I want my child to be Agnostic
and question everything
before daring to believe.

I want my child to be Sikh
and devote himself to learning
the secrets of the universe.

I want my child to be Muslim
and surrender fully
to the will of God.

I want my child to be Satanist
and consider that the opposite of right
may always be left.

I want my child to be Tao
and always follow The Way
as arduous as it may be.

But God help him if he isn't firm to his beliefs.

It's a new year, and a new page in my life: I'm going into University, I'm getting my Driving License, and I'm pursuing my new philosophies more ardently than ever. I see the dreaded moment coming closer when there's going to be a massive standoff between me and my parents.

My parents have never been keen on my Indian interests. They still see this as a phase that will hopefully pass after they take me on a trip to India. Somehow, I don't see that happening. This was never just because Indian girls are pretty or some crazy teenage phase. I don't follow Hinduism just because it's an Indian religion: I follow it because it speaks to me; it answers questions that Judaism never could.

And it really annoys me when my parents tell me that I should get more involved in Jewish culture: I don't get involved in things just because it's more politically correct, or because technically, in the normal world, this is how things would be done. I immerse myself in Indian culture to absorb more of the profound metaphysics of Hinduism, and because on the surface, it's a lot more colourful than Jewish culture, which is virtually identical to Western culture.

That doesn't say I've disbanded my Jewish background. I still celebrate all the Jewish holidays - just alongside Hindu ones. The fact that I've been learning Hindi and watched 10 times as many Bollywood films as Hollywood doesn't mean anything with regards to my culture. I will look at the Jewish Association at the University, but I doubt I'll join them: I've heard about the politics these people follow, and I'm not involving myself in that. Either way, my involvement in Hinduism has only made me a far better person - so why complain?

I remember the Arts and Culture teacher in our school announcing that tolerance isn't enough - what we need is to embrace other cultures, because only then can we understand them. Perhaps in Israel if both sides showed just a little bit of tolerance, let alone understanding, there would be peace. I suppose that's the generation gap between my parents and I: having grown up in South Africa, I was always in school with people of all races, cultures and religions. In Grade 2 I would exchange beliefs with my best friend, a Christian. My first friend in High-school was Muslim. In Israel, though there is diversity, it all ends up monocultural and the last time I was there, I was appalled at the racist comments I heard.

I'll not say a word against my parents who grew up in Israeli society. I'll justify their beliefs with mitigation and reasons. But likewise, my beliefs are my beliefs. I'll accept a challenge to strengthen them, but don't knock them just because they're foreign!


Kahlil Gibran

Exactly two years ago, on the hour, I was at a shrine in Bangkok, praying for strength of character. For courage. Decisiveness. I dreamt of building up my skills to aid me in any situation, learn first-aid, survival skills.

Maybe I asked for too much.

I prayed for that because about twelve hours before a massive tsunami struck on all coasts of the Indian ocean. I can't remember stats like how many people died or how much damage was caused. I don't need to remember more than: enough.

There I was at the time, boarding a train, laughing with some Dutch tourists as we travelled North to the river Kwai.
I had a great time. Probably the most fun I had on my trip.
Meanwhile, some hundred kilometres South, people weren't exactly having the time of their lives.

I didn't start the tsunami. But I feel so guilty I might as well have. I can't stop thinking that I should have helped somehow. The Thai had been nothing but hospitable. They are the friendliest people I have ever come across.
And at their time of need, I could do nothing, while my parents planned the rest of the trip and how we'd use our standby tickets to get back home.

I donated some fifty Baht, all I had on my person, to my Dad's distaste; bought a wristband comemmorating the Tsunami and I think donated another 10-20 Rand in South Africa. There was nothing more I could do. I don't have a budget, my parents do; I don't know any first-aid, my only skills are in speech and writing. So I promised myself that night, I'd learn to be courageous. I'd build up those skills.

Two years down the line, I haven't learnt those skills, and I'm still as much of a coward as I always was. I couldn't even donate blood when there was a drive at our school. I live in a country with so much AIDS, so much poverty, and I turn a blind eye, secluding myself in the 'Sandton Bubble' where it's safe. Ignorance is always safer.
Pathetic.

But as Khaled Hosseini wrote, perhaps the coward just needs to remember he's a coward. I'm weak. I can't fight, I can't do anything more than dream. So I should stick to doing what I can: "They also serve Him who stand and wait..."

My parents would certainly prefer me to take that attitude. Their concern is my financial well-being. Go, become a lawyer, make money. There's many ways of helping people, and you can help them legally.
But I dread the moral mazes that Law offers. Suppose I was to go into Criminal Law and defend innocent victims from criminals? Then I'm also putting innocent people behind bars. That destroys their lives. But if I play the defendant, I'm helping real hardened criminals.
I've decided to go into Human Rights Law. There I'll probably have a better chance of helping people who deserve help. But what about people who abuse Human Rights? Twist them to their own ends? Abuse the Rights of others? I'm protecting them too.

I have but one last bit of salvation: the smiles of a girl I've never met before, and may never meet. One person who suffers from depression, whose life always reminds me to count my blessings because it's so saturated with sorrow, who I pledged to help in every way I can.

If not for her, my life is meaningless, a waste of oxygen.

At last, on Friday, after enduring vile exams and social disasters, I skipped the last lessons of school, ran to the cinemas to watch the film. Overall it did live up to its expectations, although the beginning needed a bit of a reality check.

The film studies the poor relationships within two married couples: Dev (Shahrukh Khan) and Rhea(Preity Zinta), and Rishi(Abhishek Bacchan) and Maya(Rani Mukherjee). Their failing marriages lead Maya and Dev into friendship, and ultimately more - but how can they say goodbye to their spouses?

The film begins poorly, flashing too quickly between the four leading characters. The only scene that worked well was the soccer match, showing Dev winning the soccer match. Much more needed to be shown about the other characters to give them a bit of background, especially Maya, or these scenes should have been cut out altogether. Generally the editing needed work, and there were a few too many flashbacks than what was necessary, and the white-out became too harsh.

Moreover, the film lacked reality in the beginning. I would much rather have seen Dev get a permanent leg injury in the soccer match than from a car - it would have been more believable. There was too much attempt at comedy, and it became farce. I found the scene with the nurses especially irritating (maybe Bollywood needs to be a bit more realistic with white characters). The call-girl that Rishi's father, Samarjit (played by Amitabh Bacchan) brings to Rishi's apartment also could have been a bit less hyperactive and still carried the humour. Happily, as the film went on, it became more serious and thus could bring out the powerful emotions.

The cinematography for the song Tumhii Dekho Na was poor. To have everyone dress in blue for the first part was all right - but when they decided to dress all of New York in various colours, it became silly. The orange worked so beautifully with autumn leaves rather than people - so why couldn't we see green leaves and red flowers instead of people dressed head-to-toe in those colours? Rock And Roll Soniye also could have stuck to the sixties theme with their chorus, rather than having them in saris in the middle. I would have wanted to see more of Kajol in this song as well. The other songs were brilliant, and the title song was especially moving in its lyrics and its cinematography.

What I enjoyed the most about this film were the characters. Dev and Rhea were especially done well, as Dev's permanent leg injury made him a failure, contrasting his ambitious wife, Rhea. Only SRK could have pulled this off, making Dev the bitter character he was while still earning our sympathy. However, we needed to see more depth to Maya and Rishi. It appeared that Johar didn't want us to think that Rishi was merely after sexual intimacy, but he failed to show this well enough. Nonetheless Abhishek managed to capture his character well, showing him as smart and yet somewhat naughty. Similarly, all the characters were portrayed excellently, including Samarjit and Kamaljit (Kiron Kher).

Thus overall, the film was powerful and moving. The plot had a natural flow and the characters were excellently portrayed. It was heartwrenching without being overdone, apart from the farce in the first half-hour. What it lacked in reality in the beginning, however, it made up for with its flawless characters later on.

One more day of school.

Just one more day, and a month of exams. And that's it. Twelve years of school, five years of high school, all finished. Though I'm glad to leave and pursue my dreams independently, I look back and am awed by how much I changed over these past five years. Their influence has left an impact that will never leave me, and certainly the many memories will not.

I remember entering high school knowing that it would be a new beginning: in primary school I was shy and lived in my own world, far from everyone else. I was in a chrysalis. However, in high-school I emerged to become, as a friend called, me, a social butterfly. In my first year, for a while, I was among the top of the pops, and though it soon passed as I couldn't, and didn't care to, hold on to that popularity, I was still far better off socially than in primary school. I wrote, but I was still an amateur with no more than high hopes and imagination.

The next year the foundation was set for the great changes. I became a speaker on the debating team and won best speaker at my first debate. This love for debating began to challenge my previous views of life. Born an Israeli, I was patriotic to my motherland and was adamantly by its side - but now I realised that there was another side to the story: what was it? That's when I met a matric who was active in politics. She helped me to see that other side, to understand the true meaning of justice. From having violent dreams about how to end the conflict, I became a pacifist: everyone has a story and a right to tell it.

Grade 10 poured light through the chinks of my cocoon, bringing me out of ignorance. My English teacher was passionate about fantasy, the esoteric, philosophy, politics - everything. As a fellow fan of Lord of the Rings, I became one of her favourite students, but I also was intrigued at her culture-creative approach to religions. She was right - every religion was essentially the same, why look to only one? I already knew from my Matric friend that the truth was to be found from different people - so certainly the metaphysical truth would be found only from looking at it in different perspectives.

Also that year, I began watching Bollywood films. I had heard about it perhaps a year or two before, but in passing - an advert for wallpapers while checking my email. My English teacher also played a role, as she commented that the actresses were beautiful. It just happened that one Saturday night I walked past the television while it was showing Baghban. The music lured me to sit down, to watch. I was mesmerised. It was all so beautiful: the colours, the romantic lyrics, the dancing...
Ok, the flying squirrels were neither beautiful nor mesmerising. My mother sat down and changed the channel to one of her soaps.
"Thank goodness that racket's over," she muttered. I stalked out of the room, but after that I didn't miss a film that was shown on TV. Even during exams I would tape them and watch small bits every time I took a break.

I was still writing passionately the entire time - mostly in Maths class. I used to enjoy Maths in primary school: perhaps the novelty wore off. It struck me as repetitive, and thus couldn't resist moving my pen from my workbook to my exam pad to carry on with the next scene. My maths teacher tried to stop me - to little avail. Even when she confiscated my exam pad, I just took the scene for a different story I had worked on and continued with that.

My new addiction and its effects are a whole different story, but it brought me quickly in touch with the Indian community. This and my culture-creative following introduced me to Hinduism, a religion that answered all the questions Judaism could not.

In Grade eleven I was among the top debaters in the school, but by the end of the year, I cared little more for the debates than meeting new people. The changes had become more solid - I knew who I was, and where I was going. After taking a writing course, my stories took flight at long last, but I turned to the absurdist style: it was far more entertaining, and easier, to rewrite the rules of gravity and to say things like, "cheese makes nice crispy bakes."

Only one other change occured. At the time I was undecided about what to do with my life - I didn't want to merely enter business: it seemed selfish and Machiavellian. My parents wanted me to become a lawyer, but I still doubt I'd be able to handle the moral dilemmas. Late that year I came across a hidden strength: I met an Egyptian on a language exchange forum - she wanted to learn Hebrew, and I toyed with the idea of learning Arabic. However, I had neither the time to prepare Hebrew lessons nor study Arabic, so the language exchange never took place. But she needed other help - wisdom, friendship. I could offer both. As much as I helped her by just talking with her and giving her whatever advice I could, she helped me by letting me. Now I realised how strong a skill it was just to listen.

And that brings us to today. Five years ago, I would never have imagined this is who I would be - this Indophile who has adopted Hinduism; this philosopher who shall study Psychology and Law; this traveller with a love for all music -
all this is me. The chrysalis is broken. The wings are dry. I spread them and fly, for next year shall bring a new chapter, and much more to write.