Krishna Cares!

Thanks to a delay on the F train, we are running late. By the time we arrive at Central Park, the crowds are swelling -- we started to see people wearing AIDS Walk NY t-shirts even on the train -- and I worry that we won't be able t0 find the rest of our team. My apprehension is unnecessary: our teammates are already wearing their bright orange Krishna Cares t-shirts, and are pretty hard to miss even in this crowd. With only a few minutes before the walk is to begin, Krsangi and I quickly transform into orange people as well.

We start to walk, except this walking is more like allowing yourself to be moved along in a tidal wave of bodies . The experience feels like a cross between a Ratha Yatra and Disney World the day a new ride opens. But soon the walkers are giving each other space, and everyone is going at whatever pace they feel comfortable with.

I feel a buzz seeing my devotee friends walking alongside (and in front of and behind) me -- unified in purpose and garb, the black letters against the orange fabric unabashedly spelling out "Krishna Cares" and "Hare Krishna - chant and be happy." The buzz blossoms into a thrill when AIDS Walk volunteers start to cheer us on by shouting out our team name and flashing us the "raise the roof" mudra. "Krishna cares!" they shout, and suddenly its not just our team-name; its a declaration that the Supreme Lord really does care for all of His children.

We walk-- some chanting on beads, others engaged in light conversations. At the head of our party, Ari happily bounces and bobs about while carrying a beautiful "Krishna Cares" sign. He looks like he will hardly break a sweat during the 6 mile walk, and I appreciate (and envy) his enthusiasm.

I originally thought it'd be nice for us to just walk like everyone else and not "demand" special attention by doing kirtan. But after walking like this for some time, I begin to grow tired of just shuffling along, and experience a need to chant the Holy Names. Its not an artificial, calculated, ploy; it is a real desire to chant and I start to feel it from the pit of my stomach. Apparently, others do too, and so we quickly devise a plan. Since none of us thought to bring instruments, our only musical accompaniment is the clapping of our hands. We try chanting a basic melody in unison. Our voices are loud but unsure, slightly off-key but brimming with sincerity.

We chant a few collective refrains and then fade out, resigned that there isn't much we can do without mrdangas and kartals. But then Geeta suggests a different tune. It is a well-known melody, one that the late Bhakti Tirtha Swami loved to use. In fact, as we spread the word through our team we refer to it that way: "Hey, lets try doing the Bhakti Tirtha Swami tune." I am still doubtful, and tell Geeta as much; she is undaunted, though, and -- surprising us all -- agrees to lead (with a little help from Krsangi and Nisha).

"Hare!" Hare...
"Krishna!" Krishna...

The energy is building; I shake off my doubts and start to smile. Our voices are stronger, and the walkers around us react positively-- some giggle, some cheer, some offer us a thumbs-up gesture. Now I am grinning, ear to ear, running in front of the group to walk backwards and snap photos. Ari is leaping in the air, the sign in his hand not weighing him down in the least. Pradyumna is chanting like an army drill sergeant, dovetailing his frat-house-honed energy in the service of the Holy Name. Nancy claps along, her small gold crucifix resting against the picture of flute-playing Krishna on her blazing orange t-shirt.

At a traffic light now; Geeta is in full force and I am positively giddy. A group of teenage walkers -- two Hispanic guys, a lanky Black girl, a sun-burnt blond -- seem drawn to the chanting, repeating the words as best they hear them. Pradyumna and I help them to listen and follow along, and after a few refrains, I ask the blond girl to lead. She is happy to oblige while her friends cheer her on as if she were on stage at a karaoke bar. Later, another teenage girl sends us a smile (her braces reflecting the sun's rays) and asks me to explain the significance of the mantra while she shoots some video on her camera phone. I tell her that it is a prayer to God, the all-attractive Lord of us all, to please engage us in His service. She likes the answer, and after a thoughtful pause she asks "So, you're helping people become spiritually empowered?" Haribol!

The streets are all blurring into one, the skyscrapers we pass indistinguishable from one another. I am vaguely aware of a soreness in my calves and a callous on the sole of my foot. Still, the Holy Name and the devotees walking along keep me going and I get my second (third?) wind. We are marching along the West side, when temptation strikes: an ice cream vendor is handing out freebies. Our kirtan troop collapses under the weight of the pressure, but soon enough we recover -- many of our soldiers now with a cup of sherbert in hand.

We switch up the tune again and keep chanting. Seeing the energy level dropping a bit, I turn my empty water bottle into a make-believe microphone and invite different devotees to sing into the mic. It is a silly gag, but seems to work in lifting morale. Ari leaps. Pandit twirls. Nicole and her mom are beaming.

"Krishna cares!" volunteers with bullhorns call out approvingly. The walkers, volunteers, and even the passing cars are all happy to see us and appreciate our enthusiasm. For them, we are ambassadors of spirituality and good energy. I think of what the girl with the camera phone said -- helping people become spiritually empowered -- and feel tinges of guilt for having doubted the potency of the Holy Name.

We snake our way back into Central Park and find ourselves before an archway made of balloons. This is it. To go under it is to complete the walk, to succeed in our mission of the day. We hesitate for a bit, and I try to delay the inevitable, try to convince my teammates to stay and do more kirtan at the threshold. I am voted down. And so, with chants on our lips and arms triumphantly raised, we cross over. We complete the walk.

It is only when walking back to the subway station, that I allow myself to feel exhausted.

.vbd.