The trip to the temple was serene even though the driver was playing Michael Jackson’s Thriller. My body felt so different in these clothes sitting in the car, I felt more confident and self assured and like I had shed a layer of protective armor just by changing my clothes. As we rode to the temple I kept looking at my mother and then outside to this smog-filled city that seemed to go on forever. The closer we got to the temple the more all I could do was keeping looking at people out the window between glances of my mother. They were everywhere the eye could see. In them I could see me. The poor little girl standing on the sidewalk with a tattered dirty dress and no shoes, the man with brown eyes that pierced through me through the window, the hungry emaciated woman that stared with emptiness at me as she made a gesture to her mouth and to the sky as if she were pointing to God, and my mother sitting so comfortably and relaxed staring out the window. In each of them I saw myself and connected with that part of me that seemed to be in hiding all of these years. My Indian blood. This was me, my people, we shared similarities. I had not seen this many Indian people in 25 years, I was surrounded by them, everywhere I looked. I could not get my fill of it. The nearer we got to the temple the more crowded it became.
I began to feel fear realizing that we were parking and about to get out of the car. I was not sure what to do, how to behave or what NOT to do! I grew up in a home with no religion. I had been to a few different Christian churches in my adult life to try to figure out what was comfortable for me but I had no recollection of a Hindu temple and what it would be like at all.
After squeezing a parking spot between crowds of people and tiny small cars I began to get out of the car. It felt so glamorous, so sophisticated to be dressed like this and so comfortable. Looking up as I got out of the car I saw two small girls possibly ages 6 and 8 that were in tattered dirty brown dresses with little tin pans. They were begging. The eldest looked at me, then hid behind somebody and looked and smiled again. Everywhere I turned I would see her hiding and smiling. She looked angelic with her beautiful white teeth and flawless skin. I could not stop looking at her and she kept hiding behind different people and smiling. The little one stayed and begged for money while the older one seemed to be attached to me and my family.
There were hundreds of people clammoring about the parking area. I followed my mother with very little conversation, she lead all of us like a lion, fierce in her quest to get to the temple. Never turning back with only one thing on her mind, the temple and giving thanks.
She approached a smartly dressed man with leather sandals, a loosely fitting pair of khaki pants and matching long-sleeved button up shirt. He wore them like a comfortable second skin. She spoke with him as I glanced around, she turned to me nodded with that nod that Indians do to one side and waved me over to take my shoes off. There was a wooden bench that we placed our shoes under. I was a bit scared to walk around without shoes, with all of the dirt and people I was having flashbacks of everything I read about getting disease in third world countries.
She aggressively began walking and once again all of us in tow to her calm but ambitious gait but this time we were barefoot. I carefully stepped worrying about my every step and what I might step on. I looked up to see a crowd of people all calmly forging their way to the top of a set of stairs to the entrance of what was the temple. The building was a blue color once again like her sari and my clothing. As we got closer to the crowd I glanced up to see the little angelic begging girl hiding behind someone else staring right at me.
I couldn’t get over her beauty and the fact that she seemed to be everywhere. As we started up the wide stairs we all grabbed one another’s hands so that we would not lose each other. We were a chain of about 9 people all linked together moving like a mighty wave through the sea of people. I had no idea what we were doing, I was just following along but it was scary to be in such a crowd and realize that I was not somewhere that if I got lost I could find my way out of! I clenched my hands even tighter to the hands on both sides of me. We slowly moved through and came to the front where the priest was, he wore all orange looked at me, said some things in Bengali and then put his finger to my the middle of my forehead. I was so amazed at the crowd and how everyone was working their way to the front and for what? I finally realized as I looked up that everyone was trying to get a glimpse of the huge statue behind a wall that was the statue of Kali(the goddess of death and rebirth) . I saw it! Then we all quickly went out the other side of the temple and the first thing I saw was that little girl again laughing at me and pointing from behind someone. She never once asked me for money but only watched me from afar.
My mind was blown, I could not really quite grasp what I had just done because it was so quick. This was nothing like I had ever experienced at the Methodist or Presbyterian churches I had visited. I spent the day in somewhat of a stupor as my mind was grasping all that had happened since this morning when I awoke to the sounds of the Muslims chanting and myself crying.
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At this point I had stopped crying so that she would not see me like this. She proceeded to show me a salwar kameez that she bought for me. I felt awkward, not knowing how to wear this everyday outfit in India. It is just a two piece dress and pants that match with a scarf to drape over the shoulders. I had never worn one of these and felt foolish but knew that I must put it on to go with my mother to the temple. I spent most of my life trying to be American with the jeans and fit in and now I had to get out of that comfort zone to fit in with my mother and India. She abruptly ushered everyone out of the room and then it was only my sister, me and my mother. She whisked me into the bathroom and gave me the clothes to put on. I had to leave my identity in wanting so badly to fit in to be American behind and quickly I began to undress. She turned her head towards the corner and gave me respect that I had never known in the home that I grew up in(my adoptive mother always stared at me while I changed). This was so amazing to me that she would give me privacy like this, being the shy person that I was it meant so much to me. I quickly threw on the clothes so I would not make her wait and as the top went over my head the softness of the material and the feel of it next to my body gave me a peace I had never felt with any clothing I was accustomed to. This was an outfit that was blue and pink that matched the blue in her sari. I said “OK” with a giggle, feeling so awkward but yet so comfortable in my own skin. She turned around and put the scarf around my neck. I just felt so special, so much more myself than I had ever known. We hugged and I cried. We came back out into the room and opened the door to find everyone rushing back in the room to see me in my new outfit. Photos were flashed and I found a piece of me that I never knew was missing in these clothes. A sense of peace, dignity, respect, love and connection to my culture and to my mother. We swiftly were off to squeeze into two small cars and go to the temple to give thanks!
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