A Life-Changing Airport Encounter: My Meeting with Swami Krishnananda

Daily writing prompt

Describe a random encounter with a stranger that stuck out positively to you.

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I sat at the terminal at Seychelles International Airport. I had a guitar case at my feet and a music theory book open on my lap. At 19, disciplined practice dominated my world. My karate training had conditioned my body for the past 4 years. Additionally, the classical guitar, the flute, and the readings consumed my evenings. I was unaware that someone would soon occupy the empty seat beside me. This person would reshape my understanding of these pursuits.

Swami Krishnananda was on his way to India from Mauritius. He ran an ‘Ashram’ in Calabash and ran his ‘Service Trust’ from Mauritius. His disciple Jagdish, who would later serve as a minister in the Mauritian government, accompanied him. Swami’s simple saffron robes stood out among the other attire and vacation wear of fellow travelers. He sat beside me with a nod, and his smile was a crescent moon. “You carry music in your hands,” he said, nodding at my calloused fingertips. Startled, I confessed I played classical guitar and flute. His eyes lit. “Ah! Nada yoga is the yoga of sound. Music is breath made visible.”

His words clung to me. I’d spent years compartmentalizing my life: karate for discipline, music for expression, and spirituality as a vague horizon. Yet here was a stranger weaving them into a single tapestry. When he described yoga as “the art of listening to the universe’s rhythm,” I felt a click, like a guitar string snapping into tune.

Our conversation began tentatively but quickly deepened. As I mentioned my martial arts background, his eyes lit up. “The physical discipline you’ve cultivated is the perfect foundation,” he explained. “Eastern practices don’t separate mind from body; they unite them.” He spoke of pranayama breathing techniques. These techniques paralleled what I’d learned for flute playing. He also described meditation practices. These practices can enhance my focus in karate.

What struck me most was how he described these ancient traditions not as exotic practices but as complementary wisdom to what I already knew. “The same mindfulness that guides your bow across strings can guide your awareness inward,” he observed.

Upon the announcement of our respective flights, I experienced a strange reluctance to leave. He recommended several texts before departing, books that would soon transform my shelves and eventually my life.

Decades later, that chance encounter continues to inform how I approach everything I do—finding the spiritual in the physical, the mindful in the musical, and meaning in unexpected connections.’