1 March ‘24
Dorathick and Pinto escorted me to the Kulithallai train station Wednesday night and made sure I got on the right car and found the right bunk. As it turned out, though, someone else was already in my bunk. Each compartment has six bunks; I was supposed to have the bottom one (choice spot). But the gentleman who was occupying it asked me very nicely if I wouldn’t mind going to the next car and taking his lower bunk in another spot there since he was with his wife. With Dorathick and Pinto showing some signs of consternation out of the window, I agreed to it, and he led me there. Well, that bunk was already occupied as well, and it was now suggested that I take the middle bunk instead. After some confusion about where to put my luggage (it was 10:00 at night and pretty dark in there already), I stuffed my backpack and guitar under the bunks and somewhat gracefully crawled into the middle bunk. There was a pillow, a blanket and a sheet on the bed. Most bunks I saw already had the sheet on it, and the guy across from me did the sheet for his friend who was riding on top. No one offered to do mine and I decided just to cover myself with the blanket and call it a night. I fell almost immediately to sleep, comforted by the air-conditioned car, after all those sweaty nights at the ashram, and the quiet rocking of the train, and never wound up putting my sheet on. There was no interaction with anyone in my little compartment from then on out, except for the trio of snores around me. It’s a pretty undignified way to travel! I was hesitant to slip out of my middle bunk and go to the bathroom but at some point, I decided it was going to be a very arduous night if I didn’t, so I screwed up the energy and slipped out, to great success. There were no announcements as to what stops were coming up so I had my alarm set (as if I might sleep later than 4 AM somehow…) and started standing near the doors with my stuff and with some help managed to get off at the right stop in Bengaluru at around 6 AM.
My host-to-be, Jyoti Sahi, who is also the only reason I had come to Bengaluru, had arranged reception for me at the nearby Union Theological College, in spite of the early morning, so I called my contact there, Abey George, when I got in my tuk-tuk from the station, who met me and showed me to a very nice room. UTC is an ecumenical seminary, mostly CSI (Church of South India of the Anglican Communion) and Methodists I believe. Abey was a really sharp guy, very polite and articulate, a fourth year student from Kerala studying for the CSI, having already done his graduate work in English literature, now the editor of the college magazine. He brought me to their worship service at 8:30 AM (introducing me like a visiting VIP), had a wonderful chat over breakfast in the canteen, and then he gave me a tour of the facility. Jyoti in the meantime had made his way to town in a taxi for some other business and met us around 10 AM.
There are a few encounters I have had in my life with particular people that I look back on as being among highly significant conversations. If I had to analyze it, they’ve usually been moments when I was able to locate myself on the map and even got a hint as to what lay ahead. One was sitting at a piano in the basement of the Jesuit novitiate in Saint Paul, Minnesota with John Foley in 1985, when I discovered what I would later call “essentially vocal music,” that totally changed the way I composed. One of course was hearing Fr. Bede Griffiths speak in our chapter room in September 1992 that completely turned my thinking around and set me on the course on which I remain to this day. One was the hour and a half I spent with Fr. Thomas Keating in 2017 at Snowmass, the notes of which I carry around in my Bible. Even in the midst of it I was thinking that this encounter with Jyoti Sahi yesterday was going to remain in that constellation as well.
Jyoti is considered to be the most famous living Indian Christian artist.I'll embed here some of his paintings that we in and around my guest room. You can find many things online.) He’s known for his paintings, murals and also design. Most notably he designed several churches, including the cathedral church of Varanasi. His distinctive style is incorporating what he unashamedly calls “Hindu” (and not the more generic “Indian”) symbol and style into his work. We had a good discussion about that as well. Like Raimondo Panikkar, Jyoti considers himself a “Hindu Christian,” his father being a Hindu. His mother was a Scottish Presbyterian but was later baptized Catholic bringing her teenage son with her, into the religion of Saint Francis of Assisi, their main inspiration. “Hindu” of course is a term invented by the British colonialists to describe not a religion, but the religions of the Indus Valley, and of course Jyoti considers his to be one of those religions (if I am not misunderstanding his explanation). He was raised in the north, Dehradun, where both of his parents were teachers, receiving the finest English education and then being sent off to study design in London.
As he grew in his Catholicism, Jyoti gradually became more attracted to the Benedictines than the Franciscans and even at one time considered being a monk. Ironically it was Bede Griffiths who told him that he would “never be a monk” but encouraged him to live in a hermitage near the ashram. That was 1963 when Bede was still at Kurisumala in Kerala. I knew that he had a friendship with Bede, but I did not know how far back or how deep it went. Of course, being at Kurisumala he also knew Fr. Francis Archaya as well, the co-founder of that ashram along with Bede. He also knew Abhishiktananda pretty well, having also had many encounters with him, including spending some time living at Shantivanam with Abhishiktananda before Abhishiktananda re-located to the north and turned Shantivanam over to Bede. That was the jaw-dropper for me. I knew some of that history but to hear first-hand accounts of the interactions between the three of them––Francis, Bede and le Saux––during the transition from le Saux to Griffiths, was just fascinating to me. Jyoti told one story of sailing north up the coast of India from Kerala with Francis, arriving ultimately in Dehradun, where his parents still had their home, and Abhishiktananda coming down to meet them from Uttarkashi. I asked him point blank what he thought of Abhishiktananda as a person and he said he was impressed by him though he found him “extreme,” as did Bede, so he confirmed. Then when Bede moved to Shantivanam, he and his new English wife Jane lived there with Bede for two years before re-locating up to Bangalore, now Begaluru, where they have been ever since.
In the years that followed, aside from his own art, Jyoti was deeply involved in the liturgical renewal in India, through the National Biblical & Liturgical Center (NBCLC) which is located there in Begaluru. As a matter of fact, he had had a meeting there that morning before he came to fetch me at the UTC. He knew all about the proposed Indian rite and he and Jane were proud to show me a worn-out copy of the provisional lectionary that had been put together for the Office of Readings that included a scriptural reading, an ecclesial (patristic) reading, and a reading from Universal Wisdom. We actually used the reading assigned for the day for our Eucharist later, from chapter 7 of the Bhagavad Gita––the very verses that I set to music in “Lead Me From Death Into Life.” Actually, little synchronistic moments like that came up all day long, mentioning Coomaraswamy’s book on “Dancing Śiva” which I was just quoting last week, for example.
As soon as we got in the taxi to make our way to his place at Silvepuram outside of town, totally unprovoked but perhaps assuming that is what I wanted to know, Jyoti began to tell me his history. I peppered it with a few questions, but his own narrative was enough to fill the cover. It took about an hour to get to Silvepuram where we met his absolutely lovely wife Jane and their friend Lucy, another Indian artist who now lives with her husband in Germany but at one time had run the art ashram that Jyoti founded there in the village. Jyoti and I continued to talk––I can’t begin to recount the list of related topics about art, inculturation, nationalism, the ashram movement, specifically liturgy and the arts, “the marriage of east and west,” , perennialism, some theology obviously, as well as more anecdotes about his interactions with the first generation of this whole legacy of which I find myself to be a part. He handed me a couple of books after lunch that contained articles that he had written and that he was interested to hear my thoughts about. So in the midst of an afternoon nap, I had a bit of homework, which I took to gladly, coming back for tea with a list of questions and comments. He then led me through the village up to The Land, the site of the art ashram, where is son Roshen now lives and works. He talked about his own disappointment that it has not really thrived and survived, and mused about his own legacy, which was fascinating to hear.
Later it occurred to me that one of the reasons I was so interested in Thomas Merton when I first moved up to Santa Cruz was that he was someone who had to learn to live as a monk along with his talent for writing. There are religious, there are artists, there are religious artists who are not active religious and of course those who are. What Jyoti embodied for me, though not a professed religious, was someone so steeped in his faith with that added aspect of being so deeply involved in the specific ecosystem of the ashram movement in India, the legacy that has touched me so deeply.
In the early evening we celebrated a very simple eucharist in the humble, comfortable chapel in their home, and then Jane asked me to sing for them, which I was only too happy to do. She called her son and daughters over as well at that point, and one grandson and a friend of their son Somo, who is a filmmaker. It was odd; it was one of those few times when I got a little self-conscious and was making some terrible flubs on the guitar on songs that I have played hundreds of times and have been practicing even recently. It’s so odd to me when those rare occasions nervousness come in. I suppose I really wanted to impress Jyoti and his friends and got self-conscious.
I had another beautiful night’s sleep with the gentle cool breeze blowing the curtains all night long in a very comfortable guest room, a real Indian bath at about 5 AM, meaning pouring the hot water over myself from a barrel that sits on a wood fire, so hot that you have to cool it down with cold water from another barrel. A little more conversation over breakfast and an exchange of movie and book recommendations with a promise to stay in touch. It was only then, at breakfast, that Jane asked me something about my opinion on liturgical music and I launched forth into a bit of a diatribe about the voice and the Word and the real meaning and purpose of chant, and Psallite, etc. etc., that was, luckily for them, cut short by the arrival of my taxi to the airport. All in all a fabulous memorable visit.
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| The offending pyx... |
After that an uneventful flight up to Delhi, with four Tibetan Buddhist monks, one elder, one middle aged and to younger, seated near me, the older of whom were very funny to watch, especially the middle-aged guy bugging the attendants for hot water for his instant ramen, in some language that none of the attendants knew. A long taxi ride again to my hotel for the night. I feel somewhat embarrassed by how nice a room I have. My friend Devin is here with the students from Mount Madonna, and we were to travel together to Haridwar tomorrow. So it was convenient, and the only room they had left was an deluxe suite of sorts, but it’s not a bad price in American dollars and it’s nice to treat myself to a little creature comfort before I head back into ashram life, this time up north, starting tomorrow. As it turns out, Devin cannot accompany me to Haridwar tomorrow after all, but I just spent some time with him now, and we talked about upcoming projects as well as about his upcoming wedding at the end of March, here in India. I remember why I don’t like Delhi: I usually feel trapped here. This neighborhood, for instance, there is nothing within walking distance. Even the man at the front desk, when I asked for direction to a nearby market, warned me not to try to walk it. And I just don’t feel like negotiating with the autorickshaw drivers tonight, so I am staying home, will treat myself to the buffet, repack and get ready for the next leg, blessing you all.
