Am I Religious?

Sunday morning dawns faster han any other mornings for it's the only day I get to feel like human. I mean it's my day off and only on this day I meet my roommate, the only companion I've in this place so far away from home. I darted out of the train and reached our closet- sized room just in time to see my roommate nearing the end of her morning prayer. She smiled at me muttering the prayers to JETSUN DROELMA.Sheepishly I entered the room. I could never memorize any prayer in my life no matter how motivated I felt.
The only solace I can seek is the BAZA GURU chanting which drops out of my lips whenever I am scared of the invisible ghosts or whenever I hear of some terrible mishaps. When people ask me about my religion, I say," I'm a Buddhist!"
Few weeks ago, there was a WANG which I attended with my room mate. As is the custom, there was a wang lung before the actual wang,I sat religiously positioned, my eyes looking solemn. As the Rinpoche delivered the luung in English for the benefit of all gathered, a man sitting beside me began with a friendly smile. He was a Pakistani who knew so very little about Buddhism but was all keen to make me his teacher, bombarding me with question after every pause Rinpoche took. I narrated whatever little I knew of Guru Rinpoche from my history class and beamed proudly at myself for being able to answer the queries of this muslim man sitting beside me.
But embarrasment took a first step as Rinpoche delved deeper into the crux of the luung.I fumbled,"you see, we don't really learn this deep in our school." The man understood that my knowledge about my religion had reached the dead end so he ended the conversation with the same smile he had given to me at the beginning of our conversation.
"I went to a synagogue," I announced as soon as my room mate was done with her prayer. "When?" I saw disdain in her lone query. "On friday, I went with my hosts for their Sabbath." I told her about the people who were there and the pizza,coke and lots of stuff for kids that were on display. She looked at me as if accusing me of being led to that place with the aroma of pepperoni pizza and not my interest of actually being in a synagogue.
I changed the topic lest she start her lecture on being a true Buddhist. Just few weeks ago I had suggested going into the church near our room just to see what it looks like and she rained words that made me feel like a failed Buddhist. I had to silently slip away on my own to embark on my quest for this other religion's place. The cross didn't warn me of crucifying me for being a Buddhist but entering their church. Infact, back in 2007, in Kyoto, When I bowed my head in silence and clapped thrice before coming out from a SHINTO temple, I didn't feel I had betrayed Guru Rinpoche in any way.Rather, although away from home, saying that silent prayer even if it wasn't a Buddhist temple gave me a peace I required at that time.
But having to face my room mate's interrogation whenever I pick the topic of other religion has me disturbed. Do I become a less of a faithful Buddhist merely because my zest to explore the other side of the fence is stronger than my room mate's. Am I less religious than she is just because I can't chant prayers like she does? It sometimes make me feel less of a good human when confronted with my knowledge of prayers and different kinds of rimdros.
But all the while, I try to keep my heart freed from all malice and make generous contribution for any religious activities. I may not chant prayers but I maintain a good heart( at least I would like to think so) and I feel I justify my being a Buddhist simply by being less of a sinner than more of a saint. However, I know this will be another round for a debate if I broach this in front of my room mate, who is snoring in oblivion of what I am typing (against her?) just now.

Books and me

The rains are here again. The slushy mud and the ladies scampering around always reminds me of Esther Rosa from Bashevis' Needle. Actually, I like playing Esther Rosa and imagine myself doing that most lady-like hop in the smallest puddles. But most of the time, when I am sane I stay tugged in with a book and a coffee (there is no better combination in the world,I guess). I proudly look at the shelf filled with books, books gifted to me by people close to me; books bought saving meager sum from my salary; books borrowed from friends and forgotten to return( these books actually poke me from the shelf filling me with guilty conscience).
There was time, the tear-jerker soaps filled  my time and those were the most impossible days of my life. Television times are always filled with tussle for the channel and the remote. So I lost the long battle for the ownership of the remote when I got married. But I think my foray into the world of books got deeper after that.
My interest in books started as early as the time before I started school. My aunt owned a book shop, I spent most of my days in their shop. When I went back home she would fill my bags with comics. I never slept without my comics. I would flip through the pages just to get into the flashy pictures. Then as I started identifying letters and words, I started actually reading them. Tinkle comics were the earliest. Followed by Casper the friendly ghost and Wendy the witch's comics. When I reached class five, the letter I had written to uncle Pai(Anant Pai but better known as uncle pai) of Tinkle comics and Amar Chitha Kathas, featured in one of the issues in the Reader's write column. I guess when I showed that to my entry to my parents they knew my interest in books was real. So after that they never denied whenever I wanted to go to my Aunt's place for vacation.
Archie's world followed. I liked playing Betty Cooper with her head and heart character. Slowly I crept into Photo Romance and Blue Jeans. I guess I was aging normally. However, the thick books frightened me with their size. So I tried a thick book only when I reached class six. I read my first Sidney Sheldon. BLOODLINE. It was difficult yet I managed to finish it.
 After that I took the thicker ones away for good and entered Nancy Drew's mystery stories. It had me ensnared so much so that one day, engrossed in following Nancy Drew with her mystery I had gorged on two kilograms of mango (Yech! I hate mangoes now) when I finished the book by the end of the day.
Somehow Mills&Boons never got into my system. During high school, I found many of my friends totally into it but it failed to leave its mark on my shelf. Then started Danielle Steel and Sidney Sheldon days.
Today I am a big Nicholas Sparks' fan. I feel proud to announce that I read all his books and I'm waiting for his THE BEST OF ME to come out in October this year.
My book shelf is a filled with an assortment of Dan Brown( although I didn't like his last book THE LOST SYMBOL as much as DA VINCI CODE, ANGELS AND DEMONS and DECEPTION POINT), Vikas Swaroop( people who loved his slumdog millionaire will simply find his other book SIX SUSPECTS far more captivating if you are into Bollywood and its happenings), Paulo Coelho(smitten by THE ALCHEMIST I bought all his books), Cheten Bhagat( all four are worth having in your shelf) and not to forget my much loved Nicholas sparks' books.
Someday I dare to dream.......If I own a house, it would definitely have a big room on the east side wing of the house for me and my books( THIS IS A SILLY DREAM). But till then I've to continue being tugged in the warm embrace of my rented apartment, for home is where my books are to me now.

Divorce

I logged into facebook, the only bridge that closes the deep gorge of lonely life I'm leading currently. No friends were online, actually many of my friends don't appear online these days, I blame it on the time difference and never let the ugly thought that they have forgotten me creep in me. When I've no one to chat with I browse through all kinds of psychics and here is what Anita had to say,"Darling, the experiences you've had in life can help to inspire others who need your help. It'll be in the way you express your words to get through to them. You'll create good changes."I stopped, cancelled the page, again clicked on it and re-read the page and was left wondering what experience do I talk about to inspire others. What could a bitter lonely soul teach others? Hey, then I realized, 'I wasn't bitter like this all the time.'
My childhood days were the best days of my life, I'm sure everybody would say,'what's the big deal, everybody's childhood days are the best.' But my weeping heart knows the transformation my life has taken and the different soul that took birth in my living soul, replacing the smart bubbly girl to a repulsive pessimist grown up.
The words of my neighbors still echoes deep in the recesses of my memory world,"This girl will do well in life." I knew it just like my neighbors knew that I was born to achieve the zenith of success with ease. I loved the powerful adoration in my dad's eyes when he showed my progress report to anybody who visited our place. Which parent wouldn't feel proud f a daughter who brought the letter 'I' written in bold letter in the space where position is to be filled for all three terms( back in those days we used to have first term, second term and finals). 
Not only was my academic performance excellent I had my dad's sense of humor too. I liked narrating 'humjaiga' stories and had my friends sitting in circles with there funny bones all ticklish with the jokes I told them. 
On losar and other occasions, I would be the first one to stand and dance to entertain people. I remember earning a huge sum of money from my relatives and neighbors during losars. 
But real life is no fairytale and my fairytale life ended with the bond between my dad and mom. They seperated and all my above mentioned traits vanished. It was like a boon granted to me so long as my parents lived together.
My academic performance dwindled. Studies didn't interest me anymore. 'Humjaiga' tales were buried so deep that even if I wanted to I would have been able to retrieve it. Dances became few and songs stopped touching my soul.
My parents unaware of the fact that a soul was drowning in the pool of their divorce were entangled in re-building their own lives. As they got immersed in their new lives, they lost the daughter they had in me. Craving for their attention, unknowingly seeking for love that my parents could never shower on me, I realized I had become like a hungry ghoul searching for love and drowning deeper into the cocoon of negativity whenever I failed to get one.
Today, I view anybody who talks of love with repulsion. I think they are another BIG LIAR waiting to pounce on some innocent souls. I've become a bitter and the biggest pessimist. Divorce killed the good human that I would have grown into.
But I know better than to blame my parents. Now that I am a parent myself I understand the decisions they have taken in life in a new way but that doesn't bring back to life what they killed in me long time ago.
So, with this story I don't want people to sympathize my ugly life but I want each of us to think of the souls we would be killing in pursuit of our selfish happiness. Many a times I wonder about MARRIAGE and DIVORCE. One day we feel that if the person who has captured our heart does not become a part of us, we would never be complete and how after few years of togetherness that same person seems like the cancer growing in our body. Why does marriage block the faucet of love from flowing? If we have dared to marry this person why can't we choose to commit ourselves to this person come what may? Whatever! Maybe, I can think of the ordeal of marriage and remaining married for some other time to ponder upon.