Cartwheels in a Sari Read Online Free PDF Page B

and had given me fair warning.

2
Because Guru Says So, That's Why
    F OR MY FIRST DAY OF KINDERGARTEN, I PICKED OUT MY favorite Guru-blue sari to wear. When my mother gently suggested that I dress in corduroys instead, I looked at her in shock. Out of everyone, she should have understood that this momentous occasion, like all others, required my best sari.
    Upon entering the classroom, I introduced myself to Mrs. Wright, bowing my head with folded hands and explaining that my guru gave me the name Jayanti and it meant the Highest Victory of the Supreme in Sanskrit.
    “Well, well,” she said, writing an extensive note in her spiral notebook.
    Mrs. Wright instructed the class to form a circle on the floor. I sat lotus style, tucking my sari underneath me, and folded my hands, assuming class would start with a meditation, but when Mrs. Wright began talking instead, welcoming all the students and the few scattered parents who remained fastened to their crying kids, I was deeply concerned. I scanned the room at the mixture of unknown boys and girls, none of whom seemed bothered by the lack ofmeditation. Aside from the few disciple kids whom we saw at functions, Ketan and I never interacted with children, especially outsiders. Those were Guru's strict orders. Guru didn't want us going to school at all, but since he didn't know home-schooling was an option, to avoid legal troubles, he reluctantly agreed that we could venture to the outside world to avoid breaking the law.
    “Wowie. I like your dress,” Betty said, skipping over to me after snack.
    “It's a sari. Don't you wear saris to meditate with your guru?”
    Betty nodded and tugged at her ringlet.
    As far as I was concerned, the whole world had gurus. This was startling news. When I invited Betty to meet Guru, she cheered wildly. My first day and I already had found a new disciple. I was very pleased with myself.
    “Can I touch it?” Betty asked, clutching the
pallu,
the decorative portion of the sari that hangs off the left shoulder.
    “Betty,” Mrs. Wright said, staring at my sari. “Do not make fun of others for being different. Be respectful of people and their ethnic diversity,” Mrs. Wright ordered, fingering her gold crucifix against her gray turtleneck.
    Later in the week, for show-and-tell, while the other kids carted in seashells from the Florida Keys, cookie tins filled with buttons, and Jellybean, Betty's one-eyed gerbil, I volunteered to sing Guru's Bengali devotional songs.
    “Phule phule, dhule dhule, moranachi, khule, khule…”
I bellowed out my tune and triumphantly bowed.
    The kids cheered and clapped, flapping their hands up and down in excitement.
    “And you made that up yourself?” Mrs. Wright asked, tightly crossing her legs.
    “No, no. My guru did. He writes lots and lots of songs,” I answered, giving full credit where credit was due. “I know hundreds of them. Do you want to hear more?” I offered.
    I was a hit. I promised all my classmates that I would teach them, but they had to sing soulfully.
    “That's more than enough for now,” Mrs. Wright replied, walking back to her desk to make yet another notation in her book. I began to have doubts about Mrs. Wright. I didn't think that she would make a very good disciple. Unlike my classmates, she didn't seem receptive to Guru's light. As I skipped off to join the rest of the class, I understood that Mrs. Wright, like so many unfortunate outsiders, was not spiritually aware. I sighed, feeling sorry for her, knowing that she was missing out on so much, but I was not discouraged. There were plenty of classmates, faculty, and staff at the school with whom I could share Guru's special mission. I figured I'd have to take it slowly with Mrs. Wright, and that maybe, eventually, she would have an inner awakening.
    However, by the end of the school year, I was seriously rethinking my academic career.
    The lessons that were urgent to memorize at school—the names of Christopher Columbus's ships