A Mark of Growth

At the Hindu temple where I go to worship, called a mandir, it is commonplace to see men have an orange colored “U” shaped mark with a red dot on their foreheads. Outside of the walls of the mandir it’s not common to see this mark on anyone’s forehead. In the mandir there are no questions that arise from this symbol that is known as a “tilak & chandlo”. Outside of mandir, the tilak-chandlo can lead to endless questions most kids at my age are not ready to start answering. For that reason, I would only wear the tilak chandlo inside the walls of the mandir, where I am around people who aren’t going to make a big deal about it.

I spend most of my Sundays at the mandir, where I hang out with my friends, eat tasty Indian food, and of course, attend the mandir’s youth assemblies. During these assemblies, I have learned some great takeaway points that have helped me use my faith to get me through stressful times in life and learn about my culture and traditions. On one such occasion, a topic of emphasis was the origins of the tilak-chandlo.

A tilak-chandlo is a religious mark that some in my faith wear on their forehead. It’s a part of our identity as Swaminarayan Hindus. There are two main parts of a tilak-chandlo — the tilak and the chandlo. A tilak is made of sandalwood paste in a “U” shaped manner. Hence, the color orange. It symbolizes God’s feet. The chandlo is a circle applied with a red powder at the center of the tilak, and is meant to represent ME, the person, Aarav, touching the feet of God. The mark also symbolizes the dual devotion to God and my gurus, Pramukh Swami Maharaj and Mahant Swami Maharaj. As I started to better understand the meaning behind the symbol, I started to think about taking the next step and wearing it every day, not just on Sundays during worship, but everyday… even to school.

The next day, I decided I would be ready to answer questions. That morning, I left for school ‘looking’ different with a bright orange and red tilak-chandlo on my forehead.

Walking out of the threshold of my door, I felt as confident as a lion.

As expected, many of my friends had questions. The first few times I stuttered as I answered. I could feel my confidence breaking with my first responses. To my surprise within a few days, there were no more questions. I thought to myself — alright I’m good and ‘hey this wasn’t too hard’, or so I thought.

A week later, I had settled into homeroom, brought my materials out of my backpack, and prepared for another regular day of school proudly wearing my tilak chandlo.

Then out of the blue, this kid came up to me and said, “Hey Aarav, how are you still alive. It looks like you just got shot in the head.” More than half of the class heard it and erupted into laughter. I thought it was just a one-time joke and didn’t think much of it. I was wrong.

After four and a half hours of class, I was looking forward to relaxing at recess and playing football with my friends — like I had done all year long. Today though, my friends did not want to play with me. They stopped me and said, “Sorry, we don’t want blood all over the ball.” I walked away confused and frustrated while the laughter in the background became louder and louder.

I went looking for other places to find friends to hang out with. The soccer field, the playground, the swing set. All of my classmates said pretty much the same thing. “We don’t want someone who got shot in the head to play with us.” That confusion and frustration turned into sorrow. I went to the back of the bleachers and cried my soul out. Somehow, that “joke” from homeroom had spread throughout the entire 5th grade, and now everyone was avoiding me. It was like being quarantined for practicing my faith.

For the next few weeks, it was the same type of harassment over and over again. School had just become a torture zone for me. After a few weeks, the teachers that were in charge of recess saw a bunch of kids picking on me because of my tilak-chandlo. First, it was a warning. Just five minutes later, they were caught bullying me again and had to sit out of recess. After recess, these same kids were walking back into the school when they shouted, “Get down, there’s a sniper pointing at Aarav”. That was the final straw for the teachers. They escorted the bullies to the principal’s office. I don’t know what happened in the office, but after that I didn’t hear a single comment on my tilak-chandlo. People were treating me like a human being again. It had felt like the remarks were, at long last, coming to an end. School went back to normal, nobody bugged me, and I enjoyed the rest of my 5th grade.

That summer we moved to a new town. This would mean a new school for me. Wearing the tilak chandlo had become natural at this point in time, and I didn’t think twice putting it on for my first day in my new school. The tilak-chandlo was now officially a part of my identity.

As expected, many of my new schoolmates had questions. By now I had gotten pretty good at answering questions on what that “thing” was on my forehead. I would confidently explain what each part meant and why I wore it. My new schoolmates appeared to be genuinely interested. No one was giving me any trouble or finding ways of bullying me in my new school. In my mind I thought — 6th grade is going to be awesome!

I was now three weeks into school. Everything’s going great; then suddenly, a kid comes up to me in school and says, “Dude, you have a sniper laser pointing right towards your head!” The class went berserk. You could hear laughter, even more name-calling and worst of all, people CONGRATULATING HIM for saying such a horrid comment.

My mind shifted from this will be the best years of my life to this is going to be worse than 5th grade. I had people coming up to me at random times calling me names like, laser head, bullets for brains, etc. I just couldn’t take it anymore. When I was going to my next class, I ran to the bathroom and washed the tilak-chandlo away with tears filling in my eyes. I decided I would never wear it to school again. I thought to myself that this symbol is not worth being the target of jokes in school.

In a few days’ time, the name-calling stopped. I gained friends and popularity. It was what I wanted in school. But as the weeks went on, I may have been smiling and enjoying time at school, but inside I felt more and more disconnected from my faith, my religion, my people. My dad and family started to notice and ask what happened with my tilak-chandlo. I would either change the conversation or lie to them and say “I forgot”. Eventually my dad figured out something was not right with me. I finally got the confidence to tell him the truth — “Dad, I can’t wear the tilak-chandlo without being ridiculed anymore.”

My dad then shared with me his own personal experiences with wearing the symbol on his own forehead. We then spoke with other kids at the mandir on how they handled similar situations. I learned at that moment in time that the biggest mistake I made throughout all this was not asking for help or talking to my family, school administration and friends sooner. I soon learned from all their experiences. All I needed was the confidence to speak up about what was going on.

Over the next few weeks, I met with our school guidance counselors who had helped other kids with situations where they were bullied at school. We then came up with a plan to help me get back to focusing on school without the need to hide parts of my identity. The school took action against the kids that were responsible for most of the bullying and also helped educate others that had ‘questions’ on my behalf.

My life of wearing a tilak chandlo still has its ups and downs. The comments, though way less frequent, still come and go. But what does not come and go is my confidence in remaining true to myself. And now even on the rare bad days, I go to the bathroom not to wipe away the chandlo — but to look myself in the mirror and remember what it stands for and symbolizes — my faith, my identity, me.

Aarav S. Dubal, New Jersey
Student, 8th Grade