amma the homeless guru

homeless w/gas mask

yesterday morning, after pranayms n sun salutations in the ocean, i ran into my boy hrin. he was close behind me, on the beach, after completing his own meditation, facing the rising sun.  i hadn't seen him in a week, since i'd been getting to the beach earlier, before sunrise. but i had a late start n he was there with his wife. we chilled for a little bit, meditated on the ocean waves n the calm when his wife noted the time. they had to breeze to see amma, a special woman, they told me, an hour away. they invited me n i flew with them, through kannur, 3 on a bike, n onto a train to thalessery, 1 or 2 stops away.

we get there without rush, strolled over to a rickshaw n before we get to amma's place, while we r still on the road, we pause, n so does time, for a second. before hrin said a word, i knew it was here.

amma was a tree walking. lines of ancient were drawn over her radiant skin, high thick cheek bones. she looked over at us, withdrawn, wide-eyed and curious, like only a baby can. her grey-blue sari loosely sat over her thick cinnamon skin. amma looked like a crazed homeless woman, her hair in clumps and hanging like a deranged boquet of dried roses.

she reminded me of some of the homeless in new york, who walk without a clothes/image-consciousness, who talk to themselves out loud. except amma didn't speak. not much and not sensible when she did, atleast not to the people of kerala. amma was from some otherwhere in india. no one is sure just where. she didn't speak malyalam, but she arguable didn't speak a language known to most of us in the material world.

i watched her in awe, the lunatic with the crazed expression n hair n clothes. n then there was the sane n normal coming up to her on the street, stopping to bow down to her, touch her feet with their head.

who was this woman who new york would lock up, spit into a shelter, push into the subway tunnels, who might escape into a 2pm train, walking from car to car without a beggars bowl n just stare at you or through you or something or someone? who was this woman i would assume belonged to the tribe of bums i'd known as zombies on crack, who laughed to themselves and walked from car to car in the subway?

amma was without drugs, without any destination i could decipher, without a beggars bowl. she just walked and got into the car of the man who walked beside her. hrin asked the stranger if we could join him. he agreed, let us in. i sat next to the tree who bore through me with eyes like the dark shadows on the trunk of a banyan.