Glass Ceiling

I searched for this man, a practitioner and teacher of pure Indian traditional yoga for 15 years, to suss out the incredible attraction, despite his being at the end of the day just another pious, robe-wearing yoga teacher. It’s too simplistic an assessment since he is also a one-man industry complete with his own ayurvedic pharmacy and 150 ayurvedic doctors devoted to the Ramdev cause. Then there are the books, videos and daily yoga lessons on TV, all designed, Ramdev says, to bring yoga to the masses.

But the money does flow in—the official line is that it all goes to his charitable trust called Patanjali Yog Peeth and that Ramdev himself has no earthly possessions. The disciples seem to believe it, as one woman said on the first day of the camp, ‘‘He doesn’t care about money. All of India can watch him on TV for free and become cured.’’

If there’s nothing more to this than philanthropy, Ramdev is an unlikely celebrity. Yet a coveted position like his always has a way of hitching onto the stardom of others, and there is no shortage of famous followers who’d like to get him on the bandwagon: Sanjay Dutt showed up on the first day of the camp wanting to soak up Ramdev’s secrets like everyone else, and Bollywood sex symbol Mallika Sherawat presented him with a marigold garland on the camp’s stage. Hema Malini also gave her testimony that Ramdev’s breathing exercises are the reason she looks so good. ‘‘I don’t even have to use creams on my skin because of what I have learnt from him,’’ she said.

In short, despite the inevitable detractors—CPM leader Brinda Karat alleged last month that Ramdev’s ayurvedic medicines contain ingredients derived from animals—none of the VIPs gave a damn about the dark specks on the face of their beloved teacher this past week.

It’s surprising then that no one of consequence ultimately led me to Ramdev, further reinforcing the image that neither he nor his entourage have willingly created the hype. Instead it was a faceless follower named Baldev M Anand, himself a yoga teacher whom I met on the first day of the camp. ‘‘If God wants you to meet Ramdev, you will,’’ he said confidently.

Sitting next to the guru a few hours later in the home of Vashu Bhagnani (the movie producer insisted he stay in his unoccupied two-floor flat rather than at the gymkhana), one can tell Ramdev appreciates the irony. Surrounded by lavish accommodation from Mumbai’s elite, he said softly, ‘‘This is them, not me.’’ His infectious smile fought its way through a daunting beard, and I shockingly found myself beginning to understand more extreme reactions to his presence like kissing his feet.

That moment of personal attention is when Ramdev’s notoriety may cease to be about yoga, even for those who have serious physical ailments, and begin to be about pure charisma—the moment when the messenger is more cathartic than the message.

That was evident in Bhagnani’s home as strangers filled the hall, mostly young and healthy, waiting to walk upstairs just for a look at Swamiji. Glassy-eyed women and men patiently awaited their turn, and Ramdev graciously received them. Bhagnani’s wife presented her niece and nephew as ‘‘his biggest fans’’, since now they’d rather meet Ramdev than Shah Rukh Khan.

‘‘It’s just the way he talks,’’ said Sangeeta Pittie, wife of KK Pittie who heads the Pittie Group. ‘‘It’s soft, sweet and easy. It’s uncomplicated. Common people from India can understand him.’’ Dr Rajshree Shailesh Kute hosted Ramdev for his yoga camp in Nashik in January, just as the controversy over his medicines was boiling over. ‘‘For the first four days the media was all over him,’’ she said at Bhagnani’s home. ‘‘But he was absolutely in control. He never let it affect him, because he’ll truly never make a fool of the people.’’

One of the ayurvedic doctors would not tell me his name on that Saturday, instead making a motion with his hands indicating that there is a ‘‘top to bottom’’ when it comes to the Ramdev line of communication. He just couldn’t speak for the guru, he said. So the mysteriousness persisted, and hard questions remained unanswered.

But Ramdev, in the few short minutes I could sit with him, readily admitted the breathing exercises can be learnt from anyone who knows how to do them. Asked if the breathing exercises could cure even a broken heart, he said pragmatically, ‘‘Yes, just do them two hours a day. You’ll see results in a week.’’ And there was that captivating smile again.

It reminded me of what Anand, that disciple who led me to him in the first place, said most matter-of-factly when he tried to explain Swami Ramdev in terms of something that can’t be proved: ‘‘While in deep meditation this morning, I saw Swamiji’s aura. This man was a great, great saint in his previous life.’’