If someone were
to steal my phone, they would undoubtedly feel guilty for stealing the phone of
a pious, devout Catholic. A short peruse through my iPhone photo album would
unveil a plethora of pictures ranging from soaring cathedral ceilings to
magnificent stained glass windows. The thing is, I’m not Catholic—I’m Hindu.
On a surface level, studying abroad in London has not resulted in any major changes to my daily routine. My dorm looks like a Georgetown dorm, my grocery list still contains the same items, and everyone around me speaks English. However, there has been one major change to my routine. Every Sunday, at 5:00 p.m., I am no longer at puja (Hindu prayer service). Georgetown’s Hindu Student Association has molded the last three years of my life. Attending puja every week brought me my closest friends, provided me with an avenue for meaningful reflection, and became a 60-minute retreat from the stress and pressure of life at Georgetown.
But living in London has led to the addition of a new, unexpected ritual—a weekly trip to a cathedral. In hindsight, this should not be that big of a surprise. After all, when tough decisions need to be made, or I need a quiet space for introspection at Georgetown, it is to Dahlgren Chapel that I go.
From the stunning stained glass windows that shower particles of rainbow light onto the walls at the Canterbury Cathedral, to the exquisite retable with icicles of shimmering gold at the Catedral Primada Santa María de Toledo, cathedrals are no doubt beautiful buildings. But it was when I was sitting in the square outside the Saint Carolus Borromeus Church staring at the beautiful baroque facade that I realized the real power of cathedrals and churches. It is not their ability to inspire awe, but rather the environment they create. Art students around me were silently sketching with their ear buds in. An elderly couple was sitting next to each other in silence, resting their heads on each other. A young man was reading a book, while a group of kids near him had a picnic. Finally there was me, a college-aged, Indian-American Hindu. The Saint Carolus Borromeus Church provided a space for all our lives to intersect, if only even for a few moments. It enabled us to slow down and simply think. As the sun came out of the clouds and hit the shining gold emblem of the Jesuits, I felt a sense of calm wash over me that I had not felt in days.
Though I miss attending puja every week, I am happy that I have been able to find a new community abroad. This new community has no name. It has no membership requirements. And it has no rules. Rather, this community of strangers is bound together simply by the threads of humanity. In a world where there seems to be more cracks and divides than unity, I am grateful for the environment of tranquility that cathedrals provide.
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