Weekend Reading Hindi

I'm currently teaching middle school students about eastern religions: I've learned through what I have to teach and here's a story relating to this.

I walked with some friends as they had errands to run a few Saturdays ago. They headed to Sears (you pronounce it say-ours here). I, with book in hand, split to the verdant city park with palm fronds, ponds, mind-easing fountains, and organic pathways, Parque Mexico. On the walkway, I passed a young man and smiled. He smiled back. How often do you do this, smile at someone as if saying, "nice day"? I vividly recall living in Manhattan, passing several hundred strangers a day, without looking somebody in the eyes. If I would and wanted to smile, I still wouldn't. It is that wall of super sized city life I suppose. Well, I received a smile back.

I continued along the path and planted a spot on a bench near a fountain sprawling into the pool. Quickly I became absorbed by my book. Daniel searched for the deceased Carax and dodged the wicked police agent, a former socialist informer in Barcelona. This police agent thought it his job and duty to go after those whom tortured him as a child. He was a poor child. His classmates, the creme in the status of 1920s Barcelona society, made fun of him and his tramp of a mother who tried to jump social class through her son. Her ostentatious gown was a matter of ridicule. When he ran from the front door of the ball, in which his mother was his forced date, he saw his classmate, Carax, kissing the stately daughter with whom he had fallen in love. At this moment, the first of many obsessions, he made it his obligation to get even with Carax. It was his duty to make Carax feel the pain he felt at this moment.

I completed the chapter and looked at the cascading water and continued to look up the obelisk toward the sky. A small pyramid reigned atop the stone and I was reminded of my trip to Tepotzlan, a town only an hour away from Mexico City. It is said that it's virtue is that of a spiritual area on earth, a town in a valley surrounded by several finger-peaked mountains. The main street in the town leads to a rocky path that suddenly arches up to 3000 feet where a pyramid temple sits and overlooks the town and valleys below. The site was built in the 1500s in prehispanic times by the indigineous peoples of Mexico. The ancient temple reigning the area, with magnificent views, is the former home of worship to one of the many Mayan gods. It was a place to worship crops, specifically corn, the all important grain of the country. The corn god was also the god of procreation and festivals. I wondered about the other gods the Mayans worshipped, those who lived in Tepotzlan, those who would make the arduous vertical climb of 3,000 feet to worship. The sound of the water caught my attention and brought me back to the bench.

I glanced down at the maroon cover of my book, my peripheral vision caught the flash of yellow swoop past like a parakeet. The dark haired woman wore a loose leather jacket that reached to her thighs, black leggings that revealed her caramel ankles, and flat shoes, maybe ballet slippers. She reminded me of the East Village, but more European. She skipped and turned to call her bijon frise from her large black Katherine Hepburn sunglasses. Her banana yellow purse, huge, screamed at me in the reflection of the sun. Cristina, the woman, left the bag at Patricio's last night. She innocently flirted with Pato, a friend from Universidad three years ago, and it turned less innocent last night. She rarely walked her dog, Cincopinquo, this early on Saturday afternoons, but she used it as an excuse to pick up her yellow leather bag. Her husband hadn't noticed the bag when she returned to their apartment. Nor did he notice the sprightly fervor and exaltation with which Cristina breathed. Their marriage of under three years had dwindled to an arrangement. She should have known better, but with her situation, knew there was no way out. She simply wished for another life, for several more lives to pursue that which she now realized meant most to her, love.

Meanwhile, Carax hid in the vault where his deceased love was buried with their daughter, who never breathed outside of her mother's womb. The agent searched the estate, fire burning deep within, to do that which he was obliged. I was sure there are people in the world like this, those who are out to get others, those who allow the passions of envy, aggression and violence to dictate their lives and to rule every motive. Because one of each four people on earth are Buddhist and follow a rule to end suffering, atleast there are less spiteful people. The Right Action, according to Buddhist thought, means to do the right thing, to do no harm, and to prevent others from doing harm, if possible. Carax, the evil detective, the woman with the yellow handbag, me, history, those who are a part of history present and future, the Mayans, Earth, the Solar System, and further, we are part of it all, life and existence.

I looked up and saw my friends return with bags in hand. I rose to meet them and met eyes with a woman in radiant indigenous clothing who smiled at me. I returned the smile. This story correlates to the 5 beliefs in which Hindus choose to live peaceful lives. You can correlate each section of the story to a specific belief of Hinduism, as follows. Karma is the belief that when you put goodness into the world, it comes back to you, the same with negativity. Dharma is one's duty, obligation, or job. Belief in Multiple Gods is polytheism. Samsara is the process of growing through multiple lives or reincarnation and Brahman is the power of all that exists, that which encompasses everything, God.

The narrative from the book I was reading, The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, is real, my story is not.