243 Vivekanandapuram

 (Part 1: To Kanyakumari) 

(ही पोस्ट मराठीत इथं वाचता  येईल.) 

Kanyakumari railway station is, in its own way, a charming little station.

Yet this time, when I arrived, my first glimpse of it felt oddly depressing. Dust lay everywhere. Only when I stepped outside did I realize that repair work was going on. It struck me how easily our expect joy from smallest things, and how quickly they could get dashed. I didn’t even bother to take a photograph of the station. A day later, while walking towards the Gandhi Mandapam, I didn’t cast a glance in its direction.

The photo I share here is an old one—clicked back in 2011. 

Outside, rickshaws stood waiting in line. The distance from the station to Vivekanandapuram is barely a kilometre and a half—walkable if you’re travelling light. With luggage, though, there’s no alternative. The driver quoted a hundred rupees, a standard rate by the look of it, usually shared by a few passengers. Without argument, I hopped in, and soon enough, I was at Vivekanandapuram.

Inside Vivekanandapuram

Spread across nearly a hundred acres, Vivekanandapuram is the headquarters of the Vivekananda Rock Memorial and the Vivekananda Kendra. The campus houses a training center  and residential facilities for their workers. There are provisions for nearly a thousand visitors to stay at a time. There is a canteen, a library, a picture exhibition on Swami Vivekananda, a Ganapati temple, a freedom fighters’ memorial, a Ramayana exhibition, and even an environment awareness center. Within the grounds lie the memorial of Late Shri. Eknath Ranade—the Kendra’s founder—with an exhibition on his life. There is also a meditation hall, a school, groves of trees, peacocks roaming freely, and the private beach from where the sunrise is visible.

In the late afternoon, I made my way to the “Vivekananda Picture Exhibition.” It has long been one of my favorite spots. When I first visited in 1983, it was neat, inspiring, and offered me a new perspective. Today, it retains that timeless quality. At the entrance stands a striking full-length portrait of Swami Vivekananda.

The exhibition, which originally displayed around seventy illustrated panels, has now expanded to include panels detailing the Kendra’s work. I did not know the name of the artist, nor could I find it on the internet. I asked about it to a senior Vivekanada Kendra worker. She told me the name of the artist.  The paintings, created by Raghunath Goswami of Kolkata, are vibrant and evocative. My personal favorite remains the depiction of Nachiketa, a story dear to me.

Captions are provided in English, Tamil, and Hindi, covering Indian history, the journey of young Narendranath Dutta into Swami Vivekananda, and his impact on India and the world. For anyone visiting, I would recommend setting aside ample time rather than skimming through it in half an hour, as most tourists do. I wonder whether the younger generation (used to Instagram and twitter) would read these posters. 

A Disappointing View

Later, I went to the campus beach. The shoreline is protected by a wall; only during sunrise do they open a small gate for an hour, when a guard is on duty. From here, the Rock Memorial should appear majestic.

But to my disappointment, land reclamation work was underway. One reclaimed patch now lay directly between the Rock and the beach, blocking the view.

A morning view

An evening view

An Unexpected Encounter

That evening, apart from the guard, there was just one other person on the beach—a young man. After I answered a phone call, I heard him address me: “Didi, are you from Maharashtra?”

He was from Mewar, Rajasthan, on foot for the Char Dham and twelve Jyotirlinga pilgrimage. For a month, he had been staying at Vivekanandapuram.

At first, we exchanged pleasantries. But soon his words drifted—as such conversations often do—towards politics and religion. He spoke of “attacks” on non-Marathis in Maharashtra, the aggression of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS), the mistakes of Uddhav Thackeray in joining hands with Congress party etc. I listened quietly, realizing quickly that he had no interest in dialogue—only in speaking. He was too predictable and hence it was boring to even listen to him. A typical aggression under the name of history, culture, tradition, patriotism etc. 

When he began lamenting that nowadays /in this area girls while visiting temples are “half-dressed" (meaning - wear indecent clothes), my patience was over. “Brother,” I said firmly, “let girls wear what they want. Who are you to decide? And why are you staring at them in temples instead of focusing on God? Don’t be such a  hypocrite in the name of God. Change your ways, man!”

He looked embarrassed, then shifted to criticizing Non Resident Indians (NRIs). They, he said, abandon parents at home while enjoying life abroad. I reminded him gently: “Aren’t you too away from your parents for months on pilgrimage? How different is that?”

He faltered again, then made me laugh outright: “Didi, I promise I will remain unmarried and serve my parents all my life.”

I couldn’t help smiling at the irony. I had travelled thousands of miles seeking solitude, and here, on an almost empty beach, the only tourist I met was him. The world, I thought, is always the same—people good and bad, kind and selfish, naïve and wise. Some use lofty spiritual language; others don’t. That is the only difference.

Suddenly rain swept in. I had no umbrella. He ran. I lingered—soaked, listening to the waves, chatting briefly with the guard, and then walking back slowly, content.

Old Places, New Reflections

Over the next few days, I wandered across the campus. At one place, I was the only visitor at that time. The person in charge was listening to radio. I spend about forty minutes there and that person completely ignored me. I thought you can't train people into passion, it has to come from within. 

At the Ramayana exhibition, with 108 paintings by Bhaskar Das of Chennai, I found the art monotonous, though respectful of the artist’s effort. As I very well know the Ramayana story, I did not spend much time in reading all the text on the panels. On the second floor there are  more images and statues. Next to it is a digital exhibition on “Sustainable Living,” However, I could not understand anything. Only later when another senior karyakarta took me through that exhibition, it became clear to me. This exhibition  building is beautiful. 

What I liked most about this building is it is powered by solar energy and it also harvests rainwater. I guess this building could be a good confluence of religious education and application of science and technology - both aim to improve human life, isn't it! 

I also met a few old acquaintances, exchanged names and memories, and spent quiet mornings by the samadhi of Eknathjee  Ranade.

One morning at sunrise, I sat long after the crowd dispersed. 

The waves roared, The gentle breeze touched time and again. I could see the rock memorial at a distance. No humans around. Birds chirping. An Indian Roller  danced in the air for a long while. Two peacocks strolled by and made their calls.  It felt like as if everything was foe me, I belonged there. Such a blessing.

Traces of the Past

Back then, we had lively debates about what is the relationship of  Vivekananda Kendra with the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS). We had even some innocent colleagues who asked, "What is this RSS you are talking about?" I had some basic knowledge because during a process of forming an organization, we had an introduction to different existing ideaologies in India. It was pretty basic. (Only the other day I met a friend and we laughed at our innocence - of not knowing much about RSS). Today, there is no such debate required—the signs of the Kendra-RSS relationship are everywhere, plain to see.

For me, though, this visit was not about politics or institutions. It was about returning, looking at the memories. The memories were not only about outside, they were about me too. I can see that those strong bonds exist no more. Acknowledging  what has vanished was not difficult. That is the law of life. As we move on, old things disappear. However what remains, is still valuable to me. Though I know that it too will vanish as life goes on. 

The journey to Kanyakumari mattered. But leaving Kanyakumari mattered too. Both were turning points for me. The journey, after all, continues—always.