Good Friday 2008

Quite the thing happened , it totally made an otherwise depressing Catholic ritual very happy and bright. We started out early Friday evening to make it on time for mass in Austin, but the traffic in Downtown wouldn’t let up. By the time we got out of Dallas, we knew we wouldn’t make it. We googled up churches en route and found one at Hillsboro, TX called ‘Our Lady of Mercy Church’. We hurried in and managed to catch the stations of the cross. This was a small church, the smallest I’ve come across. After this was over, the deacon got everybody involved in decorating the altar and before we knew it we were helping out as well. We carried pots of flowers to decorate the altar and in a weird way felt I was part of something larger than me.

A professor just the previous day had talked to us about the Alaskan Eskimos belief in a world that has meaning and a purpose behind everything that happens; there is no such thing as chanced occurrences. I guess this was my passion.

Stranger in a strange land.

I‘m not quite sure why I’m writing this today after sooo long. I guess I’d rather now than never. I’m at home and at the same time, twice removed from it. I live in Dallas and call it my home, but the question of what truly is home is always left unanswered. Can I be at two places at one time? My body lives here, but my soul is restless to find its place.
I was born and raised in Bangalore and lived a good part of my life there and always look forward to “going home.” “Home” always conjures the image of a safe haven, bringing out feelings similar to what the womb must have felt like — warm, secure, cared for, a sense of belonging to something greater than oneself. But the minute I am there I am struck by the feeling of being homeless. The brick and mortar buildings, the fixtures and furniture remain unchanged, but the spirit within is lacking. Maybe it’s not one place, maybe it’s the moment that counts. It has more to do with a feeling than a place I suppose.