Chapter 1

Reena darted out as soon as Dr. Swanson announced that class was over. Her fellow classmates sleepily gathered their belongings and swayed only slowly towards the exit doors. Reena, however, was on a mission. A few hours of Biology review awaited her in the Library. Although she always aced her exams she still panicked every time a quiz was announced. Her parents never applied any unreasonable pressure on her, and frankly were downright surprised at how she turned out. They wondered where she got it from: the drive to succeed, the despair when she did fail, and then the ambition to try harder the next time around. She made sacrifices of her own accord – giving up spending time with cousins so that she could solve some bizarre algebraic equation that no one expected her to. Her parents worried for a while, wondering if her obsession was healthy, afraid that she wouldn’t become the well-rounded female they wanted her to be, but nothing they did altered her course. She attended the family events as expected, practiced the obligatory dances for family weddings, learned just when to stop the tea from boiling, even perfected the art of pleating a sari pallu, and still kept up with her school studies. Eventually they gave up and finally just accepted her for who she was.

Her fellow classmates loitered around the building lobby catching up on the latest relationship gossip and making plans for the weekend, but for Reena, they were all only getting in the way. She maneuvered her way through the crowd, blasted open the doors of Beecher Hall and entered into the brisk open air of the courtyard. Without missing a step, she bolted towards Regenstein Library.

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You walked up with a friend
I was already there
leaning up against the bar
On impulse I bought your drinks
It didn’t matter
you would have stayed anyway
The conversation was great
We talked about things that didn’t matter
like bartenders, waitresses and cheesy guys at bars
and about things that did matter
like happiness and being right there in that very moment
I wanted to say something about your smile
how it could make someone very happy
We laughed, I remember
I touched your arm and at one point you put your hand on my shoulder to adjust your outfit
I pretended I didn’t notice
Eventually you walked away
fading into the crowd only leaving a trace of that smile
I smiled back
We both knew we would meet again

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8 years later.

Somehow time had passed, the sun had come up, gone down, the trees, the birds, and even the wind had come alive, then slept. He would fold into it all himself, at times observing, feeling separate, at times unaware of its manifestation and a part of it completely. It wasn’t that it was a perfect life, it’s just that there had been so many perfect moments that it felt that way.

He watched her body expand and contract with each silent breath. With his hand placed on top of hers, he wished his wife congratulations on yet another anniversary. ‘We survived another year’ Joseph whispered to himself. In previous years he had always chuckled and Helen had always laughed heartily, even though they both expected the same line year-after-year. Today, inside a quiet hospital room, Joseph watched the last eight years float by in his memories.

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God was the first to arrive. His eyes wandering as if he was unsure of himself, almost expecting everyone to be watching him. But no-one really noticed his entrance. The waiters went about their business, the patrons went about theirs. One customer lifted his head, unsure whether the lights had truly brightened or whether his eyes were just tired. God waited, to be seated. I could tell he looked uncomfortable. He just hoped his party would arrive soon.

So finally he sat, at a table in the back, with his white robe, white hair, white beard. The only dark was in his eyes and in his face. It appeared as if he had no shadows.

He grew nervous as the waiter approached. “Can I get you something to drink?”, beamed the waiter. But God did not understand the art-form of restaurants. How ever move was watched and studied. It was not a dining experience but rather a test on socioeconomic standing. The higher your status the better your performance. God, being the leader of the poor, stumbled at his words and responded simply that he was waiting.

The waiter, unsure of what to bring, left with a disturbed look. It was an awkward moment. God truly loved the waiter, just couldn’t communicate with him in that setting. If only the waiter had looked into God’s eyes he would have known, all would have been understood.

The waiter returned with water but didn’t say a word. God responded with an attempted smile, but the waiter was quick to leave. Was this really the right setting for this meeting? God pushed that thought aside for he knew that his invitees preferred this type of dining experience. God would just have to stick it out, sacrifice was his nature.

Jesus’ birthday was around the corner, Moses was preparing for Hanukkah and of course, today Mohammed was celebrating Eid. What better an opportunity to bring all three together and finally discuss the future of Jerusalem? So much damage had been done, too much hate, too much anger, for far way too long. God now felt that he had to intervene. It couldn’t go on any longer. God would bring all three together during their festive holidays and pep them up into an agreement. The Christians, the Jews, the Muslims, coming together for the sake of the holiest of cities, Jerusalem.

God smiled to himself and for a moment he didn’t care where he was or who he was. All that mattered was the cause. Peace in Jerusalem, “Hallelujah”, cheered God to himself. Had he been at his home he would have surely let out a thunderous joyous roar to awaken the heavens.

But would his party ever show up. The upscale atmosphere was beginning to seep into God’s state of mind.

God passed time by overlooking the menu. Mohammed would order dates as appetizers, Jesus would ask for the finest bottle of red wine, Moses would do with bread and water. God himself, however, would continue to fast.

The waiter returned, irritated, his patience growing thin. No appetizers were ordered, the waiter was wasting his time, the establishment was wasting theirs. It is a business after all.

God knew this but kept his mind preoccupied with the problem and its solution. He was afraid that his three prophets would start to argue with one another as they had done in the past. They were such kids, each thought that God loved them most, but all were God’s children, loved equally.

God thanked that they were late, gave him time to collect his thoughts for the dinner. He would ask them to show the world that Muslims, Jews and Christians loved one another. That is all he could ask. He would ask each of them to meet with the political leaders to create a unified yet diverse Israel. The world was not ready for a unified religion, or a philosophy of no religion, but Israel could be converted into a model society for all humanity.

A program of religious education and awareness coupled with inter-community faith events would have to be created. Voluntary disbandment of all weapons. Under no circumstances would violence result in further retaliation. People would be asked not to kill in the name of God but rather to be prepared to die for the sake of peace. Eventually the haters would be exhausted by their own hate. There would be no more retaliatory hate to inflame the already angry men. Yes, God followed Gandhi’s philosophy, yes God was a dreamer. But if it could be done, only God could do it.

So he called the dinner, to talk through the issues and walk through a plan. God cheered up. He honestly believed it could happen, it would happen.

Then he heard something, he smiled. A lady screamed and murmurs floated in the establishment. The patrons must have recognized Jesus, God thought. God’s uneasiness left him. The restaurant would treat him better now that his recognized prophets were here.

But the murmurs turned into screams of shock and horror. Where he sat, in the back, God couldn’t actually see what was happening. Almost floating, he turned towards the front of the establishment. Hell’s Fire, he thought to himself. A car parked in front of the restaurant was entirely engulfed in a raging flame.

Car Bomb!

— Chughzy

Dearest Jesus, Peace and blessing upon you.

I am so sorry for everything. If there is anyone who is owed an apology, it is you. I am so sorry we have taken everything that you lived and died for and construed it to create more harm and havoc. I know you must cry every time you look back at what you left behind. We have destroyed everything that you tried to build. I am so sorry, but your life has been short of inspirational.

Dear Jesus, you died for our sins, but I’m sorry, your death was in vain. You tried to teach people to be kind to one another, to treat each neighbor like you yourself would like to be treated. The other day I heard about a priest treating a nun to a neighborly sexual abduction. Why have you died Jesus? We are still ridden with sin. People still break all the rules, we still kill others, we still lie, we still cheat, we are still jealous of others, we still hate, we are still angry. Jesus, we need you once again. Jesus, we need you to die once again.

Dearest Mohammad, peace and blessing upon you.

I am so sorry for everything. If there is anyone who is owed an apology it is you. You tried to change the world, change everyone you met, you spread the message of peace and love. I’m sorry. Your life too has been reduced to a symbol of havoc. The Holy Qur’an is now commercialized in America as a symbol of terrorism. Your life is exampled, your words are quoted, your beauty is tainted as people who profess to follow your leadership take up arms against innocent civilians. Girls are killed because they are passionate about the freedoms they will never discover. Men are shot as they accidentally break curfews to bring food for families late into the night. Mohammad, we have failed to be the peaceful people you tried to lead. Mohammad, we are not Muslims.

Dearest Guru Nanak Dev Ji, peace and blessing upon you,

I am so sorry for everything. If there is anyone who is owed an apology it is you. We have destroyed everything you stood for. We have made a mockery of your life. Reading about your basic principles in life makes me shake my head to it all. Your teachings of equality, your concepts of oneness… where are they now? Where is the equality? You denounced all forms of inequality, the caste system, the gender biases, the social classes, the concept of oneness… where is it now Guru Nanak? We have created more inequality than existed in your time, we have Jatts, Bhappas, Khatris, who refuse to let their offspring marry into the other’s caste. Your followers have built the exact caste system you spent your life destroying. What did your life amount to? We have Khalsas, and Singhs, and Cuttsardhs, we have the rich and the poor, we have Sikhs, Muslims, Hindus, Christians… all hating each other because of their different backgrounds, their different upbringing, their different predecessors. Guru Nanak, I am so sorry, but your life too is short of inspirational.

Dearest Jesus, Come Back. Mohammad, Nanak, Moses, come back, we need you now more than ever. Why, Why exist in a time when all is in flux, when people are easily persuaded, when it is easier to show people the light because of all the darkness that exists?

Why do it at all? Why Jesus, only ensure that your message spreads to the Christians. And Moses, why, I thought all of humankind was chosen, why is that only Jews have rights to your wonderful teachings. Why Nanak, are your teachings of oneness only recited on the lips of a few million called Sikhs? Mohammad, I don’t understand, your teachings, your way of living, why is it only understood by the select few who follow your Sunna. Why do your deeds and words not transcend human built boundaries? Why did your messages not reach all corners of the globe?

Why? God, why do such a thing? Why send different messengers to different parts of your creation at different times. They all advertise the same message.. but your followers are ethnocentric. Did you not know what a despicable creation you had molded? Why God, instead of creating a humanity, have you created sub teams, each with their own agenda? Each member of Team A believing that their Team and its leader is the chosen one. Each member of Team A believing that its better than Team B. All is one, but why the separate Teams? Greater brotherhood and bonding… but only between members; no compassion or understanding for the outsiders?

I guess you knew what you were doing. Testing us all along to see if we really understood your messages. Each religion recites it, regurgitates it, drums up cheers for it but never really practices it. God is one, all is one… written in every book. Yet we continue to kill our brothers. Not all is one, Americans and Afghans, Muslims and Jews, the rich and the poor. Far from one.

Do it now, send us back into extinction as you did with the dinosaurs. Bring out another breed, a more intelligent breed, a more compassionate breed. You are still a step away from your ultimate creation.

Jesus, Mohammad, Nanak, Moses.. thank you for your valiant efforts… but we need you now, when people have convinced themselves that they understand your teachings, when people are convinced that they know what life is all about. Come back and teach us now. Save us now.

— Chughzy

My Husband. What can I say? He’s amazing. He reads the Holy Qur’an with compassion, thirst and a pinch of skepticism. He washes his face, hands and feet before he reads the Guru Granth Sahib. Prays towards the East.. the west, the north and the south. Plans on finishing the New Testament one of these months. The Bhagwad Gita sits in his library… he’ll pick it up as soon as he’s finished understanding the Bible he says. Wants to understand Buddhism. Portraits of Jesus and Ganeshji armored around his prayer room. He treats all his religious texts with the same respect.. tends to them with the same love and tenderness he shows his children. Treats his kids equally. My husband, reads Conversations with God as if it were the Holy Qur’an. Discovers sacred writings in fantasy novels. My Husband, truly a dreamer. Thinks that if all six billion of us prayed together the world would be fixed. Truly compassionate about the biggest problems that plague this planet. More concerned about the welfare of a people that can’t speak the same language as him than his own parents. His parents will be fine, he is dedicated to fighting AIDS in South Africa. Defines his community as the human race and not the religious groups that his friends or family follow. Loves God. Donates blood, money, hours, his health and his entire lifestyle to greater causes. Truly believes that all we need is more love.

My Husband. Thinks that societies unwillingness to change is the only thing that stops him from preaching. Believes that he could be doing everything wrong. Asks for forgiveness… for himself, me, our children, and the people of our planet. Forgives the angry men that wage war on one another. Forgives the people that hurt him the most… expects more from the ones that love him the most. My Husband.

My Husband… loves me and his children more than is possible without saying a word. My Husband, cries when he is happy and smiles when he is sad. My Husband, trapped beneath the World Trade Center… probably never even screamed. My Husband, fearless, welcomed death and the peace that it brought. Dreamer till the end, he must have escorted victims to safety as he lay behind to help others. I miss him.

My Wife. Crazy. Junior High School Teacher. Doesn’t realize how much I need her. Reads the Guru Granth Sahib with utter peace, harmony and a pinch of skepticism. Reads the Old Testament while facing the East. Prays at all times of the day in every direction… knows that the only key to prayer is faith. Does it while she is driving, conversing, arguing, bathing, and making love. My Wife… people still wonder if she is a Sikh, Hindu, Muslim or a Jew. I think she is all of them, she thinks she is neither. My Wife, a better Buddhist than a monk. Never litters, treats animals with the same respect as her parents. Cries when she hears of suffering thousands of miles away. Tears when she sees the condition of dogs living in India. My Wife. Born in India but refuses to believe that there are such things as countries. My Wife. Only angered when I spend money on her.. thinks that the money could be used to save the hungry children in Somalia. My wife. Beautiful… not because of her dress or her minute use of makeup but rather because her soul shines through in every moment she breathes.

My Wife. A better father than most. A mother unlike any I’ve known. My Wife. Brings me closer to my kids, closer to God, closer to my parents, closer to happiness. Would rather me spend less time with her and more on volunteer activities. Crazy. Unselfishness is her religion.

My Wife keeps her prayer room cleaner than the rest. Portraits of the world’s most popular temples adorn her prayer room. Books, artifacts, articles from all religions kept immaculately beautiful, a condition that most families squander on family jewelry.

My Wife. She will raise my children to be soldiers against hate and violence. She will raise them to understand that all religions believe in the same thing but have different names.. as children have different names. She will teach them that these different names are only ways to categorize human beings.. but only one category matters. God’s Children.

My Wife… I know she will cry.. I’m not sure if she will cry in front of the kids. I know she will miss me.

— Chughzy