When Zoroastrian Eyes are Smiling ...

It's true. I'm not Irish, not even a little bit. I'm 100% Indian, technically Persian if you go back a couple dozen centuries. I'm not Christian, although I celebrate Christmas like its going out of style. I'm Zoroastrian, which is actually the first monotheistic religion upon which Christianity and Judaism were built. And perhaps most damaging of all, my mum was born and raised in London, England. And with my duel citizenship that makes me British.

And yet here I am. With all this working against me (as some might say), I love everything Irish. I have no idea where this love came from. Maybe it came from spending summers and vacations in London and having my cousins take me out to an Irish pub for my first real pint when I was 15 (although technically it was a half-pint and it was shandy but the meaning is the same). Or perhaps it was the Irish presence in one of my favorite books, A Tree Grows in Brookyln, about a young Irish girl growing up in, you guessed it, Brooklyn, that sparked my interest. Or even later, when I was 16, visiting Ireland, searching for the statue of Molly Malone in Dublin.

I don't really think it was one life-changing event. More a culmination of all the forces in the universe coming together to create my Irish obsession (yes I know this sounds very dramatic).

I've decided in my next few blog posts to talk about my rather humorous introduction to the Irish world. All I can say is that my birthday is February 1st, which happens to be St. Brigid's day. If that's not fate I don't know what is.

To be continued ...