I scanned the Lonely Planet in a panic. My flight to India left in a week. My friend Nina’s wedding wasn’t until the end of the twelve days I had planned to spend in the country. Sapna, her sister, and I had originally planned to spend time together in Bombay upon my arrival; she had just canceled and left me to fend for myself. Four days alone in India was an aggravating amount of time: not enough to get comfortable in a new country, meet travel companions and get out to see the wildlife reservations of the south; too much to hang out in one place alone and wait for the wedding to start. I wanted to do something unusual, but I was scared to be alone. I didn’t want to hire a private driver, but I wanted to be out of the big cities. I didn’t want to be too far out in the country. I hadn’t traveled alone in South Asia before, and I was nervous.

What was a white girl to do?

A text box on page 274 caught my attention. "Things to See: Amritapuri, the ashram of Matha Amrithanandamayi, one of India’s very few female gurus. Amrithanandamayi is known as Amma (Mother) and is called ’The Hugging Mother’ because of the darshan (blessing) she practices, often hugging thousands of people in marathon all-night sessions....It’s a huge complex, with around 2000 people living here permanently - monks and nuns, students, Indian families and Westerners. There’s food available, Ayurvedic treatments, yoga and meditation, as well as souvenirs from the cult of Amma, everything from books to postcards of her toes."

Up until then, I had never heard of an ashram.

ash·ram

n. Hinduism

A usually secluded residence of a religious community and its guru.

I was intrigued. Drawn to the idea, but repelled by the unknown and well, weirdness of it. I was equal parts torn between wanting to explore my new found interest in meditation, but sure everyone at this place was nuts. Reading my guidebook, I noticed the ashram had a website. How kooky could it be if there was a website?

I read more about what happened inside the walls of Amritapuri. The residents’ schedule was an intimidating mix of early morning prayer and long hours of public service (seva). The promise of a western food canteen was a beacon of comfort - clearly, meditating would be much easier if it was fueled by veggie pizza and diet Coke.

An hour of reading and one international phone call later, I had a reservation for three nights at this mysterious place. They would even send a car to get me at the airport. My anxiety about the logistical part of this trip evaporated. The "what the heck have I gotten myself into" anxiety was just starting to take its humble roots. But I had always been a believer in following my instincts, thinking outside the box, and being open to new experiences. The more I contemplated my time in the ashram, the surer I was this was the right thing to do. The circumstances leading up to this decision seemed too serendipitous to ignore: my friend’s last minute cancellation of our plans, my recent introduction to meditation practice, the location of this ashram within a few hours’ drive of the wedding. As soon as the reservations were confirmed, my imagination was set into overdrive. How many hours a day would I be in meditation? Would I survive the 3 night stay or check out earlier? Would I have some sort of spiritual ’experience’ like so many before me?

My departure day came and the excitement was building. I could hardly wait to get there and begin my spiritual journey. Reading a recent gift, Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoir, "Eat, Pray, Love", on the flight to India only fueled my fire. Through hell or high water, she had found God during her four-month ashram experience and it had changed her forever. She had inspired countless others to seek the same. Absorbing her words, I exhaled a sigh of relief as my fear retreated and I accepted the life-changing experience I was inevitably about to have.

I arrived like every other Westerner did to Amritapuri: lost, an obvious guest in my Western clothing, curious about the people around me. I had only days here so I wanted to get down and dirty as quickly as possible. Bring on the enlightenment.

I started by settling into my room: it was the off-season as Amma was on tour, so the ashram was empty by normal standards. I got a room to myself on the 8th floor of Tower B. A simple mattress lay on the floor. Pictures of Amma were hung on every wall. Cold water came out of the shower. Toilet paper was nowhere to be found.

Okay, I thought, this is great. This is what it’s all about. I’m simplifying.

A walk around the grounds seemed in order before I got serious about my spiritual path. I found the Western food canteen (complete with all the Westerners), the Indian food canteen, the library, the men’s temple, the women’s temple, a thrift store selling saris and other white garb for the residents, an internet cafe. A short walk through town led me to a simple beach. I finished my self-tour. Twenty minutes had passed. Hmm, maybe I’ll go check my email.

An hour later I ended up back at the room and consulted the official ashram schedule. Everyone was scheduled to be in seva until dinnertime, I had 3 hours to go. This seemed like a perfect time for a nap. I would get down to business later, after settling in and getting my bearings.

Waking from my nap, I was inspired to check out the pre-dinner meditation by the beach. This was one of the largest ashrams in India; the thought of hundreds of people meditating together to the sound of breaking waves was exactly what I had signed up for. I started the short walk to beach, confused about where everyone was. Shouldn’t there be some sort of exodus? Maybe the masses were there already.

I arrived at the beach to find one person sitting and staring at the ocean. One. Not discouraged, I sat down to finish what I had started and got in a good 20 minutes of deep breathing and concentration. I was certainly no guru, but it was a start!

Soon after, I sat eating dinner with a German girl I had met during check-in. She was only there for the night before heading off to Varkala to unwind on the beach. The seva director easily tracked us down and I was given my community service assignment for my stay: after lunch dish duty in the kitchen. This meant I’d be spending two hours a day washing dishes and mopping floors for the course of my stay here. I wasn’t particularly excited.

I tried to get in the spirit of community...really, I did. But frankly, this whole spiritual center was starting to seem like a load of crap. I’m here!, I screamed inside my own frustrated mind. What’s the point of all this? Where are all the meditation classes? Where’s the spirituality? If I had wanted to go about my business, meditating on my own time, doing other people’s dishes, I could have stayed home.

After dinner was bedtime. I was still jet lagged and excited to get up at 4am with the rest of campus for morning prayer. If Elizabeth Gilbert could do it, so could I. This would surely be the way to find the structure I was looking for and the community to help me on my path.

I woke up before the alarm the next morning and hopped excitedly out of my little bed. Brush teeth! Put in contacts! Get to the temple! This is it!

The sun was rising as hundreds of women filed into the temple to pray to the likeness of Kali, the Hindu goddess associated with death and destruction. Although American culture has a negative connotation with those ideas, she often represents the cyclical nature of life and change. She represents new beginnings. Somehow, she seemed appropriate for this situation. I found a spot on the floor and prepared myself to settle in for a morning of contemplation.

Immediately, hundreds of women began chanting in Sanskrit. Some had the words memorized, the Westerners read out of their books. I had no idea what they were saying or why. Feeling slightly alienated, I decided to just close my eyes and try to enjoy the chanting in some spiritual way. Not 30 seconds had passed when I felt the first bite. Then the second. And immediately the third. I opened one eye, looking down at my sandaled foot to see welts growing. Mosquitoes! Darn, it was dawn. I had been an epidemiologist for long enough to know this is the worst time of day to be out. I covered my ankles with both hands and took a deep breath, ignoring them. I lasted all of five minutes before the stinging was unbearable, and flew back to my room in hysterical tears. What the hell was I doing here?

The cool air from the ceiling fan helped calm me down as I crawled back into bed with my book, trying to figure out what Elizabeth had done right and what I was doing wrong. Her small ashram was structured with classes and guidance for newcomers. I was essentially stepping foot on a college campus with thousands of residents, each of whom knew their role, and visitors were just that: visitors. There was no program to cater to our needs, nobody to hold our hand, no expectation that our visit would be fulfilling in any way. I was a spiritual tourist.

Over the next several hours alone in my room, I went over the days leading up to the mornings’ emotional meltdown in my head. The longest I had ever meditated at one time was 30 minutes, yet somehow I expected to come to this place, be inspired by everyone and the simple lifestyle, and spend hours a day in meditation. I was the same person, what did I think was going to happen by changing locations? Did I believe I would set foot in the ashram and magically be able to accomplish something people spend years trying to learn? Well.. yes. As a consistent academic overachiever, why wouldn’t I be a spiritual overachiever too?

The self-flagellation continued for most of the morning. With all the pressure I was putting on this experience, the place didn’t really have a chance. I told myself I was coming here with an "open mind", but in reality had done just the opposite: I’d arrived with a pre-determined set of experiences I was expecting to have, and anything less or different would mean failure. In my perfectionist mind, failure led to only one thing: a meltdown of the highest degree.

Realizing what had happened was an eye-opening thing. This was still only day two of my stay and I had already learned something about myself. Impossibly high expectations + failure is not an option = inevitable disappointment. I was determined to still make the best of this situation, realizing I needed to relinquish control over the outcome and just go with the flow and see what happened. Time to take this place one step at a time and focus on letting my experience be the teacher.

It was time for lunch, now without my German security blanket. I ate alone. Even that was challenging in how childish I felt. I wanted someone to take care of me and show me the ropes, and instead I was expected to take care of myself. I sat ashamed at what I had anticipated walking in here, unknowingly asking the residents for something it wasn’t their role to provide.

After lunch, with feet dragging, I arrived at the kitchen for dish duty. I met imy partner Suswata, a petite older woman from California with silver hair and a white salwar kameez.

"Ah ha!", she bellowed on my arrival. "I don’t have to deal with this whole mess myself today, huh?"

"Uh, no.. I guess not". Washing dishes was the last thing I felt like doing at that moment.

"Great. Hop right in. You wash, I’ll dry".

I tried to concentrate on my task as I watched flies buzzing on counter tops and food being stored in bins. It was impossibly hot outside; at least having my hands in cool water was a relief.

"So," I started in a measured tone, wondering what this American woman’s real name was. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure!"

"What are you doing here? I mean, how did you end up here?"

It was obviously not the first time Suswata had answered this question. She began to tell me the story of her life leading up to that moment, including a failed marriage, a decision not to become a minister after years of studying, the success of her own yoga studio and the heart-wrenching move to close the studio and sell her house in order to come live here in India. She described her experiences first at Amma’s ashram in California, followed by her first visit to Amritapuri, when she felt a ’call’ to come back and dedicate her life to Amma. Here, she described, she felt closer to a physical version of God than anywhere else. She felt Amma was guiding her at every turn, reassuring her when she felt scared, helping her to make difficult decisions, and loving her unconditionally in the way only a true mother can. She came here to feel closer to that presence that she had come to rely on in her life.

Suswata reminisced about getting on the plane to come to India, feeling completely overwhelmed by the weight of her decision, and then mysteriously smelling the strong scent of Amma’s rose water. At first she thought a passenger was wearing it, but when the smell dissipated she understood: it was Amma, reassuring her she was making the right decision, and reminding her she was never alone.

I kept washing and listening, intrigued. Part of me thought she was delusional. The other part was jealous of her certainty.

"I guess I can understand that," I offered. "But how do you manage here? How do you follow all the prayers and rituals?"

"I have no idea what the heck they’re saying in there. I’m just trying to learn like everyone else. I’m not here for the songs, I’m here for Amma. She makes all that other business completely worth it".

She was scared, she said. Being here was a sacrifice that intimidated her. She wanted to get in her car and go to the mall this weekend. There was no car, and no mall. But that freedom was something she was willing to give up in the name of her spiritual path.

I shook my head in disbelief. I was so hard on myself for not knowing what was going on during my first day here. In reality, few of these people were able to follow any better than I was. They came here to be closer to their guru. I came here out of curiosity. Beyond that, we were all in the same boat.

Suswata and I spent hours cleaning, mopping, and drying. She was as intrigued by me as I was by her. I had come here with no idea who Amma was or what happened here, alone, just to spend some time. I could have gone to the beach. I could have gone shopping in Bombay. I could have gone anywhere. Instead, I was here. I hadn’t looked at things in that way; I was too busy punishing myself for not making more progress in the short time I had.

After the chores were done, I gave Suswata a hug and we agreed to meet for dinner. I went back to my room, did 30 minutes of meditation under the cool of the fan, and passed out.

That evening, I sat at a table with Suswata and a few of her friends. They told me their stories. One girl was spending her first year out of college at the ashram to build spiritual roots before heading out into the world. Another was there for a couple of months as a way to kick off her retirement. My fears of these people and their reasons for being there were drowned by how impressed I was by each of them. They were scared. They were brave. They were regular old people, looking for meaning, and had found it here.

I spent the rest of my visit learning from and bonding with this new group of friends. I came to understand the draw to Amma both through their stories and through experiences of my own. While I was thrilled to have some insight into the reasons people flocked here, the connections I was making started to feel just as meaningful as I had hoped a relationship with their guru would be. I noticed new tourists arriving at the ashram, and sat in wonder as they hovered over dinner together, guarded, while I sat with the residents, finally comfortable with my purpose here and no longer needing their reassurance.

We spent my last evening together sitting around the dinner table drinking tea, laughing and sharing stories about our lives both at home and experiences on our own spiritual paths. Suswata pulled me aside at the end of the night.

"Franny," she started, "Meeting you has been so meaningful. I always felt like I had sisters somewhere in the world that I hadn’t met yet, and now I know I’ve found one of them." She pulled a beaded bracelet out of her pocket. "Please take this and think of the friends you’ve made here whenever you wear it.. it’s not a going away gift. It’s a coming back gift, so you don’t forget us."

I got teary. It was hard to believe my emotional meltdown was a mere two days ago. So much had changed since then. The entire experience had boomeranged around on me; once I let go of the journey I expected to have coming in, something more authentic and more beautiful blossomed in its place. My meditation teacher once told me, "We must learn to meditate without hope and without fear" - and in 4 short days, I had learned how to let go of both.

Looking back, I have a hard time describing to people what it was I learned while at Amritapuri. I didn’t find God. I made a friend. But somehow it was exactly the lesson I needed to learn at that point in my life. And in the end, that’s what a spiritual journey provides: what you need, when you need it. At the moment we least expect it.

Next Chapter: 30th Birthday Meditation Retreat: An Internal Journey