by Mansi Kathuria
I am nine and twelve and fifteen and twenty.
People ask:
“Do you, like, worship cows?”
“Why do you have a god with an elephant head?”
“Can I wear a dot, too? What does it mean?”
“Are you, like, Hindi?”
I am eight and going to Chinmaya Mission. I always refer to it as “my church-like thing.” That way I don’t have to explain.
I am nine. I open a drawer in a hotel room and stare at the bible. I wonder if anybody ever reads it. I wonder why it’s there.
I am ten and my dad gives my sister and me Diwali presents. I’m confused. “Shouldn’t we just wait until Christmas?” I ask.
I am eleven. It is a week after Diwali and strings of lights adorn our house. Our house is the brightest on the block. “Isn’t it a little early for Christmas?” our neighbors ask.
I am twelve and standing in my friend’s driveway in my salwar kameez with thirty other people lighting sparklers and laughing. “Are you celebrating the Sox winning the World Series?” a neighbor asks. We all laugh.
I am thirteen, and all the kids in my class are always talking about Confraternity of Christian Doctrine (CCD) classes.
I am fourteen and my World History teacher is talking about Hinduism. What gives her the right to stand up there and explain the complexities of my religion? I wish I could take over the class.
BGD is a reader-funded, non-profit project. Please GIVE today and help amplify marginalized voices.
I am fifteen and we are studying British literature. As homework, I am assigned to read the beginning of Genesis. I’m angry. My parents are angrier. “You should protest. Don’t do the assignment.” It’s the only time in my life I will hear them encourage me to rebel, especially in school. But I am not that brave; I am compliant. I get good grades. So I read the text.
I am sixteen and my literature quizzes keep asking me to identify biblical symbolism. I am resentful of my peers. Most of them have an unfair advantage.
I am seventeen and doing an internship at a hospital. I walk past the chapel several times during my shift. Why can’t it just be a quiet room?
I am eighteen and I decide to give up something for lent. People ask me about Ramadan.
I am nineteen, a sophomore in college. It is the first time in my life that I won’t be spending Diwali with my family. I Skype them and sing the Aarti with them, but it doesn’t feel the same. After we hang up, I cry for a long time. I have never felt so alone. A couple weeks later I go home for winter break. I spend Christmas with my family.
I am nineteen and shopping at a mall in India. The largest Christmas tree that I have ever seen stands in the middle of the mall.
I am twenty. I sign up for a course called the Philosophy of Religion. I am eager to explore themes across different religions, the origin of religion, and theories of religious pluralism. Instead, I learn a lot more about the Bible. My class should have been titled the Philosophy of Christianity. My teacher is a Muslim woman. I feel sad for us both.
I am twenty-one. I know exactly what is celebrated during Lent and Christmas and Easter. I know what John 3:16 says. I can name different Christian denominations. I can recount the history of the religion. I know the stories of Genesis and Noah’s Ark and Judas’ betrayal of Jesus. I have been to a Catholic Mass and taken communion. I have been to a Christian wedding.
I am twenty-one. I do not believe in god. Not in Jesus or Krishna or Allah. But I love Krishna. And Ram and Ganesha and Shiva and Durga. I love the statues and portraits that adorn my house. I love the songs I sing about them. I love the way they make me feel. I love the way they bring me closer to a family and country that feel so far away.
I am nine and twelve and fifteen and twenty.
People ask:
“Can I wear a dot, too? What does it mean?”
“Do you like, worship cows?”
“Why do you have a god with an elephant head?”
“Are you Hindi?”
All work published on BGD is the intellectual property of its writers. Please do not republish anything from this site without express written permission from BGD. For more info, go here.
Mansi Kathuria is a community organizer, writer, foodie, parental disappointment, nap enthusiast, part-time barista, and first generation Indian-American. She lives in Chicago and is desperately in love with the city.
Get BGD creator Mia McKenzie’s debut literary novel, The Summer We Got Free. It’s the winner of the Lambda Literary Award.
Follow us on Twitter: @blackgirldanger
LIKE us on Facebook
