A life in the day

Meditation, chanting and ancient scripture define the routine of Krishna devotees

Devotees of Krishna start their day so outrageously early, it's still the middle of the night before. When London’s clubbers are emptying out onto the streets, the members of the Krishna temple down in Soho are already up. Some roll out of bed at 2.30am and some at 3.00. Minutes later they’ve had a warm shower finished with an icy splash to wake them up.

The women wear traditional sarees – nine yards of riotous colour, and the men tie their saffron or white cotton cloth into dhotis and finish the look off with a long shirt, or kurta. In keeping with many religions, the Krishna wardrobe is frozen in history. Round about the Middle Ages to be precise.

They then make up a thin paste of yellow clay in their left hand and apply a "U" shape on the forehead with their right hand, terminated with a leaf-shape on the nose. This, together with the three strands of neck beads made of sacred tulasi wood is the marking of a Vaishnava, one who is dedicating their life to Vishnu or Krishna.

The devotees then gather before the shrine bearing the beautiful white marble forms of Krishna and Radha on the first floor of the London temple. So energetic and musically contagious is the kirtan, or rhythmic chanting and dancing with drums and cymbals, that returning revellers have been known to knock on the door downstairs trying to get in, convinced there’s a party going on.

At 5.00 begins a 90-minute period of cross-legged and determined meditation. Vaishnavas meditate not on the sound of one hand clapping (they prefer two hands) or on silence, or the breath, but on the sound of the maha-mantra.

The Sanskrit words indicating the Infinite are said to be infused with spiritual power and when recited awaken the inner self to higher realisation and pleasure. Maha means ‘great’ and mantra is a compound of the word mana (mind) and trayate (to free). So the Hare Krishna, Hare Rama chant is that sound which provides great freedom for the mind. Both Krishna and Hare are names for God as is Rama which means "the Source of all Pleasure". At only 32 syllables it is quite short by mantra standards, but powerful with it.

The proof of the pudding, however, is in the chanting. Try it at home – around 5.00 on a Sunday morning of course – and see the results for yourself:

Hare Krishna Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama
Rama Rama Hare Hare

After another exuberant kirtan, by this time in a packed temple room, there comes scripture study (svadhyaya). The books the Krishna devotees read and discuss at this time are 3,000 years older than the Dead Sea Scrolls. Written in Sanskrit, the ancient mother-tongue, they describe a broad and universalistic philosophy, science, history, culture and art, and have been studied like this every morning in India for thousands of years by millions of people.

In the morning the Srimad Bhagavatam – one of the Puranas, or histories, is discussed, and in the evening, the Bhagavad-gita. At 18,000 and 700 verses respectively, there’s enough philosophy there to keep anyone happy.

At 8.30 it's time for something the Krishna people do rather well: vegetarian food. At least customers at the Govinda’s Pure Vegetarian Restaurant downstairs think so. The place is always busy and has been for the past 25 years. Even without an alcohol licence they serve hundreds of meals to happy customers every day. Breakfast at the Krishna temple is quite an event, and well worth getting up early for. The food – no meat or meat products, fish, or eggs – is always "offered to Krishna" or blessed before being given to customers or guests. That ritual turns it into Prasad or "grace". Devotees say that it enhances the taste and contributes to the spiritual experience.

And by then the working day has begun. So how does a Krishna devotee fill eight hours in the day? Well, there’s as many ways as there are people. For a small self-supporting monastic community there’s always so much to do that’s purely practical. Anyone who’s watched The Monastery on television will know that monks (or nuns) can’t walk around praying and contemplating all day. Who is going to peel the potatoes or clean the floor? So it is at the Krishna temple. Except with one important difference. The Krishna temple is completely open to the public at all times and so all visitors must be offered the best hospitality. There’s tuition, counselling, guidance and opportunities to join in worship, prayer and ritual. All these activities are shared out amongst the devotees there.

Every day for the past eight years, around 300 homeless people have been served a hot, nutritious meal in one of four or five locations throughout London. The Krishna devotees work together with the Salvation Army and other groups and agencies to provide this service, and many former homeless people have sworn their undying support to the Krishnas for helping them when they were down.

And then, of course, there is the street chanting party. Every day, as regular as Big Ben, those "orange bed sheets" with their shaven heads (except for a single lock at the back for the men) can be seen and heard jingling, singing and pounding their musical way down Oxford Street. Books are distributed and invitation flyers passed out and as a result of this outreach an endless stream of visitors come to the temple. One West End advertising agency said: “We can’t think of a more mind-grabbing ad campaign than men with no hair wearing orange sheets singing in the streets – no wonder people come and join you.”

Throughout the Vaishnava year, there are many colourful festivals involving celebrations and ceremonies, flowers, incense, theatre, and grand processions. The largest is "The Festival of the Chariots" in the summer, when three red, yellow and black 50-foot high chariots with huge mirrored wheels are pulled from Hyde Park to Trafalgar Square. 10,000 people attend this one and everyone gets at least one full plate of hot Krishna food.

The aim of this entire endeavour is to fulfil a prophecy made 500 years ago in India; that the chanting of the holy names of Krishna would one day be heard around the world. With devotees of Krishna in every major city of the world passing on their peaceful message, it’s easy to see this becoming a reality.

Raised a Methodist in a small seaside village down in deepest Cornwall, Kripamoya Das met the founder of the Hare Krishna movement and became his student in 1975. He is a qualified Hindu priest.
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You may call me a monster – but I'm glad that girl's lemonade stall got shut down

What's wrong with hard-working public servants enforcing perfectly sensible regulations?

Who could fail to be moved by the widely shared tears of a five year old whose innocent lemonade stall was brutally shut down by evil bureaucrats? What sort of monster would not have their heartstrings tugged by the plaintive “I've done a bad thing” from a girl whose father tells us she “just wanted to put a smile on people's faces”?

Well me, actually.

There are half a million cases of food poisoning each year in the UK, and one of the reasons we have stringent controls on who can sell food and drink, especially in unsealed containers, is to try to cut those figures down. And street stalls in general are regulated because we have a system of taxation, rights and responsibilities in this country which underpins our functioning society. Regulation is a social and economic good.

It’s also pretty unfair to criticise the hard-working public servants who acted in this case for doing the job they are no doubt underpaid to do. For the council to say “we expect our enforcement officers to show common sense” as they cancelled the fine is all very well, but I’m willing to bet they are given precious little leeway in their training when it comes to who gets fined and who doesn’t. If the council is handing out apologies, it likely should be issuing one to its officers as well.

“But these are decent folk being persecuted by a nanny state,” I hear you cry. And I stand impervious, I’m afraid. Because I’ve heard that line a lot recently and it’s beginning to grate.

It’s the same argument used against speed cameras and parking fines. How often have you heard those caught out proclaim themselves as “law-abiding citizens” and bemoan the infringement of their freedom? I have news for you: if you break the speed limit, or park illegally, or indeed break health and safety or trading regulations, you are not a law-abiding citizen. You’re actually the one who’s in the wrong.

And rarely is ignorance an excuse. Speed limits and parking regulations are posted clearly. In the case of the now famous lemonade stand, the father in question is even quoted as saying “I thought that they would just tell us to pack up and go home.” So he knew he was breaking the rules. He just didn’t think the consequences should apply to him.

A culture of entitlement, and a belief that rules are for other people but not us, is a disease gripping middle Britain. It is demonstrated in many different ways, from the driver telling the cyclist that she has no right to be on the road because she doesn’t pay road tax (I know), to the father holding up his daughter’s tears to get out of a fine.

I know, I’m a monster. But hooray for the enforcers, I say.

Duncan Hothersall is the editor of Labour Hame