The Spirit of Makara Sankranti

Something else I have been contemplating from the satsang is what Gurumayi said about Makara Sankranti and the spirit of this holiday in India. Gurumayi spoke about how on this day, people eat tilgud, sweets made of sesame seeds and jaggery; they fly kites, they play and celebrate and delight in the auspiciousness of the day.

I loved hearing Gurumayi’s description of Makara Sankranti. Glimmers of memory immediately flashed in my mind. The sesame-seed brittle my mom would make, how it stuck to my teeth even as I hungrily reached for more. Children standing on the rooftops of high-rises in Mumbai, shouting with glee as they flew the kites they had made, an extraordinary array of size, shape, and color. Most of all, Gurumayi’s words evoked for me the sense of newness and possibility that I so associate with Makara Sankranti—that ebullient light, the light of the sun. That unencumbered joy, like a stream of golden stars whizzing up to the heavens.

On Makara Sankranti, the scales of this universe seem to tip toward goodness and sweetness because we’ve nudged them that way. People express their love and gratitude for one another. Siddha Yogis come together out of our love for the Guru; we bask in the light of God that the Guru has awakened us to. The veil between heaven and earth feels thinner, more transparent, on this day. The connection between these realms—if they were even so distinct to begin with—feels more fluid.

The image of a young Lord Krishna as Giridhar comes up for me. Krishna protected his whole village from the stormy wrath of Lord Indra, lifting a massive mountain on his finger and holding it up as everyone gathered around him beneath it. Hope is palpable—righteousness seems more achievable—when we are all together like this, ensconced in the protection of God and the Guru.

Each holiday that we celebrate on the Siddha Yoga path has profound and specific meaning. Each holiday has a distinct feeling, bhava, and set of associations. This is what I understood Gurumayi to be teaching when she spoke about Makara Sankranti.

More broadly, what I gathered from Gurumayi’s words is that we always want to be aware of where we are, what we are doing, and why we are doing it. The poet-saints of India would compose entire bhajans and abhangas to express the unique glory of any one day spent in the company of their Guru or chosen deity. I have many memories, for example, of Gurumayi asking senior Siddha Yoga musicians like Shambhavi Christian, Viju Kulkarni, and Lakshmi Wells to sing the abhanga Aji Soniyatsa Dinu during darshan and satsang. In this abhanga, the poet-saint Jnaneshvar Maharaj says: “Aji soniyatsa dinu! This day is a golden day!”

Shambhavi, Viju, and Lakshmi are musicians of prodigious skill and accomplishment. They have been offering seva for decades on end, singing in satsangs, darshans, and on Siddha Yoga recordings. Their voices have by now become familiar and beloved to Siddha Yogis the world over. So when any one of them sings an abhanga like Aji Soniyatsa Dinu—whether as a solo or with the rest of the Siddha Yoga music ensemble—it is a sublime treat to hear. You can feel it in their song: the goldenness of the day.

I think we should make a habit of asking ourselves: “What is the energy of this day? What makes this day golden?” We should always strive to equip ourselves with this knowledge, and to be accordingly intentional in how we speak and act.

Wouldn’t you agree? Don’t you think our existence should stand for something special, something meaningful? Shouldn’t we live deliberately?