le.. BP610.C552T36 2009 294.5092—dc22 [B] 2008036450 ISBN 978-0-307-39392-0 Printed in the United States of America Design by Lauren Dong
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 First Edition
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A u t h o r ’s N o t e
since sri chinmoy’s arriv arrival al in Ameri America ca in 1964, thou-
sands of sincere seekers and curious onlookers sought his presence. Some remained only for a few hours hours,, others for decades. No doubt that all those who encountered Sri Sri Chinmo Chinmoy y have the their ir own exp experien eriences, ces, their own understanding of him. This memoir isn’t the definitive account of Sri Chinmoy; it is my own remembrance. Although all the events within these pages are true, the names and identifying characteristics of most people mentioned in the book have been altered in an effort to honor the privacy of those involved.
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Contents
Prologue 1 1 .The Myth Begins 3 2. Because Guru Says So, That’s Why 3 3 57 7 3. The Divine Cage 5
4. The Supreme Is Your Boyfriend Boyfr iend 9 3 5. Miracles of Faith 1 2 5 6. Amore at the Unite Un itedd Nations 1 4 7 7. Exiled to France 1 7 9 8. Born Again, Again 2 0 5 9. This Is Heresy 2 3 5 10. Cartwheel Cartwheelss in a Sari Sa ri 2 6 1
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Cartwheels in a Sari
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Prologue
he last time time i received received a messa message ge from from guru, the
T
self-proclaimed spiritual spiritual master Sri Ch Chinmoy inmoy,, six years had passed since his personal envoy called to inform me that my discipleship was officially and permanently terminated and all contact and association with his headquarterss in Que ter Queens ens,, New York ork,, wa wass for forbid bidden. den. N Now ow,, afte afterr yea years rs of strug struggling gling to sh shed ed all outer remna remnants nts of my forme formerr lif life, e, I listened with muted curiosity and suspicion as the same breathless disciple carefully conveyed Guru’s unexpected and urgent message. His words foretold of a “dangerous destructive force force”” tryin trying g to p physi hysically cally aattack ttack me, and, in order order to protect myself myself,, for th thee next two mon months, ths, ever every y hour on the ho hour ur,, I needed to pray ceaselessly to Guru for protection. I was livid. I knew Guru’s masterful tactics of manipulation to lure me back into his fold. It had worked countless times in the past. Since Since birt birth, h, as his ch chosen osen dev devotee, otee, I witnes witnessed sed Guru lo lovvingly warn of the vicious karmic punishments in store for disciples who did not strictly adhere to his teachings. Whether it was dread of the massive wh wheel eel of karma, or weakness for
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his doe-eyed doe-eyed ccharms harms,, it had b been een enou enough gh to k keep eep me b beeholden to him. I couldn’t hang up the phone. Captured by his honey-coated appeal that promised his eternal eter nal conc concern ern and co compas mpassion sion,, in an inst instant, ant, all of m my y years of struggling to separate myself from his hold dissolved. I still possessed enough faith to fear that his prophecy might be true. I held vigil, clocking protective protective prayer sessions sessions by the hour. hour. Two months later later,, when the sup supposed posed witching witching hour came and passed passed with without out inci incident, dent, I was en enraged raged an and d morti mortified fied that Guru still retained the pow power er to control me, despite all I
had experienced living as his chosen disciple for more than a quarter of a century. That was was it, my final ac actt of belief in the cu cult lt of the shor short, t, bald man in the flowing robes who declared himself to be God.
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The Myth Beg Beg ins
y life story can be traced back to an ad-
M
dress scraw scrawled led acro across ss a matc matchbook hbook direc directing ting m my y mother to the place where she hoped her lifelong
search would end. She didn t have a phone number or con tact name. Although Although it was just afte afterr dusk, the New Y York ork neighborhood seemed empty empty.. No o one ne to ask, no clues. After crisscrossing the street four times times,, she stood before the only building on the block without a number. Wrought-iron bars covered the cracked glass of the front door door.. Instead of a panel of backlit doorbells, five chew chewed ed wires jutted ffrom rom the brick. brick. The door was unlocked and sighed open at her touch. t ouch. The dank stairwell had one bare lightbulb. Cigarette butts littered the floor like flattened cockroaches. She rechecked the address clutched in her left hand. This was suddenly absurd. All of it—her it—her exhausting journey journey,, hitchhiking ffrom rom San Francisco with with her two-year two-year-old -old son, leaving behind her straying husband and all of the contents of her former life, bringing nothing other than one small satchel and a matchbook with the the add address ress o off Sri Ch Chinmo inmoy y, a guru re recentl cently y arri arrived ved ffrom rom
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Pondicherr ondicherry y, India. A drip of rusty water fell onto her shoulder from a brown-stained ring on the ceiling. This was not the place to find a holy man. They reside by the gardenia-soaked banks of the the Ganges Ganges,, or insi inside de caver cavernous nous moun mountain tain dwe dwellllings, ing s, or sh shade aded d by b boug oughs hs o off the b bodh odhii tre tree, e, not iin n dil dilapi api-dated East Village tenements. As she she turn turned ed to le leav ave, e, an anc ancien ientt voi voice, ce, gen gentle tle an and d lull lull-ing, drif drifted ted down tto o her her.. “At last, at last. You have come, good girl. Bah. Bah.”” She looked up. Dr Dressed essed in traditio traditional nal Indian gar garb, b, a pale blue dhoti, dhoti, and matc matching hing kurta, Guru’s gold-hued skin glowed, and he seemed to flood the stairwell with his radiance. When she and her very first boyfrien boyfriend d fled Chicago Chicago,, leaving behind behind her abu abusive sive al alcohol coholic ic fathe fatherr, she actively began her search for spiritual fulfillment. In her earnest longing, she had wandered wandered thro through ugh San Fran Francisco cisco,, the epicen epicenter ter for alternative altern ative spir spiritual itual p paths aths,, kneel kneeling ing in silen silentt zazen at Zen
temple temp less, da danc ncin ing g an and d wh whir irli ling ng wi with th Su Sufi fi mys ysti tics cs,, qui quietly etly reflecting in Quaker Quaker Meeting Houses Houses,, and clapping an and d cchant hant-ing in g aatt th thee Ha Hare re K Kri rish shna na te temp mple le,, bu butt ev ever eryt ythi hing ng,, ev even en th thee spla sp lash shes es o off m mys ysti tici cism sm,, fe felt lt ttoo oo fform ormal al and pr proces ocessed, sed, reminding her of dreaded days in Catholic school. school. Once, years ago,, she had rread ago ead that w when hen the d discip isciple le wa wass ready ready,, the gur guru u would appear. appear. And there he he was, was, leaning over the railing from the floor above, abov e, as thoug though h he had been sta standing nding th there, ere, wai waiting ting for h her er,, her entire life. Why had it taken her this long to arrive? And how could she possibly waste one more minute when her guru had finally appeared? At that moment she chose to surrender her entire existence to him. This guru was the answer to all of her questions and longings. He seemed to know her,
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and perhaps he could fill all the gaping holes that echoed inside. He motioned for her to follow him inside his crowded apartment where the guests sat upon a bare wood floor in silence.. Throu lence Through gh swir swirls ls of sandal sandalwood wood inc incense ense smo smoke, ke, Guru instructed her to sit beside a young hippie, barefoot and with a sour odor odor.. After After hou hours rs of po poten tent, t, sil silent ent med medita itatio tion, n, Gur Guru u stated that if she wanted to “jump into the sea of spirituality spirituality,,” she would marry the long-haired man. That, accord according ing to m my y mothe motherr, is how she met m my y fathe fatherr. The blon blond d mend mendica icant, nt, my ffath ather er,, was was als also o at Gur Guru’ u’ss for the first time. He drove from Yale Yale University University,, where he was a graduate fellow studying philosophy philosophy.. Born in a refugee camp in Augsburg, Augsburg, German Germany y, to Estonian parents who who had fled when Stalin’s Stalin ’s troo troops ps inv invaded aded thei theirr homelan homeland, d, my fath father’ er’ss family immigrated to America America and settled in Bi Bismarck, smarck, North Dak Dakota. ota. Thoroughl Thor oughly y dissati dissatisfied sfied wit with h Bismar Bismarck’ ck’ss status quo quo,, by his late teens, my father dev devoured oured drugs along with sacred Sanskritt texts as he hitchhik skri hitchhiked, ed, journe journeying ying thro through ugh commun communes es
and churches for answers to his questions on the meaning of existence. He found the ancient tradition of asceticism appealing. peali ng. Afte Afterr arrivi arriving ng at Y Yale, ale, he began hi hiss own intensive course of study to become a sadhana, which included renouncing all material objects and a nd attachments. He welcomed personal discomfort and self-denial as important steps toward inner strength. He roamed the Y Yale ale campus barefoot, even in the the midst of the N New ew Englan England d winters winters,, as part of his spiritual practice. According to my father father,, the nigh nightt h hee en en-tered Guru’s Guru’s apartment, he planned to tak takee a vow as a sanyassi, a celibate monk, to learn about the realms of the inner world first-hand from a true Yogi.
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The last thing he expected that night was acquiring a wife and stepson. When Guru Guru bles blessed sed them bo both, th, press pressing ing his ha hands nds ov over er their forehea foreheads, ds, they felt a river of w warmth armth cour course se through through them, awak awakening ening th their eir sens senses. es. Wi With th closed eyes, Guru ch chanted anted in Sanskrit, Sanskrit, and in the in incense cense h haze aze and ov overhea erheated ted spac space, e, his words felt familiar familiar.. He praised their inner aspiration, welcoming them into his “golden boat that will steer them safely through the ignorance-sea to the golden-shore of the Be yond.”” My mother and my fath yond. father er were b both oth fatigued ch charting arting their own own cours courses, es, and the guar guarantee antee of saf safee passag passagee to the golden-shore of the Beyond was not something to pass up. This guru felt homes homespun, pun, humbl humble, e, and llack acked ed th thee tra trapping ppingss of protoc protocol, ol, profi profits, ts, and p prosel roselytizin ytizing g ov over er wh which ich other religious groups obsessed. This was different—just a small circle of devoted seekers guided by a simple sage. It was exactly what my mother and father yearned for. for. Though neither one had a desire for marriage, they were thoroughly entranced by the idea of a life with Guru. They bowed their heads, accepting Guru’s wisdom. And so on that night my mother and father became Sri
Chinmoy’s disciples.
Almost as soon as my parents committed themselves to
Guru as full-time full-time dis disciple ciples, s, Guru rap rapidly idly cha changed nged his sm small all informal meditation circle into a structured organization. Since Guru wanted all his disciples to expedite their spiritual grow growth, th, he the p presc rescribe ribed d a route llifes ifestyle tyle that, acco accordin rding g to him, wou would ld guarantee quickest toward self-perfection. He prohibited all activities he considered dangerous detours: alco-
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hol, ca hol, caff ffei eine ne,, sm smok okin ing, g, dr drug ugss, TV TV,, ra radi dio o, mo movi vies es,, musi music, c, ne news ws-papers pap ers,, mag magazi azines nes,, boo books ks not wri written tten by Gu Guru, ru, mea meat, t, dan dancin cing, g, and pets. In addition, all disciples w were ere to remain single. AcAccording to Guru, traditional ffamilies amilies created ins insurmountable urmountable tangles tangl es and distra distractions ctions th that at at best delayed delayed,, but more ofte often n derailed, true seek seekers ers in their quest for enligh enlightenment. tenment. There were were,, howe however ver,, a few except exceptions ions.. Gur Guru u sanc sanctione tioned d certain unions that he arranged and labeled as “divine marriages.”” Created to encourage intensified spiri riages. spiritual tual practice to achieve “faster than the fastest progress in their inner lives,” Guru paired a number of new disciples with the mandate that they marry but remain celibate. Shortly after my parents’“divi ents’ “divine ne mar marriage riage”” in 19 1969, 69, my mother became preg pregnant, nant, clearly violating Guru’s policy. The problem of my mother’s pregnancy drove an immediate thorny wedge between the newlyweds, who were still strangers to each other other.. Nervous to confess confe ss to Guru, they felt asha ashamed med and embarra embarrassed. ssed. Guru scolded my parents for being undivine and indulging in “lower “lower-vital -vital forces” that threatened to eradicate all of their spiritual hunger. My parents were mortified and pleaded with Guru that their failing was due to weakness and not out of deliberate disobedience. Eventually Eventually,, Guru’s infini infinite te compassion intervened. He pleaded with the “Supreme”—
his prefe preferred rred w word ord for G God—an od—and d told my p parents arents that that the Supreme was so moved by Guru’s prayers that he decided to allow Guru Guru to turn wh what at he calle called d this “undiv “undivine” ine” epis episode ode into a spiritual boon. Guru then announced that he had contacted the “highest heaven” and arranged for a sp special ecial soul to incarnate as his chosen disciple. My grateful parents humbly vowed to never again indulge in “lower “lower-vital -vital activities, activities,”” and renewed their undying commitment to Guru to never permit
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the “trappings of family” family” to deter them from spiritual prog progress. ress. They understood that what held them together was Guru and Guru alone. He served as the foundation of their marriage and lives. As in in all great faith faithss of the worl world, d, Guru, too too,, had sstorie toriess to answer answ er the unans unanswera werable, ble, to expla explain in the unexp unexplainab lainable, le, to rationalize the irrational. His story was me—the miracle child. In the history history of the Sri Chinmoy Chinmoy Center Center, from its hu humble mble beginnings in 1964 to its present-day expansion with more than seven thousand followers around the world and the hundreds hundr eds of thousan thousands ds of ex-disci ex-disciples ples and seek seekers ers who who,, for however fleeting a time, came to experience experience Guru’s presence, I, according to the legend originally told by Guru and then repeated endlessl endlessly y by discip disciples les around the w world, orld, am the only soul to have have been pers personally onally in invited vited,, select selected, ed, or comma commanded nded to incarnate into his realm on earth. Though mine wasn’t proclaimed claim ed a virgin bi birth, rth, he announ announced ced that I desce descended nded fro from m the highest heavens to be an exemplary disciple; I was to be the Ananda Ananda tto o Buddh Buddha, a, the P Peter eter tto o JJesus esus,, the La Lakshm kshmana ana to Rama, Ram a, a d devo evoted, ted, sac sacrifi rificia ciall b bein eing, g, sel selfles flesss aand nd tir tirele eless ss,, ple pleasasing the master unconditionally unconditionally.. The myth of my birth was one of Guru’s favorite stories that he repeated over the years. Although it changed slightly depending depen ding on his moo mood, d, the stand standard ard ver version sion is the fol followlowing: At 6:01 on a w warm arm morning iin n September 1970, my soul
entered the world, landing in a Connecticut h hospital. ospital. My exhausted mother beamed and clutched me tightly to her breast, breas t, whil whilee my fathe fatherr was in the pa parkin rking g lot wai waiting ting for Guru. Guru was being chauffeured chauffeured from Queens, New York, York, and the as soon as he arrived, arrived, my fath father er escor escorted ted Guru dire directly ctly into nursery.
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According to G According Guru, uru, my fir first st dharshan, offici official al bless blessing, ing, occurred an hour after my birth. Guru walked up to the window and spotted spotted me. I, lik likee the other sshriv hriveled, eled, stunn stunned ed newbo newborns rns,, was asleep. asleep. Guru had brought with him my name. In Eas Eastern tern traditions tradi tions,, a spiri spiritual tual name me means ans rece receivin iving g a new life, a new identity.. My mother identity mother,, originally K Kathleen, athleen, was given the name Samarpana Samarp ana by Guru, and my fathe fatherr, orig originally inally Tonis onis,, was renamed Rudra. My parents would never have considered naming me themselves. I was Guru’s. He picked out the name, Jayanti, meaning “the absolute victory of the highest Supreme. Supreme.”” Guru started meditating meditating on me, sending me an inner message to wake up and respond to his presence. In the first of manynued of mysl great acts of disobedience andy disap disappointment, pointment, conti continued sleepin eeping. g. A Again gain, , Guru iintentl ntently conce concentrate ntrated d onI me, attemp attempting ting to stir me, yet I offer offered ed no reply reply.. Fee Feeling ling frus frus-trated,, he inw trated inwardly ardly tol told d my so soul, ul, Is this your gratitude? I spe- cially chose you from the highest heavens to come to earth to be with me, and this is your grat gratitude? itude? You do not ackn acknowl- owl- edge your Guru? Bah. At this point, point, I uncurle uncurled d my finger fingerss and moved my hands together in a prayerful pranam, opened my eyes, and slightly bowed my head and neck into my ch chest. est. It was a perfect moment, an act of unconditional surrender surrender,, of pure bhakti, devotion. It was miraculous and yet expected. It was my first test, and I had pas passed sed it, cementing m my y status status,, cementing my bonds.
For the first six months of my life I was homebound be
cause Guru Guru told my mo mother ther th that at m my y speci special al soul, so dazzlingly beatific beatific,, needed careful sanctuar sanctuary y whi while le adj adjusting usting to the vi vibration brationss and co conscious nsciousness ness o off the cchaotic haotic worl world. d.
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Unquestioning, Unquestioni ng, my mot mother her obe obeyed. yed. T That hat w was as the requ requireirement necessary to be his true disciple: obey and please Guru uncondition uncon ditionally ally,, and, in return return,, he woul would dd deliv eliver er the disci disciple ple to the golden-shore of perfection. It was his guarantee. All of my childhood memories involve trying to obey and please Guru. My earliest memory is of my third birthday party in Queens. The meditation that night was at the house of a disciple who lived a few blocks from Guru. My mother dressed me in a sari of Guru’s fav favorite orite color color,, a shade of light blue the disciples disciples official officially ly dubbed “G “Guru-bl uru-blue. ue.”” Saris were the required uniform for meditations—six yards of fabric, carefully caref ully p pleated leated aand nd dra draped, ped, that m modestl odestly y conce concealed aled th thee body.. W body When hen wo worn rn well, saris produced goddess-like silhouettes. T ettes. The he di discip sciples’ les’ saris includ included ed ma many ny color colors, s, from jewe jewelltoned silks that evoked the splendor of strutting peacocks to pure white cotton that suggested nunlike sever severity ity.. For my mother,, trying to keep ssix mother ix yards of slic slick k blue polyester pi pinned nned and tucked on a three-year three-year-old -old determined to waddle around, kicking kic king and spi spinning nning,, was a true ch challeng allenge. e. I kept tripp tripping ing over the pleats, pleats, even though my mom had safety pinned m my y goddess draping to my undershirt. When Guru summoned me to the front of the room for my birthday cak cake, e, a bus-wheel-size mound cover covered ed in sugar icing and and pink roset rosettes tes with three three thick can candles dles,, I marche marched d over,, anxiou over anxiouss to blow out th thee flam flames. es. But, as alw always ays be before fore any activity, activity, first came the meditation. Guru motioned for me to stand still in front of him. I started to squirm. squirm. I hear heard d the flames lic lick k the air air,, then watched the candles melt into pink wax puddles on the ici icing. ng. I needed to get to those candles. I needed to lick off the pink
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rosette s, but I was trapped. He w rosettes, wasn’t asn’t do done. ne. I hadn’t y yet et been thoroughly blessed. He smothered my folded hands with his left hand, hand, captur capturing ing the them, m, then pr pressed essed h his is righ rightt hand on m my y head, cove covering ring m my y entir entiree skul skull, l, then h hee push pushed ed hard harder er,, as if to ensure through force that the showering of love would be better received. received. I wiggled more, trying to turn my my head to look for my mother. I was worried now. The candles were shrinking while people giggled and oowwd and aahhd behind me. Guru rotated me to face him. His blessing wasn’t done. Fin inal ally ly,, wi with th a larg largee sm smil ile, e, he pr proc ocla laim imed ed,, “G “Goo ood d gi girl rl,, Jayanti, you are a good girl. girl.”” He let go. I took a step step back, dazed fro from m all the bless blessing, ing, and again looked looked for my mother mother.. Spotting her her,, with a huge smile, smile , her eeyes yes happi happily ly str streamin with tears, , wasW a ith reli relief ef.. I was always relieved when Ieaming couldgsee mytears mother. With both hands folded, folded, she prom prompted pted me to do the same—k same—keep eep those hands folded. I did. I brought my hands together and stood beside the cake. I then looked for my father and brother. My father was was fidgeting w with ith a camera, staring down at the lens cap, as if looking at h himself imself in the reflection reflection.. My six-year six-year-old -old brothe bro therr, Ketan etan,, gla glared red at me wit with h hi hiss ar arms ms ssque queezi ezing ng h his is knees. He hated all birthdays that were not his own. But then it was finally time—the big event—the sugar fortress awaited. The sheer bulk of the cake meant that I couldn’t get close enough to blow out the candles properly. I tried with a faint puff and nothing happened. I looked up at Guru for my instructions. He always had answers. “Blow,, good gi “Blow girl. rl. Bah Bah,, bah. Bl Blow ow har hard. d.”” I tried again. Nothing happened. I didn’t want to disappoint Guru. Disappointing Guru meant he did not smile at
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me, and my par parents ents didn didn’t ’t either either.. More gigg giggles les and ooww oowwss and aahhs. I forced a burst of sloppy wind up from the bottom of my stomach. Again nothing. “Oi,”” Guru said. “She ccannot “Oi, annot do it. Her mo mother ther,, come, help her..” Guru started reading a note on his side table. her I had failed. My eyes filled with tears. Guru did not look up at me again. My mother stood stood up up,, ready as alw always ays to sacri sacrifice fice hers herself elf for her her fami family ly,, but then then,, with without out an any y invi invitation tation,, Ke Ketan tan dashed dashed up onto the stage, rammed his enti entire re fist into the scripted lettering of Beloved Jayanti, and blew out my candles. So there, he glared at me. He had won. “Oi,”” Guru said at the cchaos “Oi, haos before him. him. Happy Birthday.
As the number of disciples quickly quickly grew grew,, the informal med-
itation group my parents joined disappeared. In its place, Guru established the groundwork for a booming organization. Guru invited my parents to be active pioneers in the process, proc ess, and they w were ere both h honore onored d and over overjoye joyed d to be part of what they viewed as an expanding movement with the potential to radically transform the world for the better. My father, father, in particular particular,, wanted to be at the fforefront orefront of Guru’s evolving mission. Although my parents longed to move permanently to Guru’s new neighborhood in Queens, New Y York, ork, Guru told them to remain in Connecticut to manage the Connecticut Center—the gathering place for potential and current disciples. disciples. One year year after m my y birth, after consulting with Guru, my par parents ents found a humble two-s two-story tory ranch house in
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About the Author
Jayanti Tamm is an English professor at Ocean County
College, wher College, wheree she teach teaches es writi writing. ng. She liv lives es in New Jersey with her husband and daughter daughter.. For more information, matio n, visi visitt her webs website, ite, www www.jay .jayantita antitamm.co mm.com. m.
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