Where Will I Celebrate Janmashtmi?
A Journey of Longing and Grace
As Janmashtmi approached, a familiar ache settled deep in my chest.
Where would I celebrate this year? The question lingered with me. Of course, I wanted to go back to Bhakta Bandhav Ashram, NY. Or Houston, under the shelter of senior devotees of Gurudev's sangha. Or Vrindavan—where Krishna's every footstep is sacred, where the dust itself is holy. But none of them were close. None of them were possible.
The worry grew with each passing day. I felt the separation before the night had even arrived. How could I bear celebrating Janmashtmi alone, so far from home? How could I miss the midnight Abhishek, the dramas, the children dressed as little Krishna and Balarama, the sound of conch shells and Hare Krishna kirtan filling the air?
What I was really seeking was the ecstasy I had experienced at the recent Kheturi festival at Bhakta Bandhav Ashram, NY—that overwhelming flood of devotion, the all-night kirtans, the tears that came without warning, the feeling of being completely immersed in the Lord's pastimes. I wanted to feel that again. I needed to feel that again.
First, I accepted that I would celebrate where I was. I tried to make peace with it. I told myself it would be okay—that Krishna is everywhere, that devotion can bloom anywhere. I held onto that hope, clinging to it like a lifeline.
But one day, my mind began to wander. A restless thought crept in. What if I could travel? What if I took a leap of faith and went somewhere—anywhere—where the celebration might feel closer to what my soul craved?
And so, I made a decision. I packed my bags and flew to Thailand, hoping the unfamiliar would bring me closer to the familiar—to Krishna, to His pastimes, to the love I carry for Him.
But what I found was not what I expected.
And yet—what I found was exactly what I needed.
A Different Kind of Celebration
I attended a festival in Thailand, but it felt more like a mela—a loud fair—than the sacred celebration my soul was craving. Side conversations drowned the kirtan, the drama was lost in noise, and the speakers hurt my ears. I felt disappointed—I had traveled so far, only to find chaos.
But Krishna is so merciful. The external noise became so unbearable that I had no choice but to close my eyes and look within. The grandeur I sought outside wasn't there, but something far more precious was waiting inside.
Sometimes, the loudest searches lead to the quietest findings.
A Simple Offering
That night, I returned to my small room and offered a simple Abhishek to our little Bal Gopal—just honey, milk, yogurt, and some flowers and fruits. No crowds. No loudspeakers. Just me, my son, and my Laddoo Gopal.
It felt small. Insignificant. A quiet surrender.
But it was all I had.
And in that quiet moment, I discovered that the celebration was not in the grandeur—it was in the love. The love behind the offering. The longing behind the prayer. The heart that refused to give up, even when everything felt wrong.
When have you offered something small and found it became sacred?
Finding Krishna Through Devotees' Eyes
I didn't have live feeds on my phone that night. But devotees around the world generously shared videos and photos. I scrolled through Facebook Live. And through their kindness, Krishna appeared in my notifications.
I saw the Maha Abhishek at the temple where I had stood last year—the Sri Govind Gaudiya Math, Bangalore. From a distance, I noticed details I had missed in the crowd: the curve of an ornament, the flicker of a flame, the love in a pujari's hands.
Sometimes distance gives us the space to see what we were too overwhelmed to notice before.
Then, I found myself on Facebook Live, watching the celebrations from Houston. What a gift it was!
Malini didi's Braj bhajans—"Janam liyo tere angna mein Lalla," "Jiyo Syam Lala," "NAND ke anand bhayo," "Kanhaiya jhule Palna, mein to hole jhota deejo"—were exactly what my heart craved. Her voice carried the very soul of Vrindavan. And then came the kirtan and drama performance! The energy was palpable even through the screen.
I have loved Braj bhajans since childhood. My grandmother sang thousands of them and taught me their melodies. Even before Janmashtmi arrives, these songs rise in my heart on their own.
And amidst it all, I spotted familiar faces—devotees I had connected with in Houston. Seeing them immersed in the celebration made me feel like I was right there with them.
Devotion has no passport. It crosses borders effortlessly.
Radha Raman's Smile
But the moment that stopped my breath entirely came from Bhakta Bandhav Ashram, NY.
Through photos shared by devotees, I had darshan of Sri Sri Radha Raman Jiu at Bhakta Bandhav Ashram, NY.
The photo captured every detail. Both Radha Rani and Radha Raman were dressed in matching pink and red with beautiful blue square patterns. The contrast was striking—the pink and red blending like a sunset, the blue squares adding a regal touch. The manjaris around Them, in contrasting red and blue, completed the ensemble perfectly for the Seva Kunj mood.
The orchid garlands, mixed with other flowers, were draped around Them so lovingly. Every ornament sparkled—the crowns, the necklaces, the earrings. And Those smiles… just one look and I forgot everything else. Radha Raman's smile makes you feel seen, known, and completely accepted.
A dear devotee had lovingly and sincerely picked these dresses for Them. Without her devotion, the Seva Kunj mood would have been incomplete. And the pujaris—their hands guided by pure love in every fold and ornament.
For us, Janmashtmi is one night. But for the pujaris, every day is Janmashtmi. The celebration never ends for them.
Could there be anything more beautiful than this? Yet—if Their darshan is this breathtaking, how much more beautiful must Their actual dham be?
This darshan filled me with unexpected joy. Being away from the temple, my heart felt separation—but this darshan made me feel like I was on a celestial planet.
One look at His smile, and everything else fades.
And my heart longs for Vrindavan...
The seva I fantasize about most is going to Vrindavan to personally select fabrics and get dresses made for Thakurji. Just imagining it fills me with anticipation—walking through the lanes of Vrindavan, choosing the most beautiful fabrics, watching the skilled artisans create something worthy of His divine form. That is the most beautiful seva I can imagine. May Sri Radha Raman Jiu bless us all with that opportunity someday soon.
A Garden of Devotion
Photos from the Maui devotees' home temple showed devotion in every detail. Flowers everywhere—as backdrop, in front, all around the deities. Night lamps added a magical glow, like a Purnima moonlight effect in Vrindavan.
Thakurjis are so merciful, so cute, so loving. Just looking at Them made my heart melt.
It felt like a global embrace—the devotion of Bangalore, the Braj bhajans of Houston, the sweetness of Bhakta Bandhav Ashram, NY, the garden of Maui.
And I realized: Vrindavan is not just a place on a map. It is a state of being—wherever the heart is saturated with love for Krishna, there Vrindavan blooms.
The Theology of Technology
As I sat with all these photos, videos, and live streams flooding my phone, a profound realization began to dawn on me.
Krishna is not limited by distance.
The same Lord who appeared simultaneously in Mathura and Gokul to fulfill the desires of both Devaki and Yashoda was now extending Himself through pixels and screens, through Facebook Lives and shared photos, to reach a single devotee sitting in a small room in a foreign country.
These weren't just pictures. They were darshan.
These weren't just videos. They were mercy.
This is the theology of technology: Krishna, who is unlimited, uses every possible medium to connect with those who long for Him. The photos from Bhakta Bandhav Ashram, NY, weren't just documentation—they were invitation. The Facebook Live from Houston wasn't just a broadcast—it was presence. The YouTube katha from Queens wasn't just a lecture—it was grace.
And in that moment, I understood: Krishna was saying to me, "I am wherever you look for Me with love. Even through a screen. Even across an ocean. Even in the quiet of your own heart."
The Longing for Gurudev's Temples
My heart kept drifting to Bhakta Bandhav Ashram, NY, and other temples where Gurudev's presence lives on. I never met him physically—but his presence remains through his disciples, who carry the same love, the same teachings, the same longing to bring us closer to Krishna.
It doesn't matter which temple it is. Whether Bhakta Bandhav Ashram, NY, or any of Gurudev's temples—they are all extensions of the same spiritual current. The separation I feel is not from a building, but from that current of love that flows through them all.
The Katha That Pierced My Heart
The highlight of my Janmashtmi night was Swami BB Rasikanand Maharajji's lecture from Queens on YouTube. Late into the night, I sat in my room, listening. The katha itself was so alive, so full of prema.
Maharajji spoke of Krishna's appearance—a Leela entirely transcendental, beyond human logic. Krishna appears in Mathura's jail to Devaki and Vasudeva, and at the exact same moment, takes birth in Gokul to Nanda and Yashoda. He is not bound by time or space. Both mothers had performed penances to have the Lord as their son—and Krishna reciprocated with both at once.
And I thought: If Krishna can be in two places at once, surely He could be with me in Thailand, even as He was worshipped in Bangalore, Houston, and New York.
He is not limited by geography. He is wherever His devotees long for Him. I didn't need a temple to find Him. He was already with me, waiting for me to turn inward.
Then Maharajji spoke of Brahma's bewilderment. When Brahma saw Krishna eating with His left hand, playing with cowherd boys, breaking etiquette, he struggled to reconcile this human-like behavior with the Supreme Lord. How could the Controller of the universe act like a village boy?
And then Maharajji shared another beautiful point—that Krishna is not bound to have one mother. He had many mothers. All the gopis and the cows of Vrindavan wanted to be His mother, and their desire to love and serve Him was so pure that Krishna fulfilled it completely. He became their son, again and again. This shows that Krishna responds to the heart's deepest desire—not to formal etiquette or grandeur.
Then Maharajji spoke of how Krishna allows Himself to be "bound" by His devotees' love. He is Bhakta Vatsala—one conquered by affection. Mother Yashoda bound Him to a grinding mortar. The Supreme Controller, who holds the universe in His mouth, submitted to her love. He didn't break the ropes. He allowed Himself to be bound.
My simple offering—honey, milk, yogurt, flowers, and fruits—was not insignificant. It was an offering of love. Krishna, as Bhakta Vatsala, allows Himself to be bound by such offerings, no matter how small. He doesn't need grandeur. He needs a longing heart.
And then, Maharajji ended the lecture with the most essential teaching—one he received from his guru, Srila BV Narayana Goswami Maharaja. He said that the katha of Krishna can never be complete without Radhika. Just as butter cannot be separated from milk, Krishna's sweetness cannot be separated from Radha's love. She is the one who draws out His madhurya, the one who completes Him. Without Her, Vrindavan is not Vrindavan.
And I understood: my longing for Janmashtmi was not just about Krishna—it was about the entire leela. The love between Radha and Krishna that makes everything sacred. And that love is available to me, even through a screen, even thousands of miles away.
Maharajji's voice message stayed with me: See Radha-Krishna in your heart. See Them in others. Serve all. Love all. If you see Radha-Krishna in your heart, then you can see Them in Their dhaam too.
This was the gift of my Janmashtmi. Separation was not punishment—it was a lesson. It pushed me inward, to find Krishna in my own heart and see Him in the devotion of others. The photos, the videos, the bhajans, the katha—all carried me to the altar. And through all of it, Krishna entered my heart.
This is the essence of devotion. It is not darshan from a distance—it is carrying Them within us, and seeing Them in others. When we serve another devotee, we serve Them. When we love another soul, we love Them.
The Final Reflection
This Janmashtmi taught me that separation is not the opposite of connection—it is its deepest expression. It forced me to slow down, turn inward, and truly see.
I saw Krishna in the devotion of pujaris across oceans, in Radha Raman's smile, in the flowers of Maui, in the familiar faces of Houston.
But most of all, I saw Krishna in a quiet room in a foreign country, in a simple offering of honey, milk, yogurt, flowers, and fruits. It was not grand. It was not elaborate. But it was offered with a longing heart—and that was enough.
Because Krishna is Bhakta Vatsala. He does not wait for perfection. He waits for love.
He is not bound by time, space, or geography. He is wherever devotees long for Him—even in the quiet corner of a small room, even through a screen, even in the spaces between longing and belonging.
And I realized: Vrindavan is not just a place on a map. It is a state of being—wherever the heart is saturated with love for Krishna, there Vrindavan blooms.
So tonight, I carry these teachings:
- Krishna is everywhere. Look for Him with love, and you will find Him.
- Krishna allows Himself to be bound by love. Your small offering is never small.
- The katha is incomplete without Radhika. She is the heart of it all.
And I carry Maharajji's voice: See Radha-Krishna in your heart. See Them in others. Serve all. Love all. If you see Radha-Krishna in your heart, then you can see Them in Their dhaam too.
Distance doesn't diminish love. It sometimes clarifies it. The devotees who shared their photos, their videos, their performances became messengers. They were sharing darshan. They were carrying me to the altar.
The celebration never truly ends. For the pujaris, every day is Janmashtmi. And while I may not have that daily seva, I can carry its spirit every day—through remembrance, through chanting, through longing.
So today, I am grateful. For technology that bridges oceans. For devotees who share their joy. For Maharajji's teachings. For the pujaris who serve with love. For this viraha that led me home.
And I hold this dream—to one day go to Vrindavan, to personally select fabrics and get dresses made for Thakurji. That is the most beautiful seva I can imagine.
Until then, I hold close the photos, the videos, the teachings, the music. And the knowledge that the Lord is present wherever His name is chanted—even in the spaces between longing and belonging. Especially there.
"See Radha-Krishna in your heart. See Them in other devotees' hearts. Serve all. Love all. If you see Radha-Krishna in your heart, then you can see Them in Their dhaam too."
— Swami BB Rasikanand Maharajji, Janmashtmi voice message
Have you ever experienced Krishna appearing to you in an unexpected way—perhaps through a devotee's sharing, a song, a photograph, or in the quiet after the noise? I'd love to hear your stories in the comments.
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