After our powerful trip to India, we returned to Australia and life fell back into a new kind of rhythm. School continued during the week, but several evenings a week my parents and I would drive to the Sydney ashram for the evening programs. I looked forward to Fridays most of all — that was when the children’s program happened, and I got to play with my new friends.

After the adults finished their program in the main hall, everyone would gather in the large foyer area that transformed into a lively café. People collected plates of food and chai, then spread throughout the corridors, outside deck, and grassy areas to eat and talk. For me, this social time was almost as important as the formal program. It was where friendships were deepened and the community felt truly alive.

My friends and I would quickly eat and then race outside to the grassy area beside the deck to play — we weren’t allowed to make noise while the program was running. These moments of freedom and laughter after the intensity of chanting felt like pure joy.

During this period I got to know many interesting adults — parents of my friends, staff members, cooks, cleaners, and people doing various forms of seva. Sometimes if we arrived early, I would help in the kitchen preparing food for the evening Amrit. Everyone was kind to me. As a ten- or eleven-year-old, it felt special to be included and trusted in this safe, spiritual community.

But the biggest part of my engagement with the ashram came through drumming.

My first real opportunity came during a week-long saptah — a continuous 24-hour chanting event. I was nervous but excited when they let me sit at the drum. The harmonium player sat opposite me, and together we would start the chant slowly. My job as drummer was to gradually build the tempo over the hour until the whole hall was clapping, singing at full voice, and bursting with devotional energy. It was a pure bhakti experience — devotion through love and joy.

I started with the quieter, less popular time slots so I wouldn’t feel too much pressure if I made mistakes. The encouragement I received from the adults meant everything to me. Over time I was given more responsibility, eventually drumming for the main Friday night programs.

I still remember the ritual clearly. Before each program, the musicians and coordinators would sit together in a circle on the floor of the hall. The coordinator would pass around the schedule, and we would go through every detail. Ten minutes before starting, we would take our positions. I sat front and centre on the men’s side, opposite the harmonium player (usually a woman). The program would often begin with the beautiful Jyota Se Jyota chant, followed by longer bhajans, a meditation period, and announcements.

Drumming became my main form of seva — my way of giving back to the Guru and the community. As a twelve- or thirteen-year-old sitting with the adult musicians, I felt genuinely valued. It gave me a real sense of belonging and purpose.

Of course, none of this would have been possible without my parents’ support. At the time I believed both of them were fully aligned and happy with Siddha Yoga. It was only many years later that I discovered things had been difficult between them right from the start.

Disclaimer

This is a personal memoir based on my own direct experiences and memories as a child and young person in Siddha Yoga. All opinions expressed are entirely my own.

This blog is written for reflective and autobiographical purposes and does not claim to represent the full teachings or current practices of Siddha Yoga or the SYDA Foundation.

Names and details have been kept as I remember them.