A matter of faith

It was evening. The year was probably 1980. The train chugged along. We were on our way from Bhilai to Bengaluru. Seven-year-old me had to go to the bathroom, and Amma accompanied me. As we stepped out of the restroom to make our way back to our seats, I saw our fellow passenger near the open door. Not a strange sight on trains except that he had spread a piece of cloth, was facing the door, and
was on his knees, head bowed down.
Curious, I turned to Amma. She hushed me and took me to our berth. ‘He is praying,’ she said.

A few minutes later, he returned to his seat and took out a round box. He opened it, and my eyes opened wide. The box contained some very delicious-looking khajoor. He gave me a couple and took a few himself. As I chomped away happily, I asked him why he was eating dates and not anything else. ‘Because
I am breaking my fast and dates are
easy to digest,’ he responded. I remember him being very patient with me, though I do not remember much else of
our conversation.

This scene plays in my mind’s eye every Ramzan.

As my friends were waiting for the moon to be sighted this year and I made a list of the people I wanted to wish well as their holy month was commencing, I was reminded of some other things.

Ali was my brother’s childhood friend. He would visit my grandparents’ home almost every other day to meet Anna and his other 2-3 ‘chaddi dosts.’ This continued for nearly two decades. On the day of my grandmother’s passing, while Anna was prevented from lifting the bier on which she lay because our parents
were alive, Ali silently stepped in as one of the four bearers.

My cousin had helped a security guard who was doing his MBA while working. On the day of Eid, he came to her place with a box full of the most delicious kheer and offered it, saying, ‘Maine khud banaya hai!’ The gesture and the kheer were both much appreciated.

And the year I lost my family, Kabir, my friend of nearly 30 years who had often stayed at my place during exam times while we studied into the night, took me out and tried to cheer me up. We talked about my parents, her memories of them, and so many other things. The part that moved me the most was that one evening during the holy month, she called and told me, ‘I prayed for your parents today.’ I cried that day, tears
of gratitude.

So many incidents come to mind of friendships with people of different faiths. As Ramakrishna Paramahamsa said: “...it is the same God toward whom all are directing their steps, though along different paths.”