Amma and Her Gift of a Deeper Understanding of Hinduism
Meeting God: Elements of Hindu Devotion
Every day, as I began writing the manuscript for my book on practical Hinduism, , I thought of Sunithi Narayan, the one I call ‘Amma.’ I would visualise an equilateral triangle. I was in the left corner, Sunithi was in the right, the Gods and Goddesses of India were at the top, and the project Meeting God was in the centre.
I meditated on opening myself as a conduit for experience, understanding, and knowledge to flow from my mind and heart onto the paper. Only then did I begin to write.
Who was this woman who had such a profound effect on me? Was she a Guru robed in white or saffron, sitting in quiet contemplation in a Himalayan ashram? Was she one of those many Hindus who had left the world of social and familial responsibilities to focus on the ancient philosophies? No. Sunithi Narayan lived in an apartment with her husband of nearly fifty years, surrounded by friends and family, fully active in the community of Chennai, also known as Madras.
She was unprepossessing in appearance, dressed in the traditional bright colours of Tamil silks and cottons, and wearing jewellery that identified her as a wife in a Brahman household. Yet, in the true meaning of the word, she was also a guru to many. “Guru” clearly translates as “teacher,” and I learned more from Sunithi in the thirteen years of our friendship than from any other single human being. She offered me the gift of a deeper understanding of Hinduism.
I met Sunithi in 1988 when I was a lecturer on my first Smithsonian tour of India. She was the guide for the Indian state of Tamil Nadu. I was immediately captivated by her encyclopedic knowledge of and insights into Indian history, mythology, culture, and art, as well as her remarkable talent for conveying them through story and gesture. I have never met anyone like her. With a dancer’s movements and a poet’s expressiveness, she lived and breathed India, bringing its magnificent past to life. Through her, legends carved in ancient stone cry out with passion and drama, bronze Gods move to celestial rhythms, and Goddesses in temple murals battle victoriously against evil.
For forty-nine years, Sunithi guided tours of Indians and foreigners throughout the south. She was the first professional female guide in India, confronting centuries of social tradition that forbade women from higher classes from working in the public sphere. Somehow, she managed to balance raising and caring for a family with a job that regularly took her from home for weeks at a time. Her unusual acumen made her the guide of choice for foreign museum and university groups. Certainly, working with these people from other cultures opened her mind, but it only strengthened the depth of her faith. For Sunithi, Hindu myths were alive and coexistent with contemporary India. She was a modern woman steeped in the traditions of her people.
I made sure that Sunithi was the guide for many subsequent tours of India, and I hired her privately to help me collect material for three of my books. I had always worked alone in the field previously, but Sunithi’s insights and perceptions were an invaluable aid in helping me to break through many of my own barriers of miscomprehension. Through her heart and mind, she helped me to feel the pulse of India.
In 1996, I took her with me when I went to spend three days at the sacred tree temple in Ochira, Kerala. Although Ochira is known locally as a place where many healing miracles take place, few outside the region were aware of it, and this was Sunithi’s first visit. I had discovered it by accident several years earlier. We spent our days meditating beneath the trees and observing the many healing rituals that take place there. It was a deeply humbling experience.
On the last day, one of the pilgrims who had noticed us together asked Sunithi if I was her son. I am loomingly tall in South India, pale, and American in my demeanour; Sunithi was short, darker-skinned, and always traditionally dressed. We were both so touched by this innocent question that I began to call her Amma (‘Mother’), and thereafter she always addressed me as “Son.”
On May 5th, 2001, my wife Helene and I spent her fiftieth birthday in Amsterdam. My cousin Annie and I had risen early while Helene slept to collect fifty vases of tulips with which we quietly decorated the outer room of our B&B suite. Just before I ushered the birthday girl in for her surprise, I checked my emails for any last-minute messages. I was shocked to learn that my beloved Amma had just died of an unexpected heart attack that morning in Chennai. That loss was one of the saddest moments of my life. Although I continue to learn about South Asian history, arts, customs, and rituals through the tutelage of innumerable kind Indian individuals, I will never find another Sunithi.
I was fortunate to have two mothers in my life that I loved dearly, each living a world apart. Together, they created an unusual product: someone who is a blend of both cultures and whose life is dedicated to understanding the two. Amma never knew that she was a focus of my daily meditations. The concept sprang to mind as I began to write my book. She taught me so much that her mental image was a wellspring for my unconscious to bring forth new thoughts and concepts. I felt connected to her even twelve thousand miles away, and through her to all that is sacred to the Hindus.
My travels in India over several decades are chronicled in my new memoir, , released in India in January 2025, and available for preorder in the United Kingdom, where it will be published on June 2, and in the United States, where it will be published on August 26.
