The humanitarian phenomenon Amma has now embraced 31 million people around the world. We joined the queue.
Given the chilliness of the winds whipping around north London, there is a surprising number of people in flimsy white robes scurrying up the hill from Wood Green station.
Not that the Arctic temperature seems to be bothering them. For cruelly though the cold may be playing about their cotton-clad frames, these shivering souls know that they are heading for the kind of warmth that goes beyond mere human tog-rating. The kind of inner glow you can only get from an embrace with the radiant Mata Amritanandamayi, born a humble fisherman’s daughter in southern India, now a globe-encompassing humanitarian and peace-bestower, who has taken up residence at the mighty Alexandra Palace for three days of solid hugging.
Yes, if there’s one thing in which Amma (it means “Mother”) has got experience, it’s the clasping of fellow humans to her breast. So far, the total stands at 31 million, and this leg of her 10-city European tour should add at least another 10,000 to that total. Plus me, with any luck.
From eight o’clock this morning, her devotees have been queuing to get a hug. Such is the demand that members of Amma’s 250-strong European tour team have to give out numbered and timed tickets, just like they do on the most popular Disneyland rides. Only instead of soaring and plummeting great distances at moon-rocket speed, Amma’s followers only have to fall the short distance from where they are kneeling and into her arms.
Mind you, the looks of ecstasy and excitement on their faces are every bit the equal of people staggering wobbly-legged out of Space Mountain. Many of the recently hugged have to go and sit cross‑legged on the floor beside the stage, in a sort of recovery area.
For her part, Amma sits enthroned on a couch that is positioned at a height so that when you, in kneeling position, nosedive in for the hug, your and her top halves will fit snugly together. That said, no two hugs are entirely identical. Having been ushered in to a privileged, press box position at her right hand, I am perfectly placed to see the subtle variations of interchange.
Some of her huggees sink into the folds of her sari with the deep-sigh look of models in a Slumberland mattress ad. Others take a more reverent approach, gazing wonderingly into her face. Then there are the more troubled souls, who clearly have problems they want Amma to address, plus others whose anxieties appear a little more surface-level, shall we say, most notably the mother who holds out her daughter’s economics text book for Amma to bless. But adoring and doe-eyed though her devotees are, Amma insists that she is neither divine nor deserving of worship. Though brought up as a Hindu, she professes adherence to no faith in particular.
Categories: UK