Wednesday, September 20, 2006

A Puzzle in My Tree: The Blog



My grandfather was a Hindu from East India. I have never met him as he passed away when my mother was about 11 years old. All throughout the years especially when my grandmother, who was Filipina, was still alive, I would hear stories about him...how he neatly dressed in a white 'polo' shirt embroidered with his initials on its left breast pocket...how he liked to laugh especially when teasing my grandmother about something...how the cultural differences between the two of them created vague impressions and a unique impact in their lives and consequently in our lives...how he tended his store...how hairy he was...how handsome according to my grandmother and my mother...how loving...how he travelled back to India to visit his relatives...how one of those travels was to be his last...how he passed giving in to a heart problem while traveling...how he wasn't buried but cremated...
I have often wondered how he was really apart from the stories. What would be his voice like? How did he speak when he spoke in his home country's language? in English? in Filipino? Did he like books?
Today, I joined a tour with a dearest friend together with some others in this glorious Hindu temple called the Shri Swaminarayan Mandir in a city close to Houston called Stafford in Texas. As the rest were probably awed and inspired by the wonderful architecture, culture, and religion this heavenly place signified, I was touching yet again that part of me that was so familiar yet distant. As I listened to the vibrant tour speaker, an Indian man, I wondered if my grandfather had eyes like him? Did he smile like him? Was he devoted in their faith?
After the tour, I sensed a very bright smile within me. For today, another part of me was opened and celebrated.
---
16 September 2006
BAPS-Shri Swaminarayan Mandir-Houston
Stafford, Texas
[In loving memory of Rupchand Varoomal]

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