I couldn’t make it out but it sounded like “Barb man bar brr.” Amma then lifted my head up and stopped talking to her friend, looking intensely into my face.Īmma switched me to her other shoulder (very similar to how you’d settle a baby) and whispered something in my ear. I used the change in stroking tempo to adjust my face, giving me a better chance of breathing. (I later found out that sometimes while Amma is hugging she also answers questions from devotees that are relayed to her by helpers, which is probably what was going on during my hug.) “Oh, really? Is it that important? Can’t it wait?” I thought.Īmma laughed at something her friend said and started stroking my back. I felt slightly panicked by the lack of oxygen, but was reluctant to adjust my head. She was heavily scented with a rose talcum powder and pressed my face fully into her bosom, obstructing my breathing. As I went in for the hug, Amma, disconcertingly, was carrying on a lively conversation (presumably in her native Malayalam) to a woman seated on her right. This was up too high, meaning I couldn’t grip it without burning myself. The thing was covered in fabric and there was some sort of heatpad or mini electric blanket on it.
I put my arms out as instructed and gripped the ballast that was either side of her.
Amma put her arms around me and clasped me to her right side. The energy of the people around her, the hours-long wait, the journey to this faraway (for me) harness racing track, the swirling, hypnotic chanting in Sanskrit by a live band on the hall floor, all of it coalesced into a sort of overwhelming field of energy. I got off my chair and went on my knees towards Amma. There were young women who, when you were moving gradually towards Amma whispered to you, “What language did your mother speak to you in?” and the strangeness of the question and the use of past tense (my mother is still alive) was enough to make me pause for a beat before answering, “English.” There were two people (young, western, in their 20s) at her feet. There were people who removed and held your glasses as you hugged Amma. There were people who wiped your face with a paper towel, to get rid of makeup. There were people sorting a container of sweets and a container of rose petals. There were two slight women standing up in dark buttoned-up shirts and name badges that said “Security”. There was a man crouching behind her with a stopwatch – or was it a counter? There were others in prayer. There were people tightly bunched together – Amma’s workers – who all were engaged in frenetic activity, performing their assigned roles. Unlike other religious services that can feel a bit formless and impersonal, this was deeply personal – a physical union between the guru and follower in the form of an embrace.Īfter all this waiting, suddenly we were on stage, only a few hugs away from Amma. The hugging itself was a well-organised, slick operation with the numbers displayed on a large screen, indicating when you should start to line up.īefore my hug (four hours after arriving) I stared at the screen watching Amma hug the people with tokens A to H and was impressed with her facial expression during the hugs (I couldn’t see the expressions of the people being hugged).Īmma has been known to hug for 17 hours straight, without a bathroom break or food.Īs our section was called and Ro and I moved up the queue, I felt an increasing sense of excitement.
#AMMA IMAGES SKIN#
Aged in her early 60s, she has a pleasant, open face and was wearing a blindingly white sari which I presumed by the end of the day would be stained with makeup, sweat, tears, skin cells and oil from people’s faces.Įntry to the event was free and, by the time the hugging started, the hall was full of people queueing for tokens, like the ones you get when waiting at a deli. Shortly after 10am, Amma arrived on stage and began leading a meditation. “It’s a meditation course on this afternoon.” I lost sight of Ro for a bit, before finding her at a table. Everyone was dressed modestly, but many had taken off their shoes. There were burnt-out looking hippies, frail elderly people, and a lot of babies and young families. In the hall were white women in saris, and Indian families in jeans. Ro, a retired social worker who describes herself as “sceptical but open-minded” would come to Amma with me, and also get a hug. Doors opened at 8am, so I arranged to stay nearby with a family friend, Ro. I decided to hug Amma in outer suburban Melbourne, at Sandown racecourse of all places.
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