I met Hepa Loleshi on a Saturday afternoon in the library and got talking about religion. She is a nice lady with family values and a family that she loves – was my first impression about her. She was wondering what kind of a person I’m and finally thought that I was okay I assume. Thus, she invited me to there church.

The church was beautiful and I met her family for the first time. Grandma Sesa of the Australian Bush hunter fame tried to hunt me with language skills and the kids – Abish being more matured, friendly and prim, Sesa pretty, spontaneous and warm, little book worm who was smart and thought I was cool. Mr. Frudo the good looking young dude and Mr. Cool from Hollywood the awkward rebel teenager. There were six. But I did not meet the oldest boy from Hamilton. He was very caring and family oriented. I met Ronnie Hepa’s kind Samoan husband at their church. It was a big family church that defied description. My first Mormon church that was a great feeling.

And after that I never felt alone. I was invited to family nights where we sang and Sesa told me how I was their brother from another mother. Ronnie had a slight complication and we went to the hospital. Singing, playing word games, watching basket ball matches, pizza parties after a basket ball game of under 10 boys, where Frudo’s team lost 78 to 1. I moved into Manurewa during my practicum at Papatoetoe High School. I was baptized in their beautiful church and the Loleshis were there. They were there when I heard about my mom health. They prayed with me, for me and my mom. I was touched by Hepa and Sesa and Abish at the Auckjland airport. They are the family I have in NZ. I’m not alone. Thank you.

Dahanu is a sleepy small town, that looks like a Pacific island with endless palms and coconut plantations, on the western side just above Mumbai on a map. The fresh Neera or coconut toddy, a sweet morning juice that can ferment into an intoxicating drink in the afternoon, is pure nectar.
I climb out of the brown train on a winter morning in February for what promises to be a fun trip with my cousin, her husband at the in-laws of the in-laws. It’s slightly complicated so let’s call them the others. The others have a huge apartment in Dahanu.
The first three days were untainted heaven that included long walks, night under rural starry beaches, good food as in a variety of vegetarian curries, lentils and pickles. My cousin’s husband, technically my brother-in-law is a hilarious comedian. We were staying at his sister’s house, the in-laws of the in-laws.
But on that fateful day, we were warned in instalments by others. “They are coming”, said the stupid one. “We need the bhuwa (exorcist) as lots of bad things are happening in the house.”, said the mother. This was following a shouting match between father and the stupid one.
We went for dinner that evening having forgotten the small snippets of talk that day. When we came back everyone was drinking and the lights were full blast inside the house. “They are from London, they don’t believe all this”, said the father to the exorcist almost as a challenge to prove himself. I shuddered. My cousin was thrilled at being called a London-returned. Actually, none of us have been to London. I live in Auckland and my cousin has travelled to Dubai and Nairobi.
I quietly went to our green room with an AC, that looks ancient and works like a breeze. I must have nodded off and suddenly we heard loud noises. My cousin said, “Looks like they are dancing”. I laughed a wee bit but curiosity made me jump from my bedding near the AC to the door some seven feet away. I was excited, even hopeful. Not that I was watching ghosts or possessions, to be more precise, for the first time. But I never believed in the Indian voodoo or any voodoo. I placed myself behind the door and kneeling I opened it slightly. It was not my house so I could not jump out and say “Hey! Let me watch!” Protocol had to be followed. That was part of being born in a country of arrange marriages, extended families and the caste system. India.
Having said that, the class system did not affect the metros, in a big way. But coming back to the action through a gap between the door and the wall, my cousin joined in and her husband followed. My cousin being a staunch Jain did not believe in ‘hocus pocus’. I, on the other hand, believed in almost anything and everything: more excitement that way. I was on all fours; My cousin was bending over me; Her husband was standing upright. Thus, economising wisely the half inch gap between the door and wall.
My cousin continued “Are they singing?”.
Suddenly we saw someone come towards us. We immediately jumped to our nonchalant positions on bed, playing scrabble, reading etc.
The lady of the house walked in and insisted that if we wanted we could join them. I looked at my cousin sister, waiting for her approval
“No. We are fine but Suneal, if you want to go it’s alright”.
I stood on ceremony for exactly ten seconds before I ran out. They eventually followed.
They were singing bhajans or hymns to evoke the goddess mother deity Durga, Kali, Ambe and/or Chamunda. I quietly went and sat there as most Indians do on the thick cotton-jute carpet.
And I saw one of the daughter-in-laws swinging her head at a radius of three feet in a circular 3D motion that allowed her leverage of three feet in height. Something like Earth’s rotation and revolution. I had never sat so close to a possession.
There was red sindoor, not a small dot that dot-busters hate but a big blood red liquid going from between the eyebrows all the way into the hair. And, the woman was moving frantically and when prompted by the exorcist
“Show your true self… WHO ARE YOU!”
She stuck her Maori-haka tongue out and we could see that she looked like a replica of Mother Chamunda. She did – with her eyes wide open. And she rotated and revolved at full burst for a good half an hour. Everybody was summoned to touch her feet in sheer respect for the goddess. Most did – some didn’t. I just bowed to keep the peace since I knew that this whole thing was aggravated because I’m a hot-shot, non-believing foreign returned, who had to either bow to submission or hexed. Add to that my cousin’s attitude of being someone that she was not, could add to my woes. The wannabe tough, educated feminist from hell and the greatest gift to any one who comes into her life.
The noise in the meantime was increasing as people were summoned and asking questions and getting accurate answers. Then the whole part, in fact, a few chosen ones decided to go to crematorium, the Hindu version of a graveyard. I was not invited but I knew that they were going to bury the lemon that had captured all the bad spirits, bad luck and possible misfortunes that the family of others could have faced.
After an hour, the lady that was nice to us was called and she insisted that she didn’t want to get into it since she was religious and believed in Shiva. The father-in-law said it was nothing and we all found ourselves in the yellow lamplit hall with pictures of goddesses and a skull again. She was asked to drink some wine and she insisted that’s enough but suddenly out of no will of hers, she began rotating even while insisting that she did not want to go through this. The roller coaster of hell.
She was fine and educated and graceful and suddenly she began convulsing. I definitely believed, while my cousin decided to be cool. I felt the sooner I believe, the faster the lady will be out of her ordeal. She went for gold. Her voice changed and she was answering question that onlookers had. I touched her feet. I wanted her spell to be broken as soon as possible.
It was finally over and left a huge impression on me. I’m sure there was something there. The exorcist had been in a lineage of exorcists and insisted he did not accept money but I’m sure a lot of money changed hands. The parent- in-law were happy and proud of their daughters-in-laws.
I was relieved when the lady insisted that she was fresher than ever and did not remember a thing. I believe. Actually for a few hours, I had forgotten why I had come to Dahanu. As I reported to my email group…

So What am I doing in Dahanu? I don’t know. But Dahanu is a quiet seaside town in sleepy northern end of Maharashtra. It’s an escape from the polluted suburbs of Mumbai. The summer has begun, bringing nostalgia and heat and dust and a sense of picnicking.
Dahanu has two storied buildings and massive chikoo plantations. We walked at dusk for around 3 kms to the nearest beach. That’s the first thing we did since we came in the morning, ate a lot and slept through India’s mediocre batting. In the evening we were enjoying a 5 km walk through the beach line and a few stars. Nothing spectacular in the sky. The walk was nice and full of oxygen. So was the late night dinner at a lonely spot in the beach. It’s called a restaurant but actually is a nice place, well lit and since it was a week night we were the only people around. One of my friends got drunk. He also happened to be the driver of a van that got curvy and dangerous for dogs at midnight.

I had decided to hold the incident close to my heart till an opportune moment, when I actually can digest my brush with the after life. There was definitely something there.

One night in Bangkok makes the hard man humble; no difference between pain and ecstasy. Murray Head brought Bangkok to the world, somewhere in the 80’s. I landed in Bangkok in the Indian summer of a warm April in 1989. I got a free ticket. We had to go and pick up jeans and Italian shoes from Bangkok. It was a ‘white collar smuggling‘ operation. I liked the sense of adventure over nothing; we were just picking up clothes for a boutique and saving on customs by spending on tickets, in an Indian way. As we left Grandpa‘s flat (apartment in US English), my cousin and me were ready and excited about our first flight.. Our relatives were not as warm as the time when Grandpa went on a world trip.
The night sky gave way to a beautiful morning through an Air France window. The airhostesses didn’t seem to like Indians too much as one of them was arguing with an old Muslim passenger and insisting that he had asked for vegetarian meal so here it was.

Dawn trips are fun once you are awake completely. Arun and I decided to live are wannabe-photographers-who-visit-ancient-ruins-and-forts. It was still dark when we reached the fort and clicked some amazing pictures that are lost thanks to Arun. Anyway these are some of them.

Its a ghastly beautiful experience as I balance my lifestyle and the cheque book and the poetry club i go to. Sophie is there and my cousin is safe in Australia. the days are warm and beautiful in the mornings and chilled to death does its part, in the night. my comp is great and I have more liberty with a bus pass. albert park is greener and library is richer. life is good as sun enters leo. mom is fine of course and the poetry on the escalators was a great experience and i look too chubby in pictures so my 40 km walks last week was great. i left a part time job for poetry but am fine. i’m having fun.

There was a mad hat that Michelle brought and the library was all silence before we decided to break it. I half did not go there but the spirit of adventure was too strong. And there was Amy, Christian, Michelle, Lisa Samuels and many others. Poetry was txted and displayed on the screen. I sang a few lines from Tennyson and Humpty Dumpty as the passion caught fire and we were going up and down the escalators in a frenzy. It was beautiful. Michelle confirmed that “Poetry will be made by all not one”.

It has been recorded how for an hour the 343 course recited poetry at top treble