A curious article

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KIRTAN CALL

 

01/13/04

 

Margaret Bernstein

Plain Dealer Reporter

 

 

Frank Barnett, 48, never sang solo in public until he discovered kirtan.

 

But a week ago, in a mirrored room full of people, he bravely raised his

earnest baritone alone to sing a series of Sanskrit words: "Govinda jaya

jaya. Gopala jaya jaya. Radha ramana hari Govinda jaya jaya."

 

Those in the room joyfully repeated the phrases back to him, not

understanding a word.

 

Comprehension doesn't matter in the least to this group. In fact, the lack

of it is just what enhances the experience of kirtan, a form of chanting

that's caught on in California and New York and is gaining popularity here.

 

Not exactly new, modern-day kirtan is actually borrowed from a ritual that

dates back to ancient India. Participants chant words of praise to Hindu

gods, singing them repeatedly at fast and slow speeds. Now even Sting sings

Sanskrit on a CD recorded by popular kirtan leader Krishna Das, one of a

growing number of performers who are cutting records and performing live to

crowds across the nation.

 

Kirtan is offered by several local yoga studios including Atma Center in

Cleveland Heights where, on a recent Sunday evening, more than 30 people

slogged through an icy rain to take part. They shed their coats and shoes at

the door, and grabbed a space on the floor.

 

Center director Beverly Singh, who goes by the spiritual name of Atmarupa,

settled the crowd with some deep breathing exercises. Then it was kirtan

time: For about 15 minutes, she led a rousing call-and-response singalong in

Sanskrit while playing a simple melody on a harmonium, an accordionlike

instrument. Three other attendees then took turns leading the chanting.

Atma's weekly program is free.

 

Some participants remained prayerful and reserved; others clapped and

enthusiastically kept the beat. Among them was a smiling, swaying Melissa

Clark, a 24-year-old Cleveland State University student from Westlake.

"Sanskrit is so beautiful," she said. "I'm trying to connect with the

divinity. I draw a lot of energy from it."

 

One guy seated on a blanket even brought out a flute to play an ad-lib

accompaniment.

 

The flavor of the evening depends on the participants, said Leah

Santosuosso, 20, a jeans-clad Cleveland State philosophy major. She's been

coming for a month. "It's a different experience each time I come. I've seen

people get up and dance. It could be anything."

 

Attendees say when they are fully engaged in kirtan, they experience an

exhilarating high. The repetitive words create internal vibrations that

stimulate the body's organs and contribute to a transcendent state, some

say. And chanting in a group increases the meditative energy flowing in the

room, said Atma instructor Martha Loughridge, whose spiritual name is

Madhuramurti.

 

Kirtans in Cleveland's east and west suburbs often are led by versatile

musician Steve Brazier, or Sahadeva, who said he became devoted to kirtan

after traveling to Bihar in northwest India last year to learn more about

it. "This is powerful stuff, really. There's no telling what it can do for

you if you're sincere in your approach and you just let it go."

 

And although this Westernized, watered-down version of an ancient Hindu form

of worship has been snickered about, even in Time magazine, Guru Bhandari,

president of the local Federation of Indian Community Associations, has no

complaints. "India is like a grandmother. It's an old civilization. It

belongs to everyone," he said.

 

"I hope more of this happens. If people can heal from it, then why not? Is

it better to sing and heal yourself by going into a state of meditativeness

than to take a Tylenol or some medication? You bet it is."

 

Bhandari is a yoga instructor himself, although he doesn't do any kirtan.

But he believes there's no harm in Americans singing mantras they don't

understand. In fact, the words that are nonsensical to Americans can enhance

the spiritual experience, he said, because they confound the brain's desire

to make sense of things.

 

And at that moment, many kirtan devotees agree, the busy mind takes a break

and they sing from the heart.

 

"You don't really need to know the meaning," said Loughridge. "It's more an

experience just singing, feeling the vibrations. With the whole group it's

more powerful than with one person alone."

 

There's some skepticism floating around about the phenomenon, said Barnett,

a yoga instructor who's noted that even local yoga enthusiasts have shied

away from kirtan. "They're terrified of coming across as Hare Krishnas," he

wrote recently in a research paper on kirtan, completed as part of his yoga

instructor training. "But we can show the world it's not silly cultish

behavior."