How I Became Yogi Bhajan’s Cook

As shared by Siri Ved Kaur, in her book “From Vegetables with Love – Recipes and Tales from a Yogi’s Kitchen”

I had barely turned 18 years old when I attended my first Kundalini Yoga class in January of 1971.  I moved into a yoga ashram called the “Olive Branch” in West Hollywood, California.  A young woman named Hari Arti was the head of the ashram.  Within a few months, I fell in love with and married a fellow yoga student and moved out of the ashram to be with him.  Then, one day Hari Arti called me with a question…

“Sat Nam Ji!  I am calling because they need help over at the Phyllis House (where Yogiji lives).  Could you help?”

As it turned out, his three secretaries all had their other jobs during the day and sometimes they needed someone to help at the house – to cook, answer the phones, answer the door and so on.  She explained, “I’m making a schedule for a different person to be available every day.  How about if you take Tuesdays?  All you have to do is call each Tuesday morning and ask if they need you to come or not, OK?”  Without hesitation, I agreed, even though I hadn’t really met Yogiji.  I wasn’t sure if he even knew who I was.

I called every Tuesday morning, and the woman on the other line always answered saying, “Sat Nam”.

I’d say, “Sat Nam.  Do you need me to help today?”  The reply was usually something like, “Who? What? No, we don’t need anybody today.”

After the third or fourth week, a man with a deep voice answered the phone, “Sat Nam”.

My first yoga teacher lived in the garage of the Phyllis House, so I thought it was probably him.  Not certain, I asked, “Baba Singh?”  And the voice replied, “No, this is your father”.  “My father!?” I said to myself.

By muffled sounds, I could tell he had handed the phone to someone else who asked me, “Who are you and why do you keep calling?”  Evidently, Hari Arti never mentioned to any of Yogiji’s staff that I would be checking in!  So, I explained the whole thing.  After a little inaudible discussion with others, she returned to the phone and said, “OK, why don’t you come this morning at about 9:00?”

Thus, they asked me to come every Tuesday for two to three weeks, and then every day. My duties varied, depending on who was home and what needed to be done.  Each day I cooked something new, learning bit by bit. Yogij i was eating a rice dish (see Yogi Bhajan’s Chile Pepper Pilau in “From Vegetables with Love”) with lots of vegetables in it.  It had many different spices and chilies, all cooked in a strong on onion and ginger broth. Sometimes he would come into the kitchen and make something or show me how to make a dish he wanted.

Sometimes I helped with ironing.  (Although, I scorched some new silk clothes from India, and that secretary never gave me any of her clothes again!)  I also answered the door, answered the phone, took messages, and was available for Yogiji if he needed anything at all.  The phone always seemed to be ringing, either the pay phone in the kitchen or his private line, and he took every single call, even when he was in the bathroom.

One day he called to me and said, “I am going to sleep in my room.  No matter what happens, do not let anybody in the house.  Even if God knocks on the door, don’t let Him in!”  About an hour later, someone knocked on the door.  I peered through the peephole and saw it was Stephanie, a very kind woman who I knew was close to his staff.  I whispered through the door.  “Yogiji is very tired and doesn’t want to be disturbed.  Even if you are God, I can’t let you in!”  Her arms full of bags of supplies, she gracefully convinced me that she would not make a sound.  She tiptoed in, put all the things in the garage, and tiptoed out.  I don’t think Yogiji heard a thing.

A year later, in the spring of 1972, Yogiji moved from the Phyllis House to his new residence at Guru Ram Das Ashram on Preuss Road in Los Angeles. He told me he wanted me to serve there every day, sunrise to sunset. By this time there were a few more people on his staff and his family had come from India:  his wife, Bibi Inderjit Kaur, affectionately known to all as “Bibiji”, their three children and his father Papaji.

I cooked for Yogiji and his household every day, starting from after morning sadhana, until around 6:00 pm. I made his breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks, and served him his meals, teas, herbs and remedies. I also prepared meals for whatever guests, staff, or family members were there. Mine was a simple life of four C’s: chopping, chanting, cooking and cleaning.

One day I heard Yogiji call for me from the living room. I quickly went to him and said, Yes Sir?  He was sitting with a gentleman guest, and they were laughing together and talking about something. He smiled at me and offered me a $20 bill saying, “Here, this is for you”.

Taken by surprise, I stammered, “Wh…What for?”  I thought, how odd that he is offering me money!  I looked up at him like a question mark, “What?  Sir?  I don’t want any pay.”

This gave him a good laugh!  Then his face lit up with a very loving smile as I blushed and turned to leave the room.

Siri Ved Kaur Khalsa was one of the early students of Yogi Bhajan and served as his personal cook in the 1970s. It was in his kitchen that her natural aptitude for preparing healing foods was nurtured and first blossomed. He loved cooking too and would often show her how to create amazing curries, paraanthas, and other foods with his unique yogic flair and ayurvedic wisdom. She learned by his side in the kitchen and at his feet as his student, and then shared her knowledge with others through teaching workshops and cooking classes, cooking columns, and her two cookbooks, Conscious Cookery (1979) and From Vegetables with Love (1989).