It was a beautiful summer day in late July some years ago. My visit to the United States of America would of course be incomplete without spending a few days with my dear friend Roopa Sharma, a long term resident of the lovely and historic city of Chicago. Her home is a must-visit for me whenever I am in her country, and it’s a given that I would have a delightful stay with her. Besides her excellent culinary skills and her hospitality, she is a proud resident of Chicago, and loves to take around visitors from other places to the landmark destinations around her gorgeous city.
On previous visits, we had already taken the culinary tour, as well as the Blues Festival at the Millennium Park and the unforgettable boat ride on Lake Michigan, and much more. This time around, we headed straight from her home to the Art Institute of Chicago, the iconic museum that is home to many masterpieces of art, and which has also, over the decades, has seen several landmark events take place.
The imposing building that houses the museum has two crouching lions guarding the steps to the entrance. This, of course, is a well known view, but even so, to see it “live” was to be immediately filled with awe. This feeling of wonder remained with me throughout our day long visit, with good reason.
After my friend bought the entrance tickets, the receptionist, a kindly looking lady, looked at the churidar kurta I was wearing that day, and asked, “Are you from India?”
“Yes,” I replied. “She’s from here though,” I added, nodding towards Roopa. My friend had been here several times before of course, but as she put it, she was always excited to be here, alone or with friends.
“Ah,” said the lady at the desk. “You’ve been to Fullerton Hall then?’ she asked, addressing Roopa.
“Many times,” my friend assured her. “It’s a pilgrimage for me.”
The receptionist looked at me and said, “You’ll be interested …that’s where Swami Vivekananda delivered his Parliament of Religions speech.”
I had been turning away to go, but I quickly turned back. “What, you mean, here?” I asked. “The spot is open to visitors?”
“Indeed it is,” she assured me. “Have a great visit,” she added as we left.
Roopa and I looked at each other. She had of course visited this place many times before, but as she looked at me, she realized immediately where I wished to go first. Yes, of course, to that very place where, more than a century ago, Swamiji himself had delivered his powerful speech at the historic Parliament of Religions before a crowd of more than seven thousand people.
It was still early, and the museum had just opened its doors for the day. We looked at our guide maps, and followed the well marked paths towards the Fullerton Hall . I could barely believe that I would soon be at the very place that I had heard and read about so often throughout many decades of my life.
Indeed, Swamiji’s teachings had been very much a part of my life, from my childhood to the present time. Nothing unusual about this at all, for his teachings, his works, his life, are what we read and discuss as part of our spiritual knowledge. As in so many Hindu homes, Swamiji’s name has often been mentioned, his works quoted and heads bowed before his teachings in mine, too.
Even as I grew up, Swamiji’s teachings resonated with me because of their inclusiveness and humanity. In today’s world, to my mind there is no space for exclusion and othering, whether on the basis of creed, caste, ethnicity or indeed anything else. Many of us practicing Hindus find it difficult to relate the beauties and philosophies of our religion to the lived realities in our daily lives. Swamiji’s teachings made the practice of religion, beyond ritualistic prayers, a reality for many of us. His emphasis on the fundamental unity of all religions was in many ways ahead of its time, and is especially relevant in today’s world. His emphasis on action, and on service to others, gave a sense of direction to us. Karma wihout attachment to the fruits of action is a work in progress for most of us, yet every bit of progress is a victory . Bhakti and Gyan, devotion and knowledge are also part of his teachings, which are understandable as well as doable, however incremental the steps.
Throughout my childhood, visits to the Ramkrishna Mission institutes in the cities where my father was posted were a given, especially during the celebrations around Durga Puja. Additionally, we would listen to the discourses given by the learned individuals at the Missions, and would leave feeling enlightened and uplifted. And of course Swamiji’s Chicago address had always been part of our family discussions.
I had certainly been aware that the Art Institute of Chicago had commemorated the space where Swamiji delivered his powerful and moving oration with respect and reverence. But nothing had prepared me for the actual experience. For me, in spite of the fact that I was on a holiday, the visit suddenly took on the contours of a pilgrimage. I remembered my parents, my mother especially, who would read Swamiji’s teachings frequently. As we moved towards Fullerton Hall, I felt that they, too, were moving along with me, even though they were no longer in this world.
The plaque at Fullerton Hall marking the approximate site of the address was simple, but loaded with meaning.
As we entered the hall, the resonance of the address, “Sisters and Brothers of America” seemed to echo in my years. In 1893, Swamiji was already advocating an end to fanaticism and tolerance at the World Parliament of Religions. We were visiting a country which had experienced the ravages of the 9/11 attack, and yet this plaque with its message was held in reverence. A message that is so deeply felt, and so greatly needed today. And even at that time, it was nothing short of electrifying. True, he spoke on several other occasions at the Parliament of Religions later, but this was what touched the hearts of the assemblage the most.
America, and the world has shown great respect to that landmark address, when a young monk from India first took Hinduism and the teachings of the Vedanta to the West. The portion of the busy and beautiful street in which the Art Institute is situated is named after Swamiji. The risers of the staircase leading up have his historic speech on them, though I did not get to see it personally at the time.
Yes, a holiday had turned, unexpectedly, and beautifully, into a pilgrimage. And the fragrance of that visit, that pilgrimage coloured the rest of my stay in Chicago, and indeed, has stayed with me till this day.
