Santosha: Want what you have

Santosha (Sanskrit) संतोष saṃtoṣa, "contentment, satisfaction") is one of the niyamas of Yoga as listed by Patanjali. Contentment is variously described, but can be thought of as not requiring more than you have to achieve contentment. It may be seen as renunciation of the need to acquire, and thereby elimination of want as an obstacle to mokṣa (liberation).

Tamil Nadu, Southeast India

The taxi driver stops for a 10 minute break along the roadside. I’ve just traveled from the west coast to the east coast of India on a 2^nd class overnight sleeper, from decompressing on the beaches of Goa to the plains of Tamil Nadu. I’m making my way to the town of Tiruvannamalai, to the holy mountain of Arunachala, a vortex of light and energy and the land of the great sage Ramana Maharshi. It’s the fifth time I’ve come here in the last 6 years. I heal here. I bask in the clarity and understanding that seeps through the airwaves, effortlessly.

At the roadside chai stand, we are given steaming hot cups of tea, brewed south Indian style. At first sip, I gasp at the sweetness, but then squeal in delight at the sheer DELICIOUSNESS of the rich, fresh-from-the-cow-that-morn, unpasteurized milk.

Wow! I exclaim. That is some good milk!

I always forget what milk used to taste like until I get it farm fresh again.

Post-tea time, we pile back in the taxi – me, the driver, and two Russian gals I’ve met on the train who’ve shared a taxi with me to save costs. They want to see the ashram I’ve got a booking at, to see if they might like to stay there too.

We pull up to the ashram gates and the Mataji (renunciate woman in charge) motions for us to wait for Swamiji at the office. Soon after, he comes in, long white beard and hair, shirtless and wearing a dhoti (sarong-type wrap) – looking exactly the same as he does every time I return here.

I tell Swami that I met these young ladies on the train and they are interested to see if the ashram might have a shared room available for them, too.

“How long you like to stay?” asks Swamiji.

“We don’t know. We need to see the room,” answer the Russians.

“Three days, five days? Then I can tell you if the room is available,” says Swami.

“We have to see the room first,” the Russian lead repeats. She looks at me with a nod of approval, as if I must agree that, of course, they have to see the room!

Actually, I'm seeing this through the eyes of the Indians. When you arrive to an ashram that is given to you by the Grace of God, only on donation for food, shelter and safety, you don’t look the gift horse in the mouth.

They insist on seeing the room. Swami exhibits what I am sure is one of the first bouts of pure anger from a “holy man” these girls have known.

Swamiji’s eyes blaze: “I am trying to offer you a comfortable room that will be sufficient to your needs! How can I help you if you do not tell me how long you will be staying? Room is on the first floor.” He throws the keys across the desk. “Here is the key. Go and see.”

The girls look at me as if I should offer consolation or support, but I have traveled so much in India that I empathize with Swami’s reaction and give them a shrug. As soon as they leave the office, he turns to me:

“I don’t understand these foreigners! What they are expecting! They don’t have to stay the full time. I only need some idea of their plans.”

“I know,” I concur mildly, as I pull my passport out of my sweaty security pouch and hand it to him.

It’s that sense of entitlement we have as foreigners. We don’t even know we have it. We forget that, in India and many countries, while the guest is God, it is also our privilege and a gift to be given the opportunity to stay in an ashram. We are so darned lucky – healthy, able to travel, able to leave our homes and families for spiritual sustenance, able to get a visa, money for all our needs – we are rich! How quickly we forget and are overcome with a case of “I wanna, I wanna, I wanna…” Spoiled brats, we are!

It’s one of the reasons I keep coming back to India: to remind myself again and again how abundant and fortunate I am. I don’t take it for granted, and it seems, as a side effect, I am always provided for more than enough. I’ve learned to live off air – or rather, consciousness. Actually, it’s more like what my astrologer friend Jessica said to me after examining my birth chart: “You, Erin, literally eat from your prayers.” Yes, I do. The Divine is my employer and General Manager and it is from the Divine that I take all marching orders.

I myself am not given my favorite room. It’s facing the busier road, so I’ll be hearing honking and motorbikes on and off 24/7. The fan is also squeaky and irritatingly loud. I’ll try to fix it with coconut oil on the gear shaft, and as for the noise, I have earplugs and meditation. I’m so happy to be staying in this ashram again, I’m not cranky. It is not the particularly religious aspects of staying in ashrams that I dig. It is the SATTVIC environment, the focus on pure consciousness. Because of the sheer amounts of prayer and meditation, and noble silence, and humble seva (service) as driving force, there is a peaceful vibration and raised energy in the ashram, usually.

I immediately take a shower. I’m so grimy and smelly from the 24 hour hard journey I can’t wait another second. I throw a wad of dark clothes in a bucket, pour in some powdered soap, and get a load of laundry going to soak. Then I head to the dining hall. I know I’m a good half hour late for lunch, and the swamis and babas do NOT like latecomers to meals. I’m fully prepared to walk out in the midday heat to find another lunch option, but first I poke my head in.

“Khana milega?” (Food available?) I ask the baba near the serving pots if it’s still possible to eat. I’m speaking Hindi in a Tamil-speaking town but it’s just my way of trying to show a little respect.

“Sit, sit! I serve you!” the white-haired monk gestures. “Get plate, sit down.”

I do what he says and plop down on the clean, stone floor on a mini reed mat, joyous that I can eat at ‘home.’

“Little, little,” I tell him, asking him to give me a half portion because I know how much these guys serve. The baba comes back to my place with a huge mountain of food on a stainless steel thali plate.

“No little little!” I laugh.

“Big feast today, special food!” says a younger, bearded sadhu sitting opposite me, still chiseling away at his own mountaintop of food.

Ah, it’s Ramana’s birth star day, I realize. Every month, the day Ramana Maharshi’s birth star is prominent in the astrological constellations, there are extra puja ceremonies and the food is abundant.

I’m given a heap of rice, 3 kinds of vegetables, two papadam crisps, a delicious spiced buttermilk, a cup of kheer (rice pudding) and a laddu sweet ball for dessert. I couldn’t be happier. I try not to overeat, but it’s darn near impossible with all this goodness on my plate. I wash my dishes and fill my water bottle from the filter, then head off to my small room to take a siesta on my simple, hard bed. The sound of peacocks squawking outside my window tones down the horns and I fall into a pleasant 20-minute slumber with a smile on my lips.

Erin Reese is a travel writer, intuitive consultant and guide based in San Francisco. She is the author of The Adventures of Bindi Girl: Diving Deep Into the Heart of India, available on Amazon.