Hugging the hugging saint: Amma made others cry but it was different for me

I first heard of Amma only a couple of weeks ago when my friend Trav, a real estate agent in Byron Bay, suggested I fly up to the Sunshine Coast and receive a hug from her.

“Huh? Hug? Amma who dat?”

But it turns out Amma – an Hindu guru known as the hugging saint who has hugged more than 37 million people worldwide, and runs a massive charity from Kerala in India – is a big deal. She’s hugged everyone from Sting to lepers, sucking pus from their contagious wounds. (The lepers, not Sting.)

Legendary Dinosaur Jr guitarist J Mascis wrote a whole album of songs dedicated to Amma and when Louis Theroux made his TV show on Indian gurus, a hug from Amma was the only thing that cut through his credulity. “I almost started crying”, a rather wiped-out looking Theroux said, post-hug.

I had to see her.

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I decided to hug Amma in outer suburban Melbourne, at Sandown Racetrack of all places. Doors opened at 8am and I arranged to stay nearby with a family friend, Ro.

Ro, a retired social worker who describes herself as “skeptical but open-minded” would come to Amma with me, and also get a hug.

In the hall were white women in saris, and Indian families in jeans. There were very burnt out looking hippies, frail elderly people, and a lot of babies and young families. Everyone was dressed modestly, but many, disconcertingly for such a warm day, had taken off their shoes.

We wandered around with our hot drinks. I lost sight of Ro for a bit, before finding her at a table.

“What are you signing up for?” I hissed.

“It’s a meditation course on this afternoon.”

“No! This is how people get hooked!”

Shortly after 10am, Amma arrived on stage and began leading a meditation. Aged in her early 60s, she had a pleasant, open face and was wearing a blindingly white sari which I presumed by the end of the day would be stained with makeup, sweat, tears, skin cells, and oil from people’s faces.

Entry to the event was free and by the time the hugging started, the hall was full of people queueing for tokens, like you get when waiting at a deli.

The hugging itself was a very well organised, slick operation with token numbers being displayed on a large screen indicating when you should start to line up.

Before my hug (four hours after arriving) I stared at the screen watching Amma hug the people with tokens A – H and had been impressed with her facial expression during the hugs (I couldn’t see the expressions of the people being hugged).

Amma has been known to hug for 17 hours straight, without a bathroom break or food.

As our section was called, and Ro and I moved up the queue, I felt an increasingly sense of excitement. Unlike other religious services that can feel a bit formless and impersonal, this was deeply personal – a physical union between the guru and follower in the form of an embrace.

After all this waiting, suddenly we were on stage, only a few hugs away from Amma. Up there it was like being in hive. There were people tightly bunched together – Amma’s workers – who all were engaged in frenetic activity, performing their assigned roles.

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There was a man crouching behind her with a stopwatch - or was it a counter? There were others in prayer. There were two slight women standing up in dark buttoned up shirts and name badges that said “Security.” There were people sorting a container of lollies and a container of rose petals. There were people who wiped your face with a paper towel, to get rid of the oil or make up. There were people who removed and held your glasses as you hugged Amma. There were people filming. There were two people (young, western, in their 20s) at her feet.

There were young women who, when you were moving gradually towards Amma whispered to you, “What language did your mother speak to you in?” and the strangeness of the question and the use of past tense (my mother is still alive) was enough to make me pause for a beat before answering, in english “English”.

Then it was my turn. I got off my chair and went on my knees towards Amma.

The energy of the people around Amma, the hours-long wait, the journey to this faraway (for me) harness racing track, the swirling, hypnotic chanting in Sanskrit from a live band on the hall floor, all of it coalesced into a sort of overwhelming field of energy.

It was time. Amma put her arms around me and clasped me to her right side.

I put my arms out as instructed and gripped the ballast that was either side of her.

Ow … it was hot!

The thing was covered in fabric and there was some sort of heat pad or mini electric blanket on. The heat on the ballast was up too high, meaning I couldn’t grip it without burning myself. As I went in for the hug, Amma, disconcertingly, was carrying on a lively conversation (presumably in her native language Malayalam) to a woman seated to her right.

She was heavily scented with a rose talcum powder and pressed my face fully into her bosom, obstructing my breathing. I felt slightly panicked at the lack of oxygen, but was reluctant to adjust my head. Amma and the swami kept chatting.

“Oh really? Is it that important? Can’t it wait?” I thought.

Amma laughed at something the friend said and started stroking my back. (I later found out that sometimes while Amma is hugging she also answers questions from devotees that are relayed to her by helpers, which is likely what was going on during my hug.)

I used the change in stroking tempo to adjust my face, giving me a better chance at breathing. Amma then lifted my head up and stopped talking to her friend, looking intensely into my face.

“What language?” asked an assistant.

“English.”

Amma switched me to her other shoulder (very similar to how you settle a baby) and she whispered something in my ear. Twice. I couldn’t make it out but it sounded like “Barb man bar brr.”

Then it was over and I was handed a lolly and a rose petal and directed to some chairs near Amma to let the experience settle.

As we left the hall Ro and I compared hugs.

We wondered if the reason we “felt nothing” during and after the hug was because while Amma had no relationship with us, and we had no relationship with her.

“I’m sure it would be different if you were a devotee,” said Ro.

She parked at the station, and I said goodbye, leaning over for a hug. Ro has known me all my life, she’s one of my mother’s best friends, and an Amma to me of sorts.

The hug goodbye – although slightly awkward because Ro had her seatbelt on, and the gearstick was in the way – felt good.

• Brigid Delaney is a Guardian Australia columnist