So You Wonder What Happened Next?

Where have I been? What have I been doing? Why haven't I updated my eager audience with more petty stories of my junketeering? The answer has many layers, but the basic principle comes down to the fact that there are only 24 hours in a day (unless you are traveling, then there is sometimes less and occasionally more) and sometimes life suddenly becomes an explosion of activities, family gatherings and an endless pile of school and petty responsibilities. Some might say that just documenting my trip is an easy task, because all I have to do is right down the things I saw and felt, but it is actually quite a bit more difficult than even I was expecting, and writer’s block seemed to have stuck with unusual malice since I have returned to the great land of America.

But fear not my yowling bunch; I will complete my assignment and I will tell my story. I just need to figure out where to take up my thread again. Ahh yes! There it is: page 2 of my journal…

So there I was. Still stuck in the no man's land which airports and travel companies have ironically called lay-overs but if we are going to be at all honest, who the heck ever actually gets any sleep or actually anything done during those interminable periods. But enough about the depravity one experiences during a lay-over, because there are some quite swell things about lay-overs. For example, I met a very unique and interesting individual which after our conversation I was sure to scribble out my thoughts as a token that he was the first person I had a real conversation since the beginning of my trip, and perhaps more pertinently he was the first stranger who I let the sacred words: “well, actually I am going on a trip around the world” fall to.

I had seen him walking around the airport. And my first remembered thought about him was: “if you don’t want to be discriminated against in airports, don’t go around looking like Osama-freaking-Laden”. For he was a big man, probably 6:1 or 6:3 with a tangled beard that bristled and brushed against his wide chest and a dirty blue turban that give him the Lincoln effect. (Which is that his turban made him seem much larger and imposing than he probably was). He had dark skin, and it seemed like he was wearing a black power shirt, although I was never really able to get a good look at it and the glances I took of it portrayed no clear message. The conversation began like any of those type of conversations begin, I sat down, and he sat down near me and was reading a book. Naturally, I was interested, so I asked him what he was reading (which was a book on Sikhism). Which he recommended I read. I asked where he was from and he told me he was from Northern India (which I later found out is where most of the Sikhs live). Due to my nearly complete ignorance of Sikhism, I naively asked if Sikh was a sect of Hinduism and when I was returned with a vaguely blank and to some extent mocking glare, I quickly changed it to a sect of Islam, which--of course, was wrong again (but not totally, as I later found out). But I think he was probably used to people misunderstanding his religion and cultural background. But since I was trying to save face and avoid looking like a complete ignoramus, I quickly changed the subject to India, and began asking questions about how Muslims and Hindus got along in India and about the relationship between India and Pakistan. Which served as a good transition to talk about India’s economic growth and oil usage, and he then informed me that even though Sikhs occupy less than 1.9% of India’s population the Prime Minister was actually Sikh and he has a doctorate in Economics and is doing a very good job. Which of course led me back to what the heck it meant to be a Sikh, which he was slightly unclear about, but from what I could gather they are very similar to a very, small sect of Islam Mysticism called Sufism and was monotheistic and they have to wear a turban all the time to remind them of their devotion to God and they worship God through music at their temples.

After this I was interrupted by various phone calls, which left him to return to his book. Finally, when the voices from 500 miles away had ceased their chattering, I wanted to return to the conversation with my friendly and still slightly imposing new acquaintance. So, I re-began with probably one of the toughest question to ask someone, especially when you had just been talking about religion. I asked him (in a shaky voice) “Do you actually believe in Sikhism? Or is it more of just a cultural/family type thing?” He paused, perhaps because he was surprised that I would dare to ask that type of question or perhaps because he was really searching his soul, trying to come up with the most honest answer. He smiled a little and then said “Yes, I believe in Sikhism”. I was interested in what the full of extent of that answer meant, but since I didn't really know how to draw it out further, I moved on.

I asked what he did, (he is getting his masters in Modern Indian Literature written in English, which I found pretty impressive). And I asked why he was going to London, and he said he was going because someone in his family was getting married. He asked me if I had seen Bend it like Beckham, (I had) and he told me that the wedding was going to be like that. That of course, brought up the mental image of a thousand different colors, dots and turbans and lots of dancing and curry. He in turn asked why I was going to London, which is when I let it slip that I was going around the world, and that I was even going to India. He told me that three days was far too short of an amount to see India (which I couldn’t deny), but he said I was very lucky and blessed (which I also couldn’t deny). And from there our conversation went freely back and forth about books and travel and education and family life. I told him I was a homeschooler, and that I was a passionate reader and that I had read some about eastern religion and mysticism and he told me a few of his favorite authors (his favorite being Dostoevsky, which automatically meant that I liked him more than 80% of the population). By this time the lady at front’s gargled message was played on the loud speakers, which causes the herd mentality to win out as 300 people push and shove to form a glob of a line. When we were finally in line and after we had discussed religion, education, economics, politics, families and books I smile, stick out my hand and say “Oh by the way, I’m David Parker”. He smiles, in a knowing sort of way, as if to say that he too realizes that we had been talking for almost an hour and a half and neither of us has introduced ourselves. “I’m Pennu” he returns. (Of course I had to ask how you spell that, but he was kind enough to repeat it several times and to spell it out for me).

And then, my ticket was taken, I said goodbye to Pennu and never saw him again and I walked down the ramp to a new world ahead of me and a seven hour flight riding along with Helios as he carried the sun across the sky.