The Real Divine Experience

In 2011, driven by an unshakable desire to make a difference, I took a leap of faith. I had long felt a calling to help homeless children in South India but had little knowledge of how to begin. Without a clear plan, I followed my instinct and traveled to India, dedicating over four months to teaching art at an orphanage in a small village called Vrindavan. I was accompanied by my partner at the time, a world-class classical dancer, and together we left behind successful careers in London—mine as an emerging artist with growing recognition in the art world, and hers as a celebrated performer.

Location : Vrindavan, Uttar Pardes, India

School: Sandapani Muni for Children

Sponsors : ISKON

Project Lead : Jai Sol

Project Manager/ Teacher : Sonia Ochoa

Documentary : Currently Seeking Makers

Photography : Sonia Ochoa, Mattai Viaali

Support : Head Teacher, Rupa

Speacial Support : Ishwar Tailor GHS PRESIDENT

Project Teacher/ Manager : Sonia Ochoa

Project Lead : Jai Sol

THE REAL DIVINE FOUNDATION

Our journey began after attending a charity event in London in 2010, where I met a gentleman who founded one of the many schools established by ISKCON (The International Society for Krishna Consciousness). ISKCON is known for spreading knowledge of Krishna consciousness globally, but its reach extends far beyond spirituality. It operates numerous schools across India and beyond, providing shelter, education, and nourishment to homeless, orphaned, and disabled children. At that event, I was invited on stage and presented with an opportunity to teach art to these children—a challenge I immediately embraced.

The experience was profound. Each day, my partner and I documented our journey through photos and videos, capturing the raw beauty, struggles, and joy that unfolded. We built incredible relationships with seven children in particular, who became the heart of our journey. Through art, they expressed emotions and ideas that transcended their circumstances, and their creativity left a lasting imprint on my soul.

Returning to London after that life-changing experience, I knew I had to do more. I spent the next two years developing a concept called The Real Divine Children Foundation. My vision was simple but ambitious: to work closely with grassroots charities in India, supporting communities living in shanty towns and villages, teaching art to children, and curating their creations to exhibit in the UK. Through these exhibitions, I hoped to raise awareness, generate donations, and reinvest resources back into these communities.

For the next eight years, I traveled back and forth to India on three different occasions, exploring different regions, learning, and refining my approach. The journey was magical but also filled with challenges. I lacked the organizational skills, resources, and experience to fully realize the scale of my vision. Despite my best intentions, I wasn’t equipped at that time to sustain or expand the foundation in the way I had envisioned.

Yet, those years of immersion, learning, and service gave me something even more valuable—an unshakable confidence, a deeper awareness, and the clarity to now deliver something truly transformative. The Real Divine Experience is a testament to that journey. It’s a story of passion, humility, and growth, and it lays the foundation for the work I am ready to undertake now—armed with the wisdom, skills, and network to make a lasting impact.

Jai's Words...

In 2011, driven by an unshakable desire to make a difference, I took a leap of faith. I had long felt a calling to help homeless children in South India but had little knowledge of how to begin. Without a clear plan, I followed my instinct and travelled to India, dedicating over four months to teaching art at an orphanage in a small village called Vrindavan. I was accompanied by my partner at the time, a world-class classical dancer, and together we left behind successful careers in London, mine as an emerging artist with growing recognition in the art world, and hers as a celebrated performer.

For the next eight years, I travelled back and forth to India on three different occasions, exploring different regions, learning, and refining my approach. The journey was magical but also filled with challenges. I lacked the organisational skills, resources, and experience to fully realise the scale of my vision. Despite my best intentions, I wasn’t equipped at that time to sustain or expand the foundation in the way I had envisioned.

Yet, those years of immersion, learning, and service gave me something even more valuable, an unshakable confidence, a deeper awareness, and the clarity to now deliver something truly transformative. The Real Divine Experience is a testament to that journey. It is a story of passion, humility, and growth, and it lays the foundation for the work I am ready to undertake now, armed with the wisdom, skills, and network to make a lasting impact. I can’t exactly explain what inspired me to do this, it wasn’t one moment, but a series of influences that all came together.

One of the biggest was my uncle. He travelled the world supporting young people in countries, towns, and villages where people were really suffering, struggling, and challenged by life in different ways.

When he visited us, he would bring handwritten notes, drawings, and gifts from the children and young adults he met, from Bosnia, Russia, India, and other parts of Europe. His stories stuck with me. I learned so much from him, especially about how so many people around the world desperately need help but can’t access it. He travelled far and wide, not just to help but to understand, to really see what the root causes were and try to support people with whatever he could. He started off teaching English but ended up building concepts and processes that helped whole organisations expand.

One visit, after his trip to India, he took me for a long dinner and showed me hundreds of photographs of schoolchildren and ashrams. Something hit me then. It resonated deeply, but it didn’t all come together until years later.

A close friend of mine, someone I went to school with and lived with, went to an ashram in Rishikesh after a really painful divorce. That experience transformed him. His whole reality changed. He spent four months serving at the ashram with the children and found a totally new level of consciousness. He invited me to join him, but I couldn’t at the time. He ended up meeting his wife there, and years later when I visited India, I attended their wedding in Rishikesh. Spending that month there, being around the kids and seeing the structure of the ashram and how it gave orphaned children love, discipline, and education, opened my eyes. I also travelled through India, Mumbai, Delhi, and rural villages, and saw the reality of life for children in the shanty towns. It shook me.

There was one specific moment, a young boy, about eight, working in a restaurant. He was cleaning. We locked eyes. Something happened in that moment. I can’t explain it, but I felt it deep inside. That moment triggered something. I knew I had to do something. While I was in India, I was also creating art for charities and organisations. One group in particular, “Kalkatta Kalakar”, was made up of Indian children who had travelled the world as part of a musical performance funded by American sponsors. Their goal was to build hospitals and homes for their village. I created artwork for them when they had an event in Kensington, London, around 2011 or 2012. I met one of the children during the event. He couldn’t speak English, but we connected. His eyes said everything. That moment cemented something for me. Shortly after, a friend introduced me to a hotelier named Touch Bassey, a Scottish South Asian man connected to ISKCON. They were setting up orphanage schools, providing food, clothing, and basic education, with the help of generous European volunteers.

He invited me to a fundraising event in London. That’s where I met Rupert, the man leading a new school and orphanage in Vrindavan, one of the most spiritually important towns in India. He saw something in me and said, “You must come.” From that moment, I knew. That was the path. I went to his talk at a church in London and stayed at the back. When he saw me, he came straight over and repeated, “You must come.” That night, I had a dream. In it, the name came to me: The Real Divine Experience. I wrote down some values and principles. I had no idea what I was doing, but I had to go. I thought maybe I could teach art, maybe sell some of the kids’ work and raise money. I didn’t know what was possible, but I knew I had to try. I needed experience. I needed to be there. Volunteering at Sandipani Muni School in Vrindavan gave me structure. I had people around who believed in the cause, and I had the support of my fiancé at the time, Sonya Ochoa, a professional dancer from Los Angeles and one of the highest paid and most well-known dancers in the world. I asked her to come. I thought we could build something beautiful together, and she could help record the whole experience. And we did. For four months, she taught ballet in the mornings, and I taught art in the evenings. We had the most incredible time of our lives, connecting deeply with six specific children. They completely humbled me. They transformed my understanding of love, resilience, and what the “real divine” could actually mean.

The truth is, there were many reasons behind this. I had been to India when I was four and didn’t return until I was in my late twenties. But I always felt something pulling me back. I knew my creativity would be of value there. I also knew that every time I returned to India, I was full of energy. I attracted people, knowledge, abundance. I knew I had to do something that would connect India and England, not just emotionally, but through action.

Yes, my purpose shifted. Absolutely. In the beginning, I think I went for selfish reasons. I was trying to escape something. Things weren’t working out in the UK, and I needed a reset. I thought I could go out there, solve problems, do something heroic. But I wasn’t looking at them. I was focused on myself.

Then I got there.

And I was humbled. First in Rishikesh, then by Rupert, then by the children themselves. I saw the cages they used to sleep in. I saw the hunger, the disease, the death. I saw what “reality” actually meant for them. The first month was hard, emotionally overwhelming.

But over time, I realised: I don’t need to save anyone. I just need to be there. Listen. Serve. Learn. I knew that when I was older, with more wisdom and resources, I could build something more sustainable. Something with real infrastructure. Something that actually served them, not me.

The Real Divine Experience didn’t become what I initially imagined. But what it did become was a mirror. It showed me who I really was, and who I could become.

The School...

The school was a remarkable space, not necessarily because of its aesthetics or luxury, but because of its scale, spirit, and function. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was deeply impressive. The grounds were expansive, with multiple classrooms, a large open play area, and an inviting energy that was felt the moment you entered through the main gate.

At the entrance, a clear sign welcomed you in, followed by a reception area that opened up into a wide communal courtyard. It was here that you would often be greeted by what felt like hundreds of children, smiling, curious, excited. Their warmth was immediate and disarming. It was the kind of welcome you don’t forget. The school employed around 100 teachers, most of them from the local area or nearby regions, each focused and committed to the children’s development. Their attention to each student was genuine, not just teaching subjects, but observing how the children were responding, engaging, and growing. Alongside them, there was a large network of support, headteachers, medical staff, carers, translators, and a diverse group of volunteers from around the world.

As volunteers, we were given access to a shared office space, where we could meet with staff, plan sessions, and become part of the everyday rhythm of the school. The environment was filled with this beautiful mix of peace and movement, a joyful, kinetic energy. There was ambition in the air. There were dreams, big ones, but also a quiet awareness of the challenges. You could feel both at once. Lunchtimes were always unforgettable. Dozens of volunteers, teachers, and children sat cross-legged on the floor together, eating side by side as one community. The meals were cooked by the mothers of some of the students, nourishing, vibrant food, made with care. The children served us, and the act of sharing food in this way felt incredibly humbling. There was dignity in it, and love.

What struck me most was how much thought had gone into creating a space that wasn’t just functional, it was alive.

From the sounds of laughter echoing through the grounds, to the smells of fresh food wafting from the kitchens, to the cookie bakery just outside the building, every detail contributed to the atmosphere. Even the architecture seemed intentional, almost sacred in how it held everyone together. The school wasn’t just a place for education. It was a sanctuary.

My Students...

When I first arrived at the school, I was given a choice by Rupa, the founder. He asked if I would prefer to work with large groups of students that would rotate every few weeks, or if I wanted to focus on a smaller group of young people who were especially interested in creativity and art. I chose the smaller group. It felt more personal, more intentional, and I wanted to build something deeper.

That decision turned out to be one of the most meaningful parts of my experience.

On the first day, Sonia and I were sitting in the classroom waiting for the students to arrive. We didn’t know who they were or what to expect. We were nervous. They were nervous. But as they came in one by one and introduced themselves, something shifted. I remember how shy and unsure they seemed at first. And we were trying to find our footing too, we didn’t have a strict plan, just a desire to connect and share something creative. There were five students in total who I worked with most closely, four girls and one boy, who was known at the school as a bit of a prodigy. That first day, we kept it simple. I told them who I was, what I do, and how I had come to be there. I introduced Sonja, and we just had a conversation. They were curious about us, and we were genuinely moved by how respectfully and kindly they welcomed us.

In the beginning, they were quite reserved. You could sense that they were unsure of themselves, maybe even a bit guarded. But over time, something really beautiful happened. They started to open up. They became more confident. They let us in, and we started to see who they really were.

Each one had their own personality, their own story, and their own way of seeing the world. I didn’t just teach them, I learned from them. We shared experiences, made art, talked about life, and slowly built a relationship based on trust. It wasn’t always easy, but it was honest, and it grew naturally.

The final artwork they created was something special. Each of them made pieces that reflected their identity and their way of thinking. They were proud of what they made, and I was proud of them. That moment, seeing their work come to life, made it all worth it.

Even now, I think about them all the time. They had a big impact on me. A few years later, I had the chance to see them again when they visited London, and it reminded me how powerful those relationships were.

They weren’t just students to me. They were people I truly connected with, and I will always carry that experience with me.

Vrindavan...

What was incredibly fascinating, and what drew me to really want to visit Vrindavan and the nearby area of Mathura, was its deep-rooted connection to Hindu mythology, particularly the life and stories of Lord Krishna.

Many of the key events in Krishna’s journey are said to have taken place in and around this region. Even today, the area remains infused with a sense of sacredness. The land, the architecture, the beautifully crafted temples, almost everything is devoted to Krishna. And that devotion seems to influence not just the physical space, but also the people, their attitude, their behaviour, their mindset, and even their energy.

There is a lightness in Vrindavan, a playfulness, at times even a sense of mischief, mirroring the character of the young Krishna himself. It was a delight to witness and feel part of. Despite the fact that it is, without question, an incredibly poor area, there was something deeply profound about the spirit of the people there.

The poverty we saw was overwhelming at times. Families and children living on the streets with nothing, no healthcare, no formal support, no safety nets of any kind. Yet, in spite of these unimaginable challenges, the people carried themselves with grace. There was a strong sense of hope in their eyes, a quiet confidence that things would work out. Everywhere we went in the town, we were met with respect and kindness. It didn’t matter what people had, or didn’t have, their generosity was boundless. Whether it was offering us food, warmth, or simply their time, it all came from a place of genuine love. It felt like we were walking through a dream. A kind of innocence lived in the community, one that was both simple and incredibly wise. They seemed to know who they were. They understood what they represented. That sense of self-awareness and spiritual connection ran deep. It gave me a powerful insight into the importance of community, not just in India, but everywhere. In Vrindavan, I saw that a community doesn’t necessarily need resources or wealth to thrive. What it really needs is connection, people looking out for each other, supporting each other, being present. That, in itself, creates a form of wealth.

The experience gave me a new lens through which to view life here in the UK. It made me realise just how important it is for people to truly connect with those around them. That human connection shapes how children grow, how families evolve, and how entire communities experience life.

DOCUMENTRARY

HELP US TO DEVELOP OUR VISUAL DIARY

“The Real Divine is not just a record of time spent in Vrindavan; it is a story of connection, challenges, and the search for a way to give back to the children who gave so much without even realising it.״

J ai Sol

During the five months in Vrindavan, and while travelling to many other areas, Sonia and I recorded a documentary using our own camera and recording equipment. Together with our students, we created a mini-film of the experience. We are now developing this material into a full documentary and are looking for support in all aspects of the production, as well as guidance on the technical side of developing and curating it. The plan is for me to return to Vrindavan in 2017, sixteen years after first going there, to reconnect with the students, and this will also be filmed and included as part of The Real Divine documentary.

We are seeking support to help us bring this project to life because we believe it is important to share this unique perspective: the story of an artist who simply wanted to help and to understand more about the lives of these children, but who faced many challenges and was not ready at the time to create something sustainable. Now, with greater experience, clarity, and resources, the intention is to do something meaningful and lasting. The documentary will not only share the journey but also aim to create impact.

At the back end of the project, we would like to establish a trust to support children in that region, and ideally to provide direct support for the children who feature in the documentary itself.