My childhood was to my life as water is to a plant; every aspect of the bolstering that I received was associated with my upbringing. Peaceful was the smell of cardamom and red chili powder that would ubiquitously waft through the air of our immigrant household. Calming was the pensive silence that would comfort my father as he read his pocket Bible, reciting verses to give him strength as he provided for his young wife and child. Serene was the fugue-like rhythm of a jingling bell rang by my mother’s hands as she delicately chanted prayers to safeguard her family from troubles. And gentle was my soft, flitting gaze as I observed both of them, each in a reverie of their own practices from their lifestyles, close physically but still mentally worlds apart.
As a young girl, I grew up in the United States, living in a multitude of states across the country since I was seven months old. Holistically, I was shaped by my family’s traditions that they brought and passed onto me after immigrating to the United States; the keyword I’ll choose here to describe my religious identity growing up is “neutral”. India, as a fairly conservative country with a predominantly Hindu population, was and is still fairly centralized on its caste system. For context, my devout Hindu mother was part of the highest caste in India’s social hierarchy, and her identity starkly contrasted my father and the Protestant Christian faith of his unorthodox, “untouchable” family. The love marriage between them caused rifts in their respective societies, and they thus desired to set up a life for themselves and their children abroad and away from the societal pressures of India’s class system. Yet, from my perspective, I still existed at a crossroads even though I lived in the United States; my family’s unique religious background is something that contributed to the cognitive dissonance associated with my feelings about my faith.
My “neutral” religious identity started before I was born when I was named. Although typically a Hindu practice that titularly cherished the deities prayed to, my name was carefully crafted to appease both sides of my family and was rather based on an ancient Indian word with less of a religious focus. Additionally, I went to an Adventist nursery focused on promoting Christianity among youth when I was three years old.
I also recall our family going to a Lutheran church a handful of times during my early childhood, at the behest of my father. I still remember the awe that radiated within me while listening to the hymns of the service and the curiosity bubbling as I was split from my family and made to sit in Sunday school with other children and read Bible verses. I also reminisce about the serenity I felt while hearing my dad recite Mathew 7:7-8 by heart as follows:
“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened”
Yet at home, Hinduism was still a staple of how my mother practiced her religion and how she passed it on to me. I would watch my mother perform pujas (acts of Hindu worship) daily, lighting a deepam (candle) and reciting mantras (utterances of Sanskrit hymns). She would also be sure to dress me in a traditionally Hindu manner, never forgetting the small bottu (dot on my forehead) drawn onto my head with liquid kumkum (a red vermilion powder). Our family also would visit the temple during holidays.
Holistically, my childhood was a variegated one with a motley of religious experiences, shaped fairly equally by both of my parents. This was until my father was hospitalized in 2012 due to a health emergency. It was a time in my life when my mother was forced to step into his shoes, leading the family even as a stay-at-home wife of two young children. During this time, I began finding direct solace in Hinduism and its rituals, with it being the only guaranteed constant during such an uncertain time in my life. In specific, my mother taught my brother and me what’s known as the Mahamrityunjaya Mantra which had the goal of an overall restoration of health and happiness during turmoil, as follows:
Om Trayambakam Yajamahe: “Om, we worship the three-eyed one”
Sugandhim Pushti Vardhanam: “Who is fragrant and nourishing”
Urvarukamiva Bandhanan: “Like a ripe cucumber is freed from the vine”
Mrityormukshiya Maamritat: “May we be liberated from death, from mortality”
Day in and day out, I would chant this mantra with her to pray for our family’s revival, and, soon enough, after a few months, my father ultimately returned home. What followed was an immediate feeling of relief and it was this experience with my faith that was pivotal in my understanding of leaning towards the Hindu side of my religious upbringing. I still recount this same prayer, taught to me when I was only eight years old, today during times when I need strength.
However, aligning myself with Hinduism hasn’t been entirely perfect. What I’ve rather come to understand is the belief that my religious identity is not so much a decision in terms of which faith I want to follow, but rather a gradient that synergizes all of my past religious experiences. Given my unorthodox religious upbringing, there are times when I question my religious practices as a Hindu and reflect on Hinduism’s tendency to favor the outdated metrics of its social class system. Indeed, this is what made me apprehensive to share the “untouchable” aspect of my identity till now, for fear of facing discrimination analogous to what was encountered by my father’s side of the family. This internal conflict is also what allows me to empathize with my father’s Protestant side along with my mother’s Hindu side; the two aspects of my religious upbringing are constantly in limbo with each other, existing on a continuum to yield a practice that is holistically dictated by my wish to encompass both in my daily life. Today, while I do consider myself Hindu, I am aware of the fact that religion is different for everyone and transcends tangible borders.
Overall, I believe that being more honest with myself to take ownership of my faith can serve as a catalyst to reconcile with my “neutral” religious identity, and something I wish to learn more about as I embark upon this school year as an Interfaith Fellow. The contextualization of experiences is something I’m eager to understand, given the uniqueness of religious perspectives that presently exist in the world.