The Sandal and the Star A personal essay by Sanya Nair
I
was seven years old when I went to India for the first time. Now, at eighteen, I don’t remember much from that trip, only snippets: the hot weather, the taste of fresh lychee and rambutan, meeting family members, and—much to my mother’s dismay—forgetting most of their names the following day. Hints of a life I may have lived if my parents hadn’t moved to the States that have since blurred with time. What I do remember is losing my shoe on the side of a mountain. I am Hindu by birth. My parents practice the faith. My brother and I do so nominally—making occasional trips to the nearest Hindu temple in Delaware, repeating phrases in Malayalam to praise Gods we barely know. This isn’t to say I don’t believe in Hinduism. It’s just that I’ve already reached my spiritual peak, when I was seven years old, hiking up a mountain to reach a temple dedicated to the Lord Ayyappa, alongside my brother, dad, and uncle.
2 4 Ilustration by Sydney Zoehrer
