background info: A tilak chandlo is a physical representation of the Swaminarayan Hindu faith for male devotees. They usually apply a tilak chandlo on their foreheads during worship. The mark includes two components: a u-shaped tilak made of sandalwood paste and a red kumkum dot in the middle.
SHAIL- I walked on, ashamed. Head down, earbuds in, eyes on the floor. I was different from everyone around me. It wasn't my race, height, or age that alienated me. It was my forehead. Branded on my forehead was a scarlet-like red dot surrounded by an orange, u-shaped mark. In other words, I was wearing a Tilak Chandlo on my forehead; my beliefs differed from those of every other student at my high school— I was a Hindu, a Swaminarayan.
Naturally fearing others' perceptions of me, I initially steered free of the people around me. Up to this point of my sophomore year, high school merely seemed like an institution in which cliques were formed based on character, personality, and religion. As a result of this perception, I felt out of place. Although I already had a friend group, this preemptive notion of discrimination led me to believe I had no place in the social structures of high school. At 7:20 AM the bells rang. I took my place beside the friends I no longer knew.
As expected, I watched their eyes wander to my forehead. I prepared myself for judgmental looks and a flood of questions. Contrary to my inferences, the manner with which these questions were asked can be best described by M. Scott Peck, who stated, "Share our similarities, celebrate our differences." Rather than asking in a condescending manner, my peers delivered questions that rang with curiosity, love, and friendliness. Shockingly, I failed to realize their genuine interest and half-heartedly answered with an explanation of the marks as being a religious symbol. However, my friends persisted. The power of curiosity was indefinite, almighty. Eventually, this superior force defeated my personal bias and opened my eyes to the embracing nature of my friends. With newfound ease, I naturally spoke of the metaphor of the Tilak Chandlo: "The vermillion Chandlo represents me, the devotee, while the U-shaped Tilak represents the feet of God. In a sense, this means that I am always at the service of God's feet."
Prior to wearing the Tilak Chandlo, I tailored my social image to conform to high school's perception of "cool." I adopted the latest fashion trends. I tended to keep quiet on campus. I suppressed my own personality. However, after this experience, such actions became illogical. Now it is apparent to me that diversity should be treasured as a virtue rather than a flaw.
Since sophomore year, I've come across many similar experiences ranging from pointing and laughing of teenagers to the encouragement of diversity from teachers. The difference, however, remains in me. I now realize the secret to defying society's conformities lay upon my shoulders, my dogma, and my mind.
Today, I walk. Head up, earbuds out, eyes on those around me. I know I'm unique. And this time I don't mind.
SHAIL- I walked on, ashamed. Head down, earbuds in, eyes on the floor. I was different from everyone around me. It wasn't my race, height, or age that alienated me. It was my forehead. Branded on my forehead was a scarlet-like red dot surrounded by an orange, u-shaped mark. In other words, I was wearing a Tilak Chandlo on my forehead; my beliefs differed from those of every other student at my high school— I was a Hindu, a Swaminarayan.
Naturally fearing others' perceptions of me, I initially steered free of the people around me. Up to this point of my sophomore year, high school merely seemed like an institution in which cliques were formed based on character, personality, and religion. As a result of this perception, I felt out of place. Although I already had a friend group, this preemptive notion of discrimination led me to believe I had no place in the social structures of high school. At 7:20 AM the bells rang. I took my place beside the friends I no longer knew.
As expected, I watched their eyes wander to my forehead. I prepared myself for judgmental looks and a flood of questions. Contrary to my inferences, the manner with which these questions were asked can be best described by M. Scott Peck, who stated, "Share our similarities, celebrate our differences." Rather than asking in a condescending manner, my peers delivered questions that rang with curiosity, love, and friendliness. Shockingly, I failed to realize their genuine interest and half-heartedly answered with an explanation of the marks as being a religious symbol. However, my friends persisted. The power of curiosity was indefinite, almighty. Eventually, this superior force defeated my personal bias and opened my eyes to the embracing nature of my friends. With newfound ease, I naturally spoke of the metaphor of the Tilak Chandlo: "The vermillion Chandlo represents me, the devotee, while the U-shaped Tilak represents the feet of God. In a sense, this means that I am always at the service of God's feet."
Prior to wearing the Tilak Chandlo, I tailored my social image to conform to high school's perception of "cool." I adopted the latest fashion trends. I tended to keep quiet on campus. I suppressed my own personality. However, after this experience, such actions became illogical. Now it is apparent to me that diversity should be treasured as a virtue rather than a flaw.
Since sophomore year, I've come across many similar experiences ranging from pointing and laughing of teenagers to the encouragement of diversity from teachers. The difference, however, remains in me. I now realize the secret to defying society's conformities lay upon my shoulders, my dogma, and my mind.
Today, I walk. Head up, earbuds out, eyes on those around me. I know I'm unique. And this time I don't mind.
Shail is a student majoring in Biology at the University of Texas at San Antonio. He is part of a religious organization known as BAPS, which is within the branch of Swaminarayan Hinduism.
