I have a dream, a song to sing, to help me cope with anything...

I have a dream, a song to sing, to help me cope with anything,

If you see the wonders of the fairy tale, you can take the future even if you fail,

I believe in angels, something good in everything I see…

(The line is borrowed from an all time favourite song by the evergreen group Abba)

                                                                                                                

My faith in humanity was restored for the millionth time, this morning when I came across a news item of two young men, one just 27 years old and the other about 45 years, literally crying and saying we thank the Christians for allowing us to pray in their churches, as bombs and other attacks continue to reign terror and misery in Gaza. “We are like brothers now added another, I didn’t know any Christians before but they let us in with love, so we could pray in peace even perhaps as many others who didn’t get refuge elsewhere, were dying unnecessarily.”

For the last one week, an extremely significant one for the Muslims all over the world, they have gone through untold grief trying to hold up to the perpetual attack from another country. This piece is not about the right and the wrong, this piece is not about the black and the white. This piece is about the specks of colour, the shrieks of colour, the pathos in colour, the angst in colour, the dying gaze of a six year old speckled in colour; it is all about the colour of blood!

This write up is a cry from the heart, an appeal that one could or should learn lessons from history. This is about you and I, not about the barriers created so irrevocably that we become more demonic than human. It brings to mind two very poignant episodes from childhood. And believe me when I say so, this bend in the story, this little detour, is essential and what makes all the difference in who you are or who you can be….

And this is how the stories pan out:

Once upon a time not so many eons ago, a little girl in two tight plaits, her face scrubbed clean, breathing the blissful morning air,  walked through the scenic tracks of Shimla, to reach her beautiful school Loreto Convent, Tara Hall, every single day, come hail or shine.

A picture postcard campus, it was divided into junior school called Darbanga House and senior school that also housed the most beautiful school parlour. I have yet to see one of its kind anywhere and I mean it. If a place could evince awe and reverence, this was surely it.  

Sparkling glass panes, encased in the whitest of white doors with gleaming brass knobs completed the British picture. We were taught by Irish nuns’ primarily then and other teachers too. Now comes the real part: One day in grade six which was the first rung of senior school, I was asked by a nun, to go to the parlour and deliver a small packet to Mother Superior.

I was more than just excited and till date I will never understand why I was chosen for the task as I was known as one of the naughtiest on the junior campus, perhaps just that’s why! But in junior school I was also considered responsible, when I had to take care of my kid sister and cousin.

I stepped out of class beaming, took a look in the mirror at the end of the corridor, and preened myself as if this was going to be the day of my life. Mother Superior walked into the parlour in her slow dignified gait, in what to me seemed like an eternal wait. She was a frail beautiful person; tall and very soft spoken but with pointed sharp eyes that rarely missed a detail. I handed her the packet nervously, at the same time swelling with pride that I was the chosen one. I think I grew few centimeters taller in that instant. She blessed me and asked me to wait till she returned. I soaked in every minute detail of the spic and span place, but being a child couldn’t wait too long so levitated toward an alley to the right that I knew led into the nuns’ quarters.

Even though I knew I was trespassing and Mother would be back any minute, I pushed open a door at the end of the alleyway and peeped in, right into the eyes of Mother! Aghast, motionless, I thought this was the end of time at school; I shrunk and cringed but, somehow didn’t look afraid. Mother questioned, “I had asked you to wait in the parlour right, dear?

I was at a loss for words, frozen in time, I managed to untangle myself from the awkward position of a peeping Jane, and mustering all the courage straightened up and couldn’t look Mother Superior in the eye, so gazed at my shining black shoes. And then she said follow me. She took me into an antechamber and introduced me to another very junior nun and said, “Show her around, and bring her back to me.” I was perplexed and elated at the same time. The junior nun took me all around the living quarters of the nuns and even showed me their separate chapel.

When I was presented back to the main parlour Mother Superior said, “Will you go places you are not supposed to again and that too without permission? I answered in the negative close to tears now, as she sounded stern. But, what changed it all forever were the next words she said to me, “It is good to be curious dear, but not every place is a safe haven with people who will love you for your innocent intent. (Not verbatim but to this effect). Now go back to class and keep this adventure to yourself.”

To date, I hadn’t shared this with anyone but my parents.

MORAL: She taught me how to keep a secret to respect the privacy of another, she taught me how to trust my honesty and therefore another’s, she taught me how to respect another faith: to me that is the true colour of blood, so what if she called it Christianity and back home we called it Arya Samaji…?

She taught me along with my parents that religion is personal, religion is communion with yourself and your God within, so do not cheat…where are such teachers, where are such mentors, where are such parents?

The second incident followed in quick succession, in Tiruchirappalli in St Josephs’ Girls High School, two years later in grade eight . It brings to mind a scene from the Life of Pi, as once again the lure of the church was so great for me, perhaps as it was so different from the Spartan prayers we were exposed to as kids in the name of religion, with no ritualistic paraphernalia except sitting around a fire and chanting mantras and pouring ghee into the fire at regular intervals of saying swaha!    

We had catechism classes and moral science respectively for different groups in the school. One fine day I told my Christian friend that I would like to attend her catechism class and she reluctantly took me along, not knowing what would be in store and on the condition that if caught, I was to face the music on my own. Had it been a regular class I would perhaps have been caught immediately, but God above had another lesson in store for me…

We were taken to the chapel, a beautiful place on the school campus and were given instructions on how to conduct ourselves and the like. Since, catechism class always had a varying number of students Sister had no idea I was new or not a Christian.  I followed whatever my friend did and was even sprinkled with Holy water. Smug and happy I went back to class and then home.

By evening, I couldn’t bare the feeling of guilt and told my mom what I had done, she didn’t get mad, but said I must go back and confess to Sister the next day.  Our principal was a nun too, and extremely strict, but I knew if I didn’t tell her myself, my mom would.

I waited till mid-morning break and shot down the corridor to the ground floor when I knew Sister (principal) would be free. Knocked on her door and spilled out everything. She got up from her chair and walked toward me, I cowered thinking I would be hit, instead she put her hand on my head and said, “Child we are all the children of God, we pray in different ways, in different places, I am proud of you that you confessed to what you think is a sin, you are forgiven. Next time you must ask and will show you the entire chapel and explain His love for us.”

I was jumping with joy as I left her room and bounded back to class with triple energy not feeling the need to explain myself to anyone but my friend.

Years later, as an adult I was able to fathom the depth of the indirect love and deep philosophy both the nuns had passed on to me and several like me only due to the strength of their own faith. Today it makes even more sense in a world that has shrunk tremendously in size but the distances have increased manifold where humans though technically all the same are hell bent on decimating their race by heinous acts of violence against each other.

Today in a world filled with hatred, solely due to ignorance followed by unnecessary prejudice and/or a false sense of superiority, coexistence is taking a beating, spawning a dangerous trend. Though one knows for a fact that there have been several such situations in the past the question is, hasn’t man evolved enough to understand that coexistence is the only answer to a better world?

©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap  

(I am equally proud to say that I am not only a reader of  Indian Express but a  former staffer having contributed hugely to such stories in the past, having worked with and under the most respectable and towering mentors, learning from scratch the nuances of this field. However, of late I had stopped reading the obscene publications out there, that call themselves journalistic manifestations and had even stopped listening to the news other than the BBC.

Even if we have to search high and low for such stories and even if we have to go that extra mile to extract the core of the capability of the human heart we must do it!)