True Tales

I invite True Tales readers to check out my new personal blog Breath by Breath in addition to True Tales. I hope you enjoy the writings on both blogs. As always, your comments and feedback are very much welcomed and appreciated!

With love and light to all,

Siri Ved Kaur

I guess you could "classify me" as an "old timer" in 3HO. I first began to discover who I really was in the 1960’s. Like most of my generation in the West, I grew up singing the anthems of our time; the anthems of a new awaking consciousness.We were “Uncle John’s Band” (to reference the old Grateful Dead song on "American Beauty.")  Everyone knew the words and everyone knew the tune. We all joined the dance together. We lived each day in ecstasy, love, and fearlessness. We lived each day in song and dance, sharing our new discoveries and serving each other in simple ways.

Some of us felt a calling. It began quietly amidst the Dionysian tumult of the sixties.  We felt a strong desire to meditate and go deep within; to fly as high as humanly possible. But we didn’t know how to meditate.  I remember simply sitting up straight, choosing my music carefully and closing my eyes. I would let the music take me on a journey. I think, perhaps many of us began to meditate in this way.

I was living in a house on Oregon Street just off Shattuck Avenue in Berkeley, California.  We called it “Berserk-ly” at the time. We were a raggle-taggle bunch of gypsies who shared whatever we had and put whatever we didn’t need into the Free Box down on the corner behind our local natural foods store, Wholey Foods. If there was something we needed, a pair of shoes or a jacket, or even if we were just looking for something new and cool, we’d usually find it in the Free Box.

One day a young man moved into our house and I noticed that he would do something unusual when he woke up in the morning. He would sit down and begin breathing loudly and rhythmically while stretching his body into strange and beautiful positions. One day he noticed me watching him and asked me if I’d like to learn Kundalini Yoga.  “Sure!” was my immediate reply. I had found myself fascinated with his ability to concentrate and direct his attention inward. I started getting up every morning and practicing what I was learning.

It was the Spring of 1971 when I first met Yogi Bhajan at the Earth Rebirth Festival on Earth Day at UC Davis in Davis California. What I remember from that day was the sunrise snake dance led by Yogi Bhajan and Chief White Eagle, and the class that Yogi Ji held later on that day. I remember he didn’t talk much.  And he didn’t talk about himself at all.  He had us all closing our eyes, inhaling deep and chanting “Saaaaaaaaaaat Naaaaaaaaaaaam” over and over for 31 minutes until we all dissolved into a sea of bliss, riding the sound current out of our physical bodies until we all came to our senses.

It wasn’t the first time I had experienced the power of mantra.  Most of us had at least chanted “Aaaaauuuuummmmm” before, but it was the first time I had experienced the Guru’s Word and the sound of Sat Nam resounded deep in my soul and the longing to come home to the Guru’s feet awakened in my consciousness.

Later that summer, my wife-to-be and I traveled from Berserk-ly to New Mexico in our step van, which we had outfitted as a camper. I went to my first Kundalini Yoga class in a grassy park in May 1971 in Santa Fe, New Mexico. At the end of the class, the teacher guided us in a meditation with eyes closed.  In my meditation I saw two big golden doors opening.  I walked through them into a golden space filled with light, music, and deep love. A beautiful man with a long beard was sitting on a golden chair.  He smiled and motioned me to come forwards. He put his arms around me and I sat in his lap.  No words were spoken.  The only sound was this incredible celestial music. I felt the deep love, wisdom and complete acceptance of this soul who held me in his arms.  After the class was over, I went up to the teacher and I described exactly what I had seen in my meditation and asked him who this man in my meditation could be. He told me that I was describing Guru Ram Das, the 4th Guru of the Sikhs.  I had no idea who that was, or anything about Sikhi or Sikh history.  I didn’t even know what a Sikh was! All I knew was that I had met an incredible and deeply wise soul who loved me and was guiding me.

It was at Summer Solstice 1971, at the high mountain farm of Mike and Minka Cummings in Paonia, Colorado, that Guru Ram Das drew me closer to his bosom through the power of mantra.  We stood in line and chanted “Guru Guru Wahe Guru, Guru Ram Das Guru” till all sense of time dissolved. All I wanted to do was keep on chanting forever, merged completely in the ebb and fall of the plaintive melody that resounded in our bodies and filled our hearts and minds with devotion to the Guru.

It was at that Summer Solstice gathering that I was married. Yogi Bhajan married 23 couples on the beautiful morning of Summer Solstice Day. We did not yet understand the Siri Guru Granth Sahib. There were no four rounds of the Lavan.  We sat in meditation and Yogi Ji gave us our vows in the summer morning sunlight and we bowed to the Mother Earth to acknowledge our acceptance of those vows.

Early that morning, before the marriage ceremony began, a young yogi came up to me and suggested that I tie a turban for the wedding ceremony. “But I don’t know how” was my response.  “Oh, I’ll help you” he said.  And so it was that I tied my first turban.

The wedding ceremony went on for about three hours.  We chanted, sang and danced, and we partook of a beautiful cake that someone had made decorated with daisies, raisins and nuts.

At this point we simply wanted to be together.  We wanted to be with others who understood and experienced the joy of chanting the Naam. We wanted to live so that we could up-level each other in the midst of the turmoil of American society in the 70’s. We formed ashrams in many cities, we taught others how to calm, strengthen and awaken their bodies and meditate on Naam. Sangats  began to grow organically from the seeds of Naam that had been scattered far and wide in the fertile soil of the consciousness of the times.

Slowly, our own bards began to emerge and the sound of voices, guitars, flutes and drums created a new sound current filled with love for each other and for our Guru. We began to weave our own new anthems, and the chords that resonated within in us reached back through the coils of our genetic memory and awaked our souls to remember our former lives in the Guru’s Court.

Nukes were a constant presence in our consciousness in the 50’s, the 60’s and the 70’s, and all the tribes who were rediscovering their roots during that catalytic time devoted much of their energy to helping the world release its fear and reawaken its spirit. It was at the next Summer Solstice in 1972 in Mendocino, California, that Yogi Ji told us of a 72 hour meditation that the Tibetan monks, together with saints and sages all around the world were doing.  He asked us all to participate.  This was a worldwide meditation designed to help the earth pass through a critical transition period out of the consciousness of fear and paranoia into a New Age of fearlessness and the direct experience of the Truth within each one of us. We built a huge bonfire in the middle of an open field and began to sing.  Musicians joined in and we sang.  We sang continuously for 72 hours without a single break.  We sang the songs and mantras we knew and we invented new ones on the spot.  We played drums and guitars and clapped our hands together. Some folks napped for a while in the blissful sound current and then reawaked to begin singing again. Musicians came and went in shifts organically through the night and the sound current was unbroken. It was our first Ransabhi kirtan.

I first heard the Ardas  at that same 1972 Solstice celebration. We would sit in langar  lines in an open field and we would serve the meal. Tasty kitcheree - mung beans and rice cooked with onions, ginger and garlic masala , freshly cooked beets swimming in their bright red juices and a quarter of a head of iceberg lettuce.  One day, right before we began to eat, a young Sikh took the microphone and recited Ardas.  Waiting to eat after a long day of White Tantric yoga, I gazed hungrily into my red beet juice as he recited the deaths of the great martyrs in graphic detail, bodies sawed in half, blood pouring out on the ground.  It was quite an experience and I didn’t understand it at all. But the images lingered in my mind long after the meal was over.

It was in that Mendocino mountain field in 1972 that the flag of the Sikh Dharma in the West was raised for the first time. Many turned their backs and left, not wanting to be part of any “organized religion.” But the rest of us felt a resonance within our hearts and we knew that this was to be our path and our mission in this lifetime.

One summer I was in charge of the Kitchen at KWTC. It was the first week so we were really busy organizing the kitchen. One night, I finally had some free time so I walked down to Ladies Camp. It was around 11:00 at night and no one was around, so I went in to visit the Guru. Someone was reading from the Akhand Path. I sat down and enjoyed it for a while when all of a sudden the reader looked up at me and asked me if I wanted to read. I was shocked, and almost jumped over the Palki Sahib to keep the sound current going! When the hour was over, no one came to relieve me, nor for the second hour. Around 3:00 AM, someone came in for a visit so I got her to relieve me. I went over to Ram Das Kaur’s tent and asked her, "What’s going on?! How come I wasn’t relieved for so many hours?" Well…as it turns out, the Akhand Path hadn’t even started yet, since it was the very beginning of KWTC. We laughed so hard. I had read for more than four hours!

It was the spring of ’72.  I had just come from a yoga class in the park in Tucson, Arizona. Maha Deva Ashram always had a 5pm class in the park and after work it was so wonderful to just zone out and work out the day’s stress with a good yoga class.

I had just found out that I could be starting my own ashram, but I needed to be married in order to “balance the male and the female polarities.” I didn’t know much about polarities, but I did know I needed to marry someone!

So I asked an old friend of mine from high school, Rebecca (who had also become a Sikh). It was a difficult time for her, I remember, as for most of us; we were all going through our own types of “changes.” She turned me down… so I kept up and asked a few more women… turns out no one was interested!

Then Summer Solstice ’72 was here, and we all journeyed to northern California to Mendocino County. What a solstice that was… fire walkers, Sufis, Buddhists, yogis… you name it we had them here!

All of a sudden Jhot Niranjan Kaur gets my attention and I find out she would like to marry me! So we approach the tent with Yogiji within it… they let us in. I stumble with the question I wanted answered about getting married…and then suddenly Jhot and I were all smiles…Yogiji said something like “get married, you’re both glowing… go, go!” and we got out of there as soon as we could. A few days later we were married with about 25 other couples; the journey had just begun!

Back at the Ashram we were the only couple in the ashram so we got the tent. It was the only way we could maintain our privacy as a couple. But soon after moving into the tent… Sat Nam Singh told us that we were going to Nebraska!

I had to look on the map to find Nebraska – not knowing much about the Midwest with my being born and raised in Southern California.

By the end of the year I had located someone to move in with and basically they became our toe hold in Nebraska. So we moved at the end of a Tucson 120 degree summer to a Nebraskan 10 below winter. Were we in for a treat!

There have been a lot of adventures in Nebraska. One which stands out was the winter our ashram burnt down and we temporarily moved to Kansas City, Missouri. A few other noteworthy times were the births of our two daughters, Guru Mandir Kaur and Daya Estelle Kaur, the opening of the Golden Temple Restaurant 1 & 2, the visit of the Khalsa String Band (I missed because I was on lunch break at work….don’t ask), Children’s Yoga, Yoga in Mental Health Facilities, and Yoga as a college course… A lot happened to us as the journey continued….but I will wait to tell of those other times! Sat Nam Wahe Guru!

Tell us a tale of a day or a moment

when you fell apart, didn’t know what to do

when you crashed and burned or fell into torment

then felt the Grace of God come through

Or you can write a story about any old thought

something you lost, something you got

a opportunity you missed or a road that you walked

a lesson you learned that now can be taught

just through your words

heartfelt and true

we’ve done it here a few times

so can you.

xoxo

svk

Gurujodha and I have moved to Bakersfield, which is about 120 miles north of L.A. in California’s vast Central Valley. We’ve got a lovely condo in the southwest part of town and have been here now for exactly one month. I never in my life imagined or dreamed of living in Bakersfield. In fact, I remember first hearing about this city and wondering, why would anyone ever want to live there? It sounded terrible… oil wells, big agribusiness, a politically conservative majority, long very hot summers, far away from the ocean…

And look at me now, as happy as a clam and adjusting to my new life here. Who woulda thought….

We have been going to the Stine Gurdwara (Gurudwara Guru Angad Darbar) on Sunday mornings. I’ve enjoyed the kirtan (and tasty langar!) there, however there is always over an hour of katha right in the middle of the kirtan that is rather hard to sit through when I barely understand a word of it. So I’ve taken to doing pranayam during that time… inhale 16 strokes, hold 16 counts, exhale 16 strokes, hold 16 counts…. using Sa Ta Na Ma or Ek Ong Kar Sat Nam Siri Wahe Guru with the breath. That works for about 30 minutes. Today was the first day of Daylight Savings Time, so we timed our arrival to be 45 minutes before the katha started. Our plan was to meditate and enjoy the kirtan, and then once the katha started after a little while go out and have langar. However, I guess they decided not to switch to the new time until next week, because we got there and realized the katha had just started and we had missed the kirtan program entirely. Oh well, Wahe Guru.

Next week we will try another of the five gurdwaras here that are a result of the huge Punjabi population (no wonder, it is so much like the Punjab here… largely flat, farming-agribusiness, climate… we even have the dense tule fog in the winter months).

I was just noodling around on Facebook watching a couple of Ravi Kaur’s bhangra videos, for Dharma Kaur’s wedding shower and then her wedding to Meher Singh today in Espanola. Seeing everyone together, laughing, in cherdi kala, plus thinking of my friends and the wonderful GRDA sangat in L.A…. makes me really feel the longing for the upliftment that comes being with community…

That said though, I truly feel I belong where I am and have been brought here by Guru’s Grace alone. It’s so weird. I mean, it’s so weird to be in Bakersfield and to feel happy just seeing our home, or the big wide streets where the tallest building is rarely over 3-4 stories, the great little coffee shop by the office where I work… I don’t know, this is hard to describe, but I feel like my soul knows it’s supposed to be here and is totally stoked about that, and is happy just breathing the air, meeting new people, going to the grocery store, going to work…. It’s so dumb, I know, but it’s true.

I was in L.A. this past Friday for a few hours picking up Gurujodha from LAX, home from a short trip to India. But those few hours I had before I met him, I went to the 3rd Street Promenade to return some shoes and hooked up with my daughter Avtar at the new Whole Foods in Venice for dinner. I love L.A. and I figure as long as I can come to L.A. once or twice a month, go shopping and go out to eat (Bakersfield is great but is lacking some of my favorite stores and great little restaurants are not in abundance… although Whole Foods is not a great little restaurant, the new Venice store is humongous and has a gigantic array of salad and prepared food bars), and see friends and family (Avi) that is enough for me, for  now. Anyway, so I was at the shoe store on the Promenade and when the sales clerk asked me about my address and I told him I had just moved to Bakersfield he said, "Why would you want to live there?! It’s so hot, and there’s nothing to do there!" I just smiled and said, "I love Bakersfield." And his last comment reminds me of very recent advice from my dear friend Satsimran who said to me, "Don’t limit yourself, but don’t just do, do, do….I say be, be, be and see what happens…" So yes, dear Clarks Shoe Store Salesclerk, there’s nothing to do in Bakersfield, but a lot to be.

For a few years, from 1971 to 1974, I had the blessing to serve as Yogiji’s personal cook at Guru Ram Das Ashram in Los Angeles. This is a short story of an encounter with him one morning while preparing his breakfast.

Reaching blindly into the lower right drawer of the refrigerator, my hand seeks a few oranges to make Yogiji’s morning juice. One of my fingers easily presses into an unexpected fuzzy, soft spot. “O God, Ewwwww!” Pulling the drawer all the way out, I see the culprit: a Valencia orange with a moldy patch. I pluck it from the others to quickly discard it.

Yogiji happens to be passing through the kitchen and notes both my grimace and the orange soon to meet its fate in the garbage bin. He says, “There is nothing wrong with this orange. Give me a knife.” I quickly locate a sharp paring knife and hand it to Yogiji. Holding the orange in his left hand, as though it were something precious, he deftly trims away the bad spot. I marvel at his precision and grace in accomplishing what to many would be a mindless task. Even so, I wonder why he is making all this effort to save a moldy orange, when we have so many good ones in the fridge.

Within a few moments he completes his surgery on the lucky fruit and states with satisfaction, “It is perfect!” He continues to peel the remaining orange, breaks it into wedges, and serves each of us a piece (a few of his staff members have gathered in the kitchen to see what he is up to), popping the last into his own mouth. “Greeaat!”  says the Yogi, and we agree. The orange, that I had been so quick to judge as rotten, had a special sweetness and destiny, recognized only by the master.

Pioneers, by definition, do not have the luxury of precedence. So in the earliest days of 3HO, the late 60’s and early 70’s of the last century, those of us who studied with YogiJi were featherless harbingers of an era and unwitting co-founders of a family that has not only grown through generations and spread across the globe, but has been woven into the fabric of the culture at large. But in those earliest days our history had yet to be written, and the things we were asked to do were done with no evidence of veracity, but were done purely on faith and the immediate experiences we had in yoga class. It is a wonder we had any faith left after the prior tolls extracted from our generation. But somewhere we found a deeper well of hope, pulled it up willingly and offered it freely, as though we had never been betrayed. Such is the relentless drive of the soul and the regenerative power of faith.

In the manner of our unfolding culture, there was no one who had gone before us to explain things, no one who had crawled through the tunnel or over the wall ahead of us, no one standing at the end of the obstacle course to assure that it could be survived. No one, that is, except our teacher who had already gone through it all, and whose commanding presence was testimony enough to his students. It was a time when we were still a small band of disparate gypsies with nothing left to lose, coming together to do yoga. 3HO was barely conceived; we had no established traditions, no existing culture with which to identify ourselves, no social standing. To the contrary, most everything we did separated us from our own history and society at large.

In hindsight, I might wonder why in the world I agreed to do so many of the endlessly radical things I was asked to do, and why in such faith I chose to do them. The answer is just that, faith. But not blind. Blind faith connotes a substitution for critical thinking or lack of intelligence. There was at play a force greater than mental acuity; there was intuition, there was heart. There was a slowly building trust born of personal experience, that each thing I was asked to do, as outlandish as my mind screamed that it was, once done not only quieted my mind but showed my spirit another plateau on which to soar.

So what were some of these outlandish things? Initially, the easy ones were getting up at 2:30 AM to do yoga, meditation and chanting. And how about that yoga? Not a walk in the park. The meditation and chanting were never anything but bliss for me, but holding my breath until I passed out, well, strange to say the least. Sometimes I hated the physical exertion of the yoga, except, of course, for corpse pose. Vegetarianism, not a problem, I was already a vegetarian. Wearing white, not a problem, I’d already been wearing white for a year before I met YogiJi. Walking barefoot in the morning dew, again, not a problem, I grew up at the beach and I came to YogiJi barefoot. He even gave me his giant pair of rubber flip flops to shuffle around in when I had to walk on the pavement or go to work at the Source Restaurant.

No, the first big one was the arranged marriage. Unheard of in those times, and mine, horror of horrors, was the first. People were outraged at the concept of it, let alone its execution. And I use that word purposely. Even Shakti was appalled. It may have been a part of Indian culture, but it sure as heck wasn’t a part of ours, and I can tell you just how it came about. It was the spring of 1970, about a year after I’d been living in Yogiji’s kitchen; when there was just Shakti, Premka and I with Yogiji and our roles were clearly defined. Shakti was the mother of his mission and future organization, Premka was his personal staff member, and I was his daughter. But once Pink Krishna and Susie joined our household it became a little estrogen laden and the herd had to be culled.

(The photo above is just after our wedding in 1970, with plenty of dancing and singing in the desert!)

We were robust and young and even though committed to our mission and to celibacy, the hormones did run, and soon there began to appear a series of young suitors at the kitchen door of the Phyllis house. So, in his infinite wisdom and to my great dismay Yogiji sat us all down one evening and asked who wanted to get married and who wanted to be on his staff, reminding us that whoever was on his staff would not have a householder’s life. I remember that Susie definitely wanted to get married and I believe Pink Krishna said the same thing. But when he asked me I could only weep saying I never wanted to get married, I just wanted to stay with him and remain his daughter. He replied, “Fathers don’t keep their daughters, they give them away.” The bitterest words I ever heard him say. I begged and I begged and I begged, but he would not relent. But the truth of the matter was my actions were not in total keeping with my words as much as I wanted them to be. I kept “falling in love,” as much as I tried not to and Yogiji announced that in his duty as my father, he must find an appropriate husband for me and arrange for my future. As a concession he said he would give me my pick of the suitors and began reciting a list of the most fitting men. After each one I replied an emphatic “No.” But when he got to Larry I hesitated for a split second and he said, “Done.”

As an aside, ironically, Larry (who later became Lehri Singh) and I both worked at the Source Restaurant and previously had a crush on each other, but as was in keeping with our commitment to the yoga, chose to transmute our attraction to devotion to God. Perhaps it was because of this that I hesitated in that pivotal moment and my destiny was sealed and the climate of our marriage was set.

Well, no sooner were Yogiji’s words spoken then I fell to pieces, literally. I went to the kitchen and collapsed in a sobbing heap of despair and at the same instant felt rise up out of me like a phoenix out of its ashes, a being so elegant and etheric I could only gasp in wonder. She was who I had always wanted to become. She was the ideal I’d always held but had no idea how to reach. In a moment I understood that it was my vast and tumultuous emotions that kept my spirit bound, and that by cracking this egg the freedom I so diligently sought could be found. Of course, there is a big difference between visionary insight and the process of living it in the day to day. It was against this vision that my emotions continually broke themselves like waves against the rocks throughout the ten years of my marriage.

Here, we were posing for a series of tantric pictures. Larry was counting off the rules he had for me to be a good wife, and I think my body language shows my response reflective the immortal words of Guru Liv Kaur of LA who added the fourth statement of the yogic wives’ three allowed responses to her husband: "You’re right, I’m sorry, it’s the Will of God, and I’m leaving."

Initially, when word spread of my arranged marriage, the men of the Juke Savages that I had come to Yogiji with the year before came down from San Francisco and said they would spirit me away in the night and protect me from Yogiji and the destiny he had designed for me. When I said I didn’t want to go with them, that I wanted to do what Yogiji said, they asked incredulously, “Then why are you crying?” I said because I couldn’t help it and just because I couldn’t show courage in the moment didn’t mean I wasn’t totally committed.

Sadly, I continued to cry everyday for the next three months until that first Solstice in 1970 when YogiJi conducted the first marriage ceremony in the dry arroyo of Robert Voissier’s land outside of Santa Fe. I cried during the ceremony and continued every night for the first year of my marriage, until my husband finally said, “Enough.” He was a man of few but eloquent words.

I can’t say that the marriage was ever fulfilling on an interpersonal level, but then that was never its true intention. Rather, it was a conscious commitment to Yogiji and his teachings and through our steadfast devotion to him, we did give birth to a gifted and amazing spiritual family through Ahimsa Ashram and its tributaries. The ten years from 1970-1980, when I was blessed to live there and share the leadership with my husband, were the crown of my youth, the exaltation my heart and magnified all the love I ever hoped to give or receive.

The music that was born there, beginning with chanting to Guru Ram Das every evening for 31 minutes, was transcendent and transformational. My heart and soul opened so fully through chanting that I feel woven forever with the music and those with whom I shared these musical meditations. I remember one prayer I made when I so sorrowfully agreed to marry and move to Washington, D.C. was that there be music, beautiful music and beautiful musicians to share my days. And indeed my prayers were answered. So many of our family’s great musicians passed through Ahimsa Ashram: Sat Peter Singh, Livtar Singh, Gurushabd Singh, Gurudass Singh, MataMandir Singh, GuruGanesha Singh, SadaSat Singh and Kaur, the Adi Shakti Choir, the Khalsa String Band, and many others who composed and channeled their sublime music into chants and songs which were the genesis of our musical legacy and continue to inspire to this day and beyond. (In speaking of divine music I feel compelled to acknowledge two great musicians from Tucson — Sat Nam Singh and Singh Kaur. They, as well, gave incalculable spiritual inspiration to this family through their celestial music.)

As for that etheric being that rose from my anguish in YogiJi’s kitchen, she was indeed prescient. Although there was never anything in my marriage that nurtured me emotionally (to the contrary it was a daily test of rejection), it was the harshness of that desert that caused me to reach into the higher octaves of love through the Nam that were my source and my sustenance.  And really, if I’d gotten all I needed in the marriage or in the world, would I have ever reached further? Probably not. And had I not reached further there would have been no miraculous spiritual journey and my soul would have been the one weeping instead of my emotions.

When I first came to Yogiji in the spring of 1969 he asked me what I wanted and I said, “God.” He said, “I can deliver you there if you promise to do whatever I tell you to do." He never told me my path would be easy, but he did promise to deliver me to the place I wanted and I experienced that bliss each time my kundalini rose. He showed me my spirit through the myriad tests he put me through, even though through each of them I railed. I wept copious tears and thought I would never survive, but somehow I did. I didn’t always excel in the execution of the challenges, but I did find a place of excellence within myself at the end of them. In counterpoint to all that I suffered, he showed me a way to illumine my soul through the soft, merciful, and liquid radiance of Guru Ram Das through chanting, and later through Gurbani kirtan.

Mine was not a journey that could be explained to anyone who wasn’t on the same path, and if they were, it needed no explaining. To me the spiritual path seemed an inverted reflection of the worldly path. What was true in this world was false in the spiritual. What fed the emotions would bleed the soul. What was courageous in the spiritual world was foolhardy in this one. It is said that it doesn’t count as courage if you aren’t afraid, and that was the whole point as his student; to be repeatedly challenged to overcome fear, limitation and to step into the unknown.

It was just all the more challenging because no one had done it before us at that point. He was not just our first yoga teacher, he was a Master, and we either did what he asked or we left. There was no negotiation. We either kept up during a kriya or we didn’t. But if we quit before the yoga set was finished, in class or in life, we never got the bliss that came at the end. We were asked time and again to jump off a cliff and had no idea if we would sprout wings or splat on the rocks below. It required that we live each day with unremitting courage and suspended disbelief. It was the only way to get through it. Everything was asked of us, yet everything was given in return. Why else would we have stayed?

So when you hear the old timers referring so nostalgically to the old days as if they hold some great significance, they do. That was the beginning, the foundation, and much important history has been written in these forty years and much more will be written in the future. It’s just that there is always a profound poignancy to a beginning, like being swept off your feet in love for the first time.  You never forget the first time. It informs how you live out the time which follows and how you look back upon it. At least that is the case for me.

Who ever could have imagined the destiny of such a humble building? Comfortably squeezed between two duplexes, it had served as a colon hydrotherapy office for some years; now closed down. A storefront with a small residence behind, and an enclosed back yard with a garage on the back alley, its faded yellow entry faced a small park on the other side of the street. It seemed like it had some potential, was in a good location, and… it was for sale, and that’s how it got a place on Norm Cohen’s short list.

Norm was a commercial real estate broker in Los Angeles who in 1971, along with his wife Marci, had become acquainted with some of Yogiji’s students through their health food business, Sat Nam Products. Then he and Marci met Yogiji. As was his way, Yogiji saw the destiny of each piece of the puzzle of life, and within no time Norm and Marci were looking for a new location for Guru Ram Das Ashram (at that time located at the SW corner of Melrose and Robertson, in the remodeled garage of Jules Buccieri’s antique shop), which needed a permanent home. They showed this ex-colonic office to Yogiji a short while later.

Not long after that, Yogiji told a story how he was flying back to Los Angeles from his travels and, looking out the window of the plane as they approached the airport, he saw the part of town with the little yellow building on Preuss Road, and noticed that out of all other areas of the city covered with smog, this area was clear. And he knew this was the spot, this was the destiny, and the short list became one.

Shakti Parwha Kaur tells me Yogiji wouldn’t let her see the new ashram until much of the renovation and remodeling had been completed. But, she does know the story of how the building was purchased. Yogi Bhajan personally made the down payment from his own savings. There were enthusiastic promises by community “leaders” to each pay $10 a month toward the mortgage. The truth be told, the promises were kept for barely one month. I think all or most of those people are now long gone, but Guru had a plan, and Guru Ram Das Ashram was to be. Yogiji traveled, lectured, taught and continued to make the monthly payments until, after many years, he finally donated this precious property to Sikh Dharma.

Marci, however, was involved to a great degree in the interior design of the new building. Knowing that turquoise was Yogiji’s favorite color, she picked out a multi-toned turquoise shag rug for the front L-shaped “yoga” area that faced the street. Also, the dark brown wood paneling that covered all the walls and the raw silk curtains that hung in the front windows. The gold marbled mirror panels from the Melrose and Robertson ashram were moved to this new building and installed on the long south wall of the “L”. A small bathroom was built, with the entrance exactly opposite the entry doors. On the right of the bathroom were closets for storage.

Here I am, in the summer of 1972, headed home after a day of seva. Note the sign "Guru Ram Das Ashram" over the door. This is the sign from the original ashram on Melrose & Robertson; it’s now in archives.

In the three weeks preceding the move to the new ashram (which was approximately March of 1972), Diana Schnurr, an artist and avid member of our yoga community, completed 10 paintings at the Siri Singh Sahib’s request, one of each of the ten Sikh Gurus. Vibrant color flowed from her brush and these very first paintings of the Gurus by a western Sikh came to life. For the first ten years or so those paintings graced the long north wall of Guru Ram Das Ashram. They now hang at the Yoga West yoga center.

Since the primary use for the new ashram at the front of the building would be for yoga and meditation classes, we needed a reception and entry area. A dividing wall was put up, so as you entered the building on your immediate left would be shelves from floor to ceiling for shoes, bags, etc. That little entry area, as wide as the doors and as long as the shelves (about 6-7 feet) was covered with linoleum flooring. This created a nook on the other side of the dividing wall where we would place the Siri Guru Granth Sahib. This Guru’s nook would be separated from the rest of the room by a curtain.

About ten years later, we would move the bathroom over to the right allowing some expansion of the ashram interior and moving the entrance to the bathroom facing the far right wall. This was during a major remodeling in about 1985, when the dividing wall of shoe shelves was also removed. Also, blue marble donated by a student in Mexico was installed on the floor and part way up the walls, and the ashram was transformed into a full-time Gurdwara. The remodel was completed in 1986.

Back in 1972, there was a small window centered in the far east wall, where the teacher’s bench would go. The first teachers bench was designed and built by Sunshine Brass Beds (“the Factory”) headed up by Guru Singh.  Over the years we went through two teachers benches, the second more elaborate than the first. What vibration each must hold, the master sitting so many nights sharing his wisdom with we blessed ones who filled the room to sit at his feet. Adjacent to the teacher’s bench, a small triangular altar stood in the corner, with candles and incense, a painting of the Chakras with the Wheel of Life (which used to hang at the original GRDA on Melrose & Robertson) and some photos. Yogiji would always face the altar, bow his head with hands folded, and say a short prayer before he taught each class (and all the yoga teachers followed his example). When asked one day what he said in his prayer, he replied, “I’m saying, ‘I’m just a nut, Guru Ram Das, please teach this class for me!’” 

The walls still resonate with so many countless souls chanting, meditating, and praising the Name.

That small window behind the teacher’s bench was kept covered with a curtain. On the other side of the window, there would have been a small patio, but this was built into a storage shed-laundry room. From the cement floor to its metal roof, the shed was filled to the brim with cleaning, household, laundry and other supplies. One day, a devoted student who desperately wished to speak to Yogiji, would climb through that window as a way to reach him in “the back.” After that, the window was walled over and never opened or seen again.

The door to the kitchen would remain as Yogiji’s private entrance to the ashram from his living quarters in the back, and also for his staff to serve sweet and milky hot gunpowder tea and peeled almonds to sadhana goers every morning.  Yogiji, with care, made certain that a sword and picture of Baba Siri Chand were placed over that door for protection.

Here are Nirinjan K, pink Krishna K, and Gurumeet K enjoying some watermelon in the backyard of Guru Ram Das Ashram in 1974. The building in the background is the converted garage that was Yogiji’s meditation room-sleeping quarters.

The small living area in the back was designed with a living room facing the back yard (this is where Yogiji received guests, counseled students, and spent much of his time, sitting in his white recliner), a very small office-sleeping room (there was not room for a bed, just for one or two to curl up on sheepskins on the floor, so we cannot really call it a bedroom), a small tidy kitchen, and an even smaller bathroom. Yogiji’s quarters (a simple room without a bathroom, painted white, carpeted in white, with a long altar along one wall and little other furniture) would be built in the garage that abutted the back alley, about 15 yards or so from the main building. A cement walkway was put in, leading from his quarters to both entrances of the main house, at the kitchen door and the sliding glass doors to the living room. Regardless of the weather, when he needed to use the bathroom, that is the distance he walked. The backyard was turned into a rose garden, and would go through various transformations over the years.

When we first moved there, his personal staff was quite small, consisting of Shakti Parwha Kaur (who still had a small apartment in West Los Angeles, but would soon move to an apartment on Preuss Road), Sardarni Premka Kaur, Sat Simran Kaur, and black Krishna Kaur. I think that was it. Pink Krishna Kaur and I, both married, were considered household members. She primarily cleaned and ironed. I primarily cooked and helped with office tasks.

When we first opened Guru Ram Das Ashram on Preuss Road, it contained an Indian imports store (in the right front quadrant) where Toni Pond sold colorful saris, Punjabi suits, scarves, shawls and jewelry. After some months, she closed her shop and the 3HO offices took her place, with desks, chairs, typewriters and phones… The secretaries would stop their typing during yoga class but it was not  unusual for the phones to ring… the adjacent long back area with the marbled mirrors was where we had sadhana every  morning and yoga classes every day and night. Around 1976 Sikh Dharma would purchase a building on Robertson Blvd. (the Secretariat) for all of the Sikh Dharma and 3HO offices.

Guru Singh led sadhana every morning for the first four years. Sadhana started at 4:00 AM with one hour of yoga. Then we had one hour of meditation, and finally ended with one hour of kirtan. We knew very little Gurbani kirtan in those days, but we sat in a large circle and sang chants and English songs, with guitars, drums, whatever instruments we had. One young man even brought his dulcimer and harpsichord! The kirtan was the liveliest you could ever imagine, so spirited. Then, at the end, we would all stand, turn around and face the front of the ashram for Ardas. Opening the curtains to Siri Guru Granth Sahib, we stood in prayer and listened to the hukam for the day. It was not uncommon for Yogiji to come out from his meditation toward the end to sit with us, poke some fun, tell a story, play with a little one who had crawled into his lap, and share in the prashad, hot tea and peeled almonds served each day.

Within a short time of moving there, Yogiji’s family came and joined him (this included his wife Bibiji, his three children, and, later, his father, Papaji. The children stayed only for the summer and then went back to India for school). Sat Simran designed a sitting/sleeping space in the living room corner to make a cozier living space for them. Essentially, a queen-sized bed on an extra wide platform (underneath which was storage). The platform was wide enough to accommodate big square cushions around two of its sides. The mattress was covered in a lovely turquoise upholstery fabric and was accented with big purple and turquoise bolsters. The square cushions alternated lavender and turquoise (turquoise was a big color back then) brushed corduroy. This way Yogiji could comfortably sit there during the day and his family and guests sit around him. I remember him even having guests sit on the mattress with him. It was very cozy and simple. At night it was a bed for his family or staff members, and the cushions could also be used for sleeping on the floor. A few newcomers had joined Yogiji’s staff, including Gurumeet Kaur (then from San Rafael, and now of Espanola), and Nirinjan Kaur and Hari Har Kaur, both from Washington DC. At night, the laundry room, Nirinjan’s small office, and even the main ashram, were turned into sleeping quarters for staff members. And that’s how, somehow, everyone lived in this little ashram, except Shakti and Premka, who shared an apartment down the street. There was also Wha Wha the little West Highland White terrier and White Cat. So, just imagine this. I served in the kitchen all day and left every night at about 6 PM or so, and I never saw everyone sleeping… but it’s hard to imagine how they managed it. Within a very short time Guru Ram Das Estate was purchased a few blocks away, which allowed for more graceful living arrangements for everybody, and also a welcoming place for guests to stay.

With all the staff and family, there was also a constant stream of guests. Every day, when the Siri Singh Sahib was in town, there was someone new. He might invite over, on the spur of the moment, 10 or 15 people to share in a dish he had just made. Students and seekers had appointments for counseling throughout the day, and others would stop by simply to sit and offer their respect. Spiritual leaders that I remember coming to meet with him, included the Dalai Lama, Baba Ram Dass, Swami Satchitananda, and Swami Mishra… along with so many sants and sages… I walked in one day to serve Yogiji and Baba Ram Dass some tea, and there they both were, sitting up on the mattress with those big bolsters, laughing so hard I thought they both might roll off the platform! Lacking a dining room or table, we would spread a big Indian bedspread/tablecloth out on the living room floor or, if we needed to serve a lot of people, out in the main ashram

Now I will break off for two very short stories about Wha Wha and White Cat.

The Siri Singh Sahib told the story of how he was in London teaching yoga and was being driven through the city by Guru Dain Singh. Suddenly he called out, “Stop! Turn the car around and go back around the block!” He directed Guru Dain to a pet store they had just driven by. Guru Dain stopped the car in front of the store and the Siri Singh Sahib went in with one of his secretaries. He emerged a short while later with a tiny white ball of a dog, the light of whose little soul he had recognized in the window. He named him Wha Wha right on the spot and had him brought to Los Angeles. Such a cheerful, devoted and grateful little soul, you cannot believe. Perhaps you have heard the song he wrote called “Wha Wha Loves Me.” Now you know who it is about.

White Cat was a big long-haired white cat. The Siri Singh Sahib had told us that White Cat was a saint who came back as a cat to once more have a chance to sit at Guru’s feet. White Cat knew he was a cat, and took full advantage of the privileges of being a cat; he knew he could get away with acting like one – he could do things we might get in trouble for doing as humans. For instance, he loved to hide in the rose bushes and pounce on Yogiji’s feet as he walked by, and he could jump up on Yogiji’s lap whenever he pleased, where he would surely be lovingly stroked. I noticed myself being a little jealous of White Cat over this. What I wouldn’t have done to be him! What he loved most though, was napping in the ashram. Without fail we would find him either sitting on the teacher’s bench or under the palki sahib during the Akhand Path. As he grew older, his health was failing, he could hardly see…. He disappeared for a few days. Then one morning his body was discovered, literally at the door of Guru Ram Das Ashram, where he had come to bow and give his last breath.

So this was Yogiji’s household, for a short while, and with grace and without complaint (at least, not that I ever heard) all shared the blessed space known as Guru Ram Das Ashram.

Over these last 36 years at Guru Ram Das Ashram, we have had over 1800 Akhand Paths, over 15,000 Gurdwara services, the Siri Singh Sahib taught hundreds of meditation classes, and thousands more Kundalini yoga classes have been taught, since it served as our yoga center for about ten years. Until we had our first yoga center in the mid 80s, we had sadhana there every single morning. Individuals have come every single day for prayer and solace. World leaders, spiritual leaders, sages, the simply curious, and humble seekers, have all come through these doors and felt the blessing and grace of Guru Ram Das.

Contribute to the building fund for Guru Ram Das Ashram in Los Angeles and help preserve this legacy by clicking here.

Sardar Singh Khalsa of Oslo, Norway passed into the light on December 1, 2007. His friend, Gurudass Singh, wrote this loving tribute to him a couple of days later. (If you have any photos of Sardar Singh please contact us. We would love to post them.)

I met Sardar Singh in Amsterdam in the summer of 1977. He was this jovial red-haired kid filled with enthusiasm and positivity (which he always kept). We had both just moved  from the US into the ashram and he soon became the buyer for the Golden Temple Emporium’s restaurant. He was given a van for his job, which he proceeded to slowly destroy by crashing it almost every other day until he had to change jobs or the ashram would lose its only means of transportation.

At the same time Seva Kaur also moved into the ashram. She was this bright eyed Australian girl who laughed and served without a thought for herself. Later that year I moved to Spain, but they remained in the ashram, getting engaged and married soon after and then moving to Australia.

We lost contact for a long time until they came back to Europe, moving to Oslo, now with a family of two (soon to be three) beautiful girls. But it didn’t take long for Sardar to become a leader in our European community. His positivity, selflesness and joyful disposition made him a top candidate to become the general coordinator for the Yoga Festival. He took on this challenge perhaps not knowing what he was getting into. but it soon became apparent that he was "the man for the job." Sardar turned the organization of the Yoga Festival into an invisible yet effective and well balanced team of people. Many attendants have commented over the years how smooth it runs and yet you don’t see who is doing it. He led with a kind hand and heart, listening to people, giving us the space to run our areas with freedom yet always being there when needed.

He had a lousy sense of humor. It took him sometimes a whole day to understand a joke. Once I found him laughing by himself at a joke I’d told him the day before. He knew half a dozen bad jokes which he told over and over again, laughing each time as if it was the first time he’d heard it.

Sardar was a wonderful father and family man. He loved Seva and the girls. They became for many of us an emblematic example of the love and unity of a family. His love allowed him to sacrifice for them, at times having his whole family away in India. His daughters were his pride and he treated them with respect and kindness. He love it when they poked fun at him and he wore his authority with humility and love. Our Ransabai kirtans will never be the same without their kirtan together.

Sardar…amigo…you are greatly missed. You have taught us all an enormous lesson about life and death. Your humble, yet positive approach to your illness, made it seem to many as if it was no big deal, yet you suffered it quietly, with faith and hope. When the time came you accepted your fate and all the years of love and devotion to the Guru carried you.

There will never be another Sardar…yet you will live with us forever. Every Yoga Festival will be a tribute to your efforts and vision. You will be honored by your daughters’ achievements and by Seva Kaur’s example of love and commitment.

On the Ransabhai kirtan night I will look for you. I will find you, sitting as you always did, with your head bowed, quietly, discreetly. Your voice will be heard as a whisper, singing along with the kirtan. When the time of the Ardas comes, you will stand by us. Your Wahe Guru will resound in our minds as a reminder of someone who lived life to the fullest, filled it with
devotion to God and gave love to everyone wherever he went.

We will always love and miss you….