Palindrome

Eight

The following chapter has a brief description of Hinduism. If you're not really into that kind of theme, feel free to skim through the first half. However, it's a different kind of spin on the theme of religion and faith.

On that note, let's continue on shall we?

Chapter 8

Yes, I'm religious.

That's what I would have said six months ago. I might have even said so three months ago. Unlike Christians, Hindus don't really have to visit temples, our places of worship every week. At home, we have a mini temple brought from India.

Within it, pictures and sculptures of our Gods sit there. Books with Hindi bhajans or religious songs fill the pages evoking the name of several Hindu Gods ranging from Shiva, Vishnu, and Brahma to everyone else.

Every day, even if I were running late to school I would sneak into the room where the temple is. Say a quick thirty-second prayer, asking for forgiveness, asking for protection for my family, my friends, and every one good in this world, asking for success. Towards the end, I'd also wish God, their own happiness. My thought process was that damn it's got to be hard taking care of the 1.2 billion Hindus worldwide.

But I digress.

When I was young and scared of Annabel, Bloody Mary, and all those paranormal creatures my mom did something. She brought over a little mini idol of Ganesh and left him by my bedside table. I never had to worry from that day on. And whenever I had trouble sleeping, all I had to do was repeat a quick little string of words that dulled me to sleep.

Om Nama Shiva, Om Nama Shiva, Om Nama Shiva.

Three words that once repeated put you in a little trance-like stance. I'm not overly religious in the sense that I'm for radical Hinduism wherein I want to scream 'Hindu for all!' and go around eradicating anyone who isn't Hindu. No, that's far from it. I just liked having something to believe in. I read shortened versions of the epics, the Mahabharata, the Ramayana, and watched some of the soap opera adaptations too with my Nani.

I ceased believing.

One day I stopped, I don't why or when. I just did.

So when we're approaching Deepti Aunty's entire getup with the thali or massive golden plate with a lit fire on it, I have no clue what I'm going to do.

"Don't wish for world peace," Ma whispers as she takes the plate from the couple in front of us.

Rolling my eyes, I say, "Okay."

It lasts a fraction of a minute. On one side, my fingers brush the flame of the fire, gripping a corner of the thali while we create circles with it. After that, shutting my eyes, I press my palms together and the same prayer in my mind rushes back. They're all empty words though even if I say spell them out in my head. My breath feels suffocated, any moment longer and I might have choked over literally nothing.

"I'm going to get some water," I tell Ma, walking away before she can ask me to talk to all her friends. Avinash's house is huge, so I have no idea where I'm going. 

Glass cuts through my arms, whipping at me every corner as people sing in praise of the Lord. Everyone's so comfortable in their faith, my faith, and yet I feel like an imposter. Any moment now, and they'll sense that unlike them, I do not put my trust in a divine entity,  because for me nothing can take away from the pain I feel on the daily. 

Nothing. 

Finally, the delicious scent of butter naan wafts my way and I'm able to locate the kitchen. A fury of activity takes place. Kids are lined up, tugging at their parents' clothes waiting for their food. Trays of food line the island, I spot Avinash by the stovetop heating a few naans. Forgetting the water I need; I walk over to where he is.