night before, especially after having collapsed of heat exhaustion yesterday after spending the whole day at the zoo in ninety-degree humid weather. I was supposed to fast the whole day, don a robe, carry a wise staff, recite verses from ancient Hindu scripture, and beg for alms, as expected of the ascetic Brahmin who attains high social status only by rescinding anything viscerally pleasurable or impure. Interestingly, it had been a year since I embraced atheism and did not see the logic behind religion, but I went along with the wishes of my family to follow the rites of passage within my caste, as my forefathers had done. I knew I would get a lot of presents and fanfare on my poitay, so what’s so bad about being bald for a month or two? I had to sit cross-legged near a small fire pit in the middle of the room, keeping much focus on the rituals and resisting the urge to swat the pesky mosquitos that wanted to bite my juicy skull. Fortunately, it wasn’t too hot that day. Baba’s elder brother, who was also Picklu’s father and whom I called Jethumoni, was my designated guru who guided the prayers and made sure I was able to pronounce precisely all the Sanskrit words as part of the Gayatri mantra, a powerful chant that has been repeated by Brahmins for centuries. Jethumoni advised that I learn it perfectly, since I would have to recite it twice daily for at least a year and remember it for the rest of my life. I was not supposed to share this secret, ancient code, neither with a woman nor with one who is not Brahmin, but only recite it during solitary prayer. I felt more potent, as I realized I was an important node in the web of religious tradition; I somehow, without pondering or analyzing, passively inherited the knowledge and wisdom contained in the folklore and stories of past generations. After a whole day of prayer and rituals, I finally was awarded the sacred thread, and for the first time, looped it above my left shoulder and let it rest on my right flank. I had to wear it for at least one year, but may have chosen to wear it for the rest of my life. I feared, however, I would have to explain to my eighth-grade classmates in the school locker room why I was wearing a string around my body. The next morning, my guru took me to the Ganges where I had to bury my stick. I was happy my fast was over and looked forward to the party later in the day. 10
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