Author: Sukhmani Singh
Publication: The Indian
Express
Date: December 24, 2000
Introduction: Sukhmani
Singh goes to Dharamsala's International Sahaja Public School, where foreign
students pass out 'more Hindu than the Hindus themselves'
Tucked away on a hill
facing the snowcapped Dhauladhar range of the Himalayas in Dharamsala is
a school which would be the VHP's envy. With its striking Buddhist
style architecture, the International Sahaja Public School has 136 students
from 18 countries who learn the basic principles of Sahaja Yoga (based
on the ancient Upanishads), the tenets of Hinduism and worship the school's
patron - Mata Nirmala Devi. In fact, the customary greeting on the
school's campus is "Jai Shri Mataji." Needless to say, by the end of their
sojourn, children metamorphose into devout Hindus and Mata Nirmala Devi
acolytes.
Children aged six and
above, studying in classes one to 12 are re-christened with names from
Hindu mythology - you'll find lots of Hanumanas, Mahalakshmis, Ramas, Radhas
and Viruttamas. While the uniform for boys is kurta-pyjama, girls
wear salwar-kameez. Students are taught only Indian classical music
and dance while Hindi is a compulsory language up to Class 8. Says
H. N. Kaul, the school's 60-year-old director, "Some of the
students are Christians and Muslims, but when they come here they transcend
all religions. They become more Hindu than Hindus themselves."
Apart from Independence
Day, only Hindu festivals are celebrated - this includes Bhaiyya Duj, Teej
and Navratri. Celebrations are traditional and rather elaborate -
for instance, on Janmashtami, a child dressed as Lord Krishna plays with
other costumed children, finally clambering up to break a matka of butter.
On Dussehra, a proper Ram Lila is enacted, complete with a grotesque effigy
of Ravana, which is created and then burnt by students. On Bhaiyya
Duj, girls dress up and perform aarti and puja, while special meditations
and pujas, morning and evening, are carried out during the Navratras.
Children also wake at
6 am to the sound of special bhajans, and go to bed at night hearing similar
chants. Before eating, it is mandatory to place their hands over
the food to purge it of bad vibrations. "After eating vibratory food,
you never fall ill," explains a student. Corporal punishment is taboo
here.
Children here are certainly
astonishingly "different." Their dormitories are austere, even monastic
in appearance, the walls plastered with posters of Mata Nirmala Devi rather
than those of pop stars. They watch only video cassettes of Sahaja
Yoga and 'suitable' classics, no contemporary films or MTV.
The school's large meditation
hall, though, offers a sharp contrast to the dormitories, with its ornamental
ceiling, garish red chandeliers and an ornate gold altar framing photographs
of the face and hennaed feet of the Mata. Along the walls, there
are more photographs of a sari-clad Mata in various poses. With the
cloying fragrance of incense, the atmosphere in the hall is overpowering.
It is here that hour-long evening meditations are held. Silent meditation
sessions are interspersed with chanting the Gayatri Mantra, ending with
an invocation to Mataji - "Mata Nirmala Devi Namah Namoh." Foot-tapping
bhajans - based on popular Hindi film tunes are then sung in praise of
Nirmala Devi to the frenzied accompaniment of the tabla and cymbals.
At the end, everyone kneels in humble obeisance to Mataji.
Excursions to Hindu pilgrim
spots form an integral part of the school's curriculum, particularly to
the 11 sites of Lord Shiva's Swayamburs and temples in the neighbouring
Kangra district.
Healing also forms part
of the curriculum. Students are trained to cure through activating
the various chakras in the body. They practise on each other during
special bi-weekly sessions.
A Dharamsala resident
recalls how a small girl from the school accurately informed him that he
had an upset stomach after placing her hands above his head. Alternative
healing at its most miraculous.
Given its revolutionary
activities, an aura of secrecy envelops the school and entry is strictly
forbidden. Says Kaul, "We believe in a vibratory existence - in two
kinds of vibrations those that are free and those that are bottled up.
So we don't like the vibrations to be polluted by outsiders. Sometimes
we even tell parents not to come here." That's a tall order indeed, considering
that students get just a three-month break every winter. A staff
of 30 teachers from various corners of India and the world impart personalised
education. All of them are compulsorily Sahaja Yogis and have to
participate in the twice-a-day meditations.
Interestingly, while
Class 10 of the school is affiliated to the ICSE and Himachal School Board,
Class 12 is affiliated to the International Baccalaureate degree in Switzerland.
This enables students to get admission to any university in Europe.
Sixteen-year-old Minakshi
(nee Pierce) from Australia, a country from which there are presently 40
students, fondly recalls her six years of study here. She explains
how she differs from her classmates in Sydney: "I have a different perspective
on life. I never lose my temper, am always relaxed whereas they are
pretty stressed out." Even her career goals are unusual - she wishes to
become a humanitarian aid worker, and is already a member of Amnesty International.
She admits that it took her a long time to adjust to life back Down Under,
but she makes it a point to meet other Sahaja Yogis in Sydney once a week.
And she returns here whenever she can.
Younger children smile
shyly and confess that what they really like about the school is "being
close to nature." What motivates foreigners to send their children so far
from home? Enthuses London-based veterinarian, Lynn, mother of three daughters
named Radha, Lakshmi and Saraswati, "The school system in England is very
rough. I feel they are protected here." Tobias, a 34-year-old computer
engineer parent from Perth, adds: "In Australian schools we have a lot
of problems with drugs and morals. The West is clean on the outside,
but dirty inside. Studying here makes them centred beings." For 40-year-old
Brazilian physicist Bruno, "children get a preparation for life here.
If you see their eyes, they are bright and shining. There's great
joy in learning. They are peaceful, not frenetic, and learn to give
rather than receiving all the time."
But how well do they
adjust to life in the West after living in this cloistered, sanitised environment?
Many feel they end up being misfits or religious freaks. But certainly
all of them are Very Special Children.
