Hend
My life in
Some thoughts on the four-year anniversary of
Here are some of the things I’ve heard since I arrived here. Some of these things are funny, some of them could actually be true, and a couple of them are just downright insulting:
§ You should be careful the first times it rains over the course of a series of showers. This is because germs are cleaned from the sky and can make you sick.
§
In
§ In predominantly Muslim countries and cities, they dump the guts of slaughtered animals in their mosques (I almost felt uncomfortable writing this one… I swear I really did hear this).
§ When animals are about to be slaughtered, they secrete a certain chemical that is toxic to humans once we ingest their meat.
§
Originally, the reason why certain individuals
accepted Islam in
§
A local shawarma guy
in
§ Onion or garlic increases one’s sexual appetite and thus should be eaten in moderation.
Hopefully I will build my collection of these as time goes on.
……….
This past Wednesday was a national holiday (the birth of Ganesha, the Hindu god that’s commonly recognized by his
elephant head). I had the day off from work and wanted to get outside,
so a couple of economists
I work with recommended the Isckon Temple
on the outskirts of
The temple was really far. The taxi I took dumped me at this remote location, where this huge temple at the top of a hill was really the only thing around. It seemed pretty impressive from the outside, although I didn’t really get a good look at it because I quickly got in line with a bunch of other people to go through security and check your bag and shoes. After that part I walked barefoot like everyone else up this long series of outside staircases leading to the temple. That part wasn’t very pleasant because it was raining and my feet instantly got really dirty. Some areas outside the temple were covered with smooth tile, so I concentrated most of my energy on not falling on my butt before I even stepped inside.
As you approach the Isckon temple, your path leads you to a couple of chambers
where there are idols of some lesser-known gods (at least I had never heard of
them). These statues all seem to be made from the same mold, just clothed and
decorated in different ways. I also noticed that this particular temple focused
a lot on
Leading to the temple I heard
this repetitive, one-toned chanting. It sounded pretty comforting. When I
entered I got to understand what was being chanted, and the lyrics were also in
huge letters on the wall. Hare
Krishna, hare hare/ Hare Rama,
hare hare. At first I figured that hare Krishna
probably means something significant in Sanskrit or something, and then I wised up and realized
that I was actually in a Hare Krishna temple. Inside the main portion of
the temple there are three gold-plated gods against the back wall, and an
audience of silent worshippers seated in front. Interestingly, the temple has
some paintings hanging from the ceiling and the walls that are kind of in a
Renaissance style, except instead of depicting the Virgin Mary or the Nativity
they have images of things like
Well, after sitting silently for maybe ten minutes and feeling disappointed I decided to go home. As I exited I noticed a big gold-colored statue, like that of a god, except that it looked like it was a sculpture of a real person. I looked at the description to the side and realized it was the founder of the Hare Krishna movement. You can draw your own conclusions on that one.
In order to exit the temple, you walk through all these passageways, most of which lead you through commercial establishments, either selling food or souvenirs. I didn’t feel like buying anything so I just walked through, which unfortunately entailed walking barefoot on food that people had accidentally spilled on the ground. When I finally reached the place where they kept my shoes and bag, I found a dry spot next to a blue trash can and tried my best to clean off whatever was on my feet before putting my socks back on. More than at any other time in my life, I had the insatiable desire to write the guy who invented alcohol-based hand sanitizer into my will.
If you’re reading this I’m sure you noticed that I didn’t like the Isckon temple. I hope I don’t come across as culturally intolerant. The whole reason I came out to the temple was to learn something about the practice of Hinduism during one of its most holy festivals. But while I do in fact believe that Hinduism, in its purest form at least, is divine, the people behind Isckon didn’t seem to be very fitting representatives. If Hinduism were a diamond, this would be cubic zirconium. The most accurate metaphor I can use to describe the temple is to compared it to a hotel on the Vegas strip: big and shiny and impressive from the outside, but just a plain old building when you get over the glitz and glamour. As I walked away I tried to snap a photo, but my camera was low on battery and shut itself down before I could zoom in. No tears were shed.
……….
There are two basic reasons why I didn’t observe this holy day with my host family. First of all, they aren’t big on going to temples. Although they are very religious, they perform most of their worship in the home. Most of this is not praying, chanting, meditation, or reading from holy writings. It’s the painstaking process itself of putting together a beautiful and ornate shrine in the home. I have a picture in my Yahoo photos of the one my family did for the birthday of Lakshmi. The one for Ganesha was much fancier.
Because a lot of food is offered to the god, the kitchen is not just important but also holy and pure during this period. For this reason my host family asked me not to put anything else in the refrigerator because it would get crowded. They also asked me not to go in the kitchen at all for a few days. If I needed anything from in there I could just ask a member of the family and they would get it for me. Because I wasn’t able to prepare any food for myself my host family’s mother also offered to cook me lunch and dinner during that period, which was nice. Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed to eat in the living room with the family, so I had to eat in my room or outside of the house. My family didn’t really tell me this explicitly, and instead just brought me all my meals in my room, which was the thing that tipped me off. There was also a comic exchange between my host family’s mother and me, during which she tried her hardest to get me to eat my dinner in my room before the rest of the family could come home, and I insisted that I wait for them so we could eat as a family. This dialogue lasted no less than five minutes, ending in my feeling bad and ending the charade.
Needless to say this bothered me. I didn’t kick and scream, but one day after work I asked the father of the house to explain exactly what the rationale for these rules was. He dodged the question with polite metaphors at first; God bless him, because he was trying really hard not to insult me. After I pushed him a bit, he revealed that it was not because I was a foreigner, not because I’m non-Hindu, but specifically because I am non-Brahmin that I wasn’t allowed to enter certain holy places during the festival. He struggled to explain this in specific terms but had trouble finding a way to do so in English. He finally settled on the single word purity, although he conceded that it wasn’t a perfect translation.
I’m not going to lie; this whole thing wasn’t exactly pleasant. But I eventually convinced myself that the only thing I could do was to continue to be nice and considerate to my family. In all fairness, they are pretty good hosts and have been, overall, pretty hospitable. I also made a note to myself to make sure they know that they are always welcome at the Baha’i Center here, especially on holy days, just so they understand how people in my faith view outsiders.
After taking a step back from
the whole thing, I realized that for the Brahmins, the historically-privileged and priestly class of
India, the concept of purity must be similar to Iranian Shi’is
have in there own faith, which is called najes. At least in
post-revolution
As an important note… I’ve met a lot of Brahmins in my lifetime, mostly from Tufts and the LSE, and one of those Brahmins is among my closest friends. None of these people has ever treated me disrespectfully in the name of caste or religion. Similarly, I’ve never been called najes by anyone. If you’re one of the three people reading this, please know that I’m not stupid enough to believe that everyone has beliefs like the ones I just described.