Why Kyra Kitts never came back to
From knkitts (Kyra Kitts) on:
Sathya Sai Baba Discussion Club, message 3971 and 3972:
Date: 01/11/02 1:20 a.m.
I was at Puttaparthi in February 1991 for a total of five days. I came there in a state of utter trust and anticipation, expecting fully to see the focus of my devotion in his effulgent padmatic splendor. Not. My ecstacy dissipated within minutes of my first glimpse of the alleged Holy One.
He must have been in a really foul mood that first day we were there. He looked like a glaring little frog with a bulging solar plexus, scowling at everyone as he floated about during afternoon darshan. I kept rationalizing that he was doing his best Siva impersonation in order to purify our collective karmic nastinesses. The rationalization just didn't wash, though.
He glared, he scowled, he frowned. He gave those penetrating little "innerview" glances through his squinty little eyes, and I was a bit numb with disbelief. This was Baba?
The Indian women in the first few rows were reaching out to grab at his robe. He pushed them away with his arm and in a few instances seemed to almost kick the women away with his foot. He was glaring at them too.
The women who were kicked got all the attention on the female side of the darshan area. sb ignored everyone else, pretty much, and hurried to be with the men. It was quite evident that his interests lay with the male darshan crowd. I tried to pass him letters from my center as he hurried by. He glared at me, lucky woman that I was.
There was a gorgeous South American woman at Puttaparthi during the entire time I was there. For some reason she had a first row spot every day. I kept staring at her because of her stunning outer and inner beauty. Her group (possibly Argentinean?) got called for an interview. I watched as she walked up to the porch, and watched again as sb pointed at her, yes, glared, and then pointed back to the darshan area. She walked back to her spot, head downcast and face impassive. I felt for her, and thought it manifestly cruel for her to be cast out of her group's interview, regardless of her karma or whatever teaching was going on. After all, she'd flown halfway around the world to see her guru, and then ppphhht. I still think about her from time to time.
The really weird stuff I saw and sensed happened during my group interview, but that's documented elsewhere.
After I emerged from that interview, shaken and confused, I found myself caught in the headlights of post-interview celebrity-itis. The Indian women were clutching at my hand trying to grab the vibhuti I was still holding. I gave a bunch of it away to one woman and just wanted to get out of there.
Then I went to the ladies' canteen. Celebrity status floowed me there in the forms of an Indian mother and daughter who wanted to know if I could tell them why Baba hadn't given them an interview. They were ardent devotees. The daughter had been slated to take some sort of college qualification exams, and just prior to the exams had a dream in which sb came to her and said "don't take the exams. Come see Me in Puttaparthi instead." The daughter told the mother, and off they went, expecting some sort of miraculous advice. They never got an interview or any attention at all. These women were devastated, and were preparing to leave, hopes dashed. I didn't know what to say to them except "I can't give you an answer. I just don't know." I wanted to tell them what I'd just experienced, but couldn't bring myself to hurt them even more then they'd already been heard through inattention.
On our last day we stayed through afternoon darshan. For some reason the loudspeakers were playing what sounded like Indian stripper music. I'm not kidding. It was utterly incongruous. Baba was bouncing around through darshan, gyrating to the music. It was absurd and surreal.
We left in a taxi. It was a grey cloudy late afternoon. I knew I was never coming back.