In the last hundred years, North America has played a dominant role in world political and financial affairs. Yet today it seems to be rethinking its strategy of leadership in the 21^st century.  It’s a continent abundant in natural resources – including the most fertile plains in the world, deserts, the Great Lakes, Rocky Mountains, Mississippi River; the Atlantic, Pacific, and Arctic oceans; and miles of coastlines. Wildlife, forests and woodlands, rich minerals deposits, reliable sunshine, and strong winds all contribute to our economy. In short, we are blessed with Ahura Mazda’s Creations. However, we have taken these Creations for granted.

Tall prairie grass once covered the Midwestern region in what we refer today as the fertile plains. Crystal clear water flowed in the rivers, our coastlines were pristine, and land was devoid of landfills and toxic waste. Today, the tall prairie grass is nearly but all gone. The majority of our waterways are polluted; and people dwelling in our urban areas breathe unclean air. We have exploited these natural resources to the extent that they won’t be around for the next generations unless restored immediately.

As Zarathushtis, it is our imperative to be part of, if not leaders, in the environment movement on this continent, which advocates limiting our carbon and water footprints, behaving as responsible consumers, and lobbying for environment and climate reforms and legislation at local, regional and global levels. Zarathushtis historically have led frugal lives in the Old World. Following principles of conscious thoughts, good words and good deeds, we practiced preservation and conservation in everyday life aiming at sustainable living. Assimilation and integration in the larger North American society has led us astray from old beliefs and practices. We need to relearn our basic beliefs and put them into practice.

I believe that today, sustainable practices such as Permaculture are the answers to our environmental restoration commitment. Permaculture is a concept based on the principle of leaving behind the world in a better condition than we found it when we opened our eyes. It is a design approach to creating living systems that mimic patterns found in nature. The idea is to integrate surrounding natural areas with our homes, apartments, and other buildings to produce an abundance of food, shelter, energy, and other services – with a minimum of work. I believe that Permaculture works well within the framework of our Zarathushti beliefs.

In the following, I share some essential practices vital to promote sustainable living:

• Rethink: Think long term – at least one generation (20 years or more) and ideally up to seven generations – the impact of our daily actions on Ahura Mazda’s Creations. Our current use and throw away mind frame needs to stop immediately.

• Reduce, Reuse, Recycle: In everyday living, we must reduce consumption; reuse what we currently own; and when we can’t use it anymore, make every effort to recycle. We need to minimize contribution to landfills and garbage dumps. Ideally, everything we use should be recycled or added to a compost pile. Composting organic materials is essential for sustainable living communities.

• Conscious Consumer Behavior: As consumers we have the power of the purse. We can demand that goods we purchase are manufactured, packaged, marketed, transported, and sold in an eco-friendly manner. In other words, put your money where your mouth is. An educated eco-consumer should beware of companies engaged in “green washing.”

• Know Your Food: Most importantly, know what you are eating, where your food is grown, and what is added before it reaches your plate. People dedicated to sustainability and eco-consiousness emphasize eating local foods. Those interested in eating locally-produced food not moved long distances are called “locavores.” As interest rises, the locavore/localvore movement is becoming increasingly important in North America. Local food is often grown in home gardens, or by local farmers wanting to keep the environment clean and sell food close to where it is grown. Some consider food grown within a 100 mile radius local, while others have differing definitions. In general, local food is thought by those in the movement to taste better than food shipped long distances.

• Triple Bottom Line: The triple bottom line (TBL, 3BL, or “people, planet, profit”) captures an expanded spectrum of values and criteria for measuring organizational – and societal – success: economic, ecological and social. TBL is an ethical capitalism model which should be adopted by all Zarathusti orgainzations and businesses.

• Build Alliances: Build networks and alliances with other Zarathushtis and faith-based people at local levels to share knowledge, pleasantly evangelize, and proselytize sustainable practices. These alliances will serve as building blocks to create sustainable communities at regional and global levels.

• Political Activism: Not everyone’s modus operandi, but political activism is the key to passing legislation that mandates sustainability practices for businesses and people. An activist can attend rallies, organize boycotts of companies that are green washing or producing environmentally harmful products. Backseat supporters can attend boycotts, support environmental lobby groups, and most importantly, vote for eco-friendly legislation and demand that our governments implement those laws.

The present and future of our universe lies in our hands. It is our present thoughts, words and actions that will shape humankind’s future. We can make a conscious choice to adopt a Permaculture solution to rejuvenate our planet so a prosperous economy, happy and healthy people, and a clean environment thrives. May we Zarathustis have the wisdom to be among those who rejuvenate the universe.

Useful websites:

www.lazyenvironmentalist.com/

www.greenyour.com/

www.triplepundit.com/

http://11thhouraction.com/

Recommended Books:

The Lazy Environmentalist on a Budget, by Josh Doorfman

The Edible Container Garden: Growing Fresh Food in Small Spaces, byMichael Guerra

Gaia’s Garden: A Guide to Home-Scale Permaculture, byToby Hemenway

Rashna Ghadialy is a demographer, Reiki Practitioner, and environmentalist. She actively participates in interfaith activities, and promotes Permaculture in Chicago and beyond. As a Chicago Conservation Corps volunteer member, she has organized sustainability-related projects in her Chicago neighborhood. She is working with a sustainable living group which plans to convert urban and suburban toxic brown fields into organic farms.

The evolution of Zarathushti leadership, infrastructure and organization is gradually turning to the next generation in virtually every capacity. Call it a transition or natural progression, the next generation is embedded in Zarathushti associations, in big cities, small towns, on the Internet, as well as in organizations like FEZANA, the World Zarathushti Chamber of Commerce, and other organizations/initiatives worldwide.

The questions we tackle: How will the next generation impact the future? How will the founding and next generation transition smoothly? How will leadership styles, culture and new thinking shape the direction we take? Will customs and ties to our homeland dissolve over time? Will the next generation create a renewed promise of continuity and growth through tolerance and inclusion, or work to preserve age-old edicts that have reduced an already-shrinking Zarathushti population worldwide? And will the next generation work in concert with the founding generation or seek its own path?

While complex, these questions can be answered easily because the future is now. The proverbial “torch” was passed in North America the moment Zarathushti youth congresses were organized by youth, when they could tackle the issues important to them. Today, many of those “youth” are young adults, parents, professionals inheriting many of the same challenges and concerns their parents faced when they emigrated from India, Iran and other parts of the world.

Perhaps never in our history has there been a greater need for dialogue between the generations to keep the transition of leadership smooth and steady. Whether the founding generation is ready to make way for a new generation of leaders is not clear. Some North American Zarathushti communities are paving a pathway for responsible and meaningful change, operating with sound constitutions that allow for term limits in leadership, equal representation on boards and a vision for the future.

Other organizations sadly struggle with leadership bottlenecks, nepotism, and a reliance on out-dated constitutions to power their organizations forward. Sadly, these organizations become jaded in their oversight and management of the community, failing to take into account the collective interest of all community members and losing sight of long-term priorities.

Some folks are predisposed to fearing change – and the mere existence of a next generation organization can rattle minds and create insecurity among a few who do not have control, interest, or influence in its future. Moreover, no single organization or person can lay claim to the next generation mantle because generational shifts take place over time, through action, conviction, and a natural evolution of mindset and thinking.

NextGenNow and other similar Zarathushti next generation initiatives worldwide will continue to succeed by taking a high-road approach, leading by example, and making a difference by always placing the organization’s mission and mandate ahead of self-interest, ego and politics.

We hope you enjoy the read!
Roots to Wings – Guest editors: Jim Engineer, Tamina Davar, Mantreh Atashband, and Lylah M. Alphonse

My earliest memories of going to a fire temple are of seeing a bearded man dressed in all white sitting all alone, greeting us when we entered. Feeling awed and scared at the same time, it took a while to understand why this man looked so similar to the ones in photographs on the wall. It took patience and effort on my late grandfather’s part to make me understand that this was “aapra dastoorji.” The man in question was the revered head priest Dasturji Hormazdji of the Batliwala Agiary in Tardeo all those years ago. Since then I have had numerous friends and relatives who are priests and that has led to a deeper understanding of what they stand for and what they mean to our ancient religion.

In a religion as ancient as ours, the center of our spiritual physical being lies with these very priests. The dasturs, as they are known, are the custodians and implementers of all matters pertaining to religion, customs, ceremonies and the overall conscience of the religion. Zarathusti priests have over the centuries been the guiding force in the interpretation of our ancient texts, performing ceremonies of happiness and sadness, and being the silent custodians and arbitrators of our religious ethos.

However in today’s day and age, one of the many issues facing Zarathustis both in the Old Country and in the new lands is the scarcity and access to these priests. Parsi priesthood is by familial lineage and whichever way you dice it, the numbers of priests are dwindling. In cities like Bombay, it is not as endemic a problem as it in other cities with smaller Zarathusti populations. And in North America it is even more evident. Larger centers of Zarathusti population like the Greater New York or Metropolitan Chicago have a reasonable number of priests, however; away from these few centers the priests are few and far in between.

All Zarathusti priests, even those born and brought up in North America, are ordained into priesthood back in India and Iran. This is because of the lack of a consecrated fire in North America, one of the major prerequisites in the ordaining process. Fathers who are themselves priests get their sons ordained as priests at a young age. However with the other social structure lacking in North America, especially the Atash Kadeh, young priests find it very difficult to understand the symbolism of their role as priests and the special position they now have in their own religion. Jimmy Antia and his brother Mazda, both born in USA, were ordained priests in the footsteps of their father Kersy. For Jimmy, “Being a mobed means continuing in the tradition of family and my ancestors. It is a way to connect spiritually to the community. “

One of the biggest challenges to these youngsters is to find the real meaning and role of this newly ordained priesthood. When this question was posted to Dr. Jehan Bagli, one of the senior most priests in North America, he says “To me being a priest is a commitment. It is an assignment to do all the things that help perpetuate the Religion of Zarathustra. A Zarathusti priest is duty bound to fill the spiritual needs of the members of Zarathushti community. It is incumbent upon the priest to find time to learn and understand the prayers that he recites. It is the responsibility of a priest to impart the knowledge of the Zarathushti tradition to the laity and to participate whenever possible in the ritual performances for the community and for individual family when requested.” This is indeed a monumental task for a youngster usually no older than 12 or 14 years at the time of ordainment.

The social structure exists in Bombay for priests to ease into their roles. Young priests are regularly under the tutelage of senior priests at the local Agiaries and Atash Behrams. They perform prayer ceremonies, especially during the Muktad prayers just before the Parsi New Year. However the days of full time priesthood are all but gone. The income they generate is in most cases not sufficient to take up priesthood as a full time profession and raise a family. To a young boy, all the pressures of school, college, and other things compete with the time they would spend in their priestly duties. And in most cases the latter takes a back seat — and this is in Bombay, with one of the largest concentration of Zarathusti populations in the world.

In North America it is a different story all together. Being a priest here is even more challenging. Most priests here perform a few jashans and even fewer other prayers. The difficulty quotient of being a priest in North America is many fold. And the meaning of what it means to be a priest also differs. Kobad Zarolia, a very senior priest in North America, feels that the meaning of priesthood also changes with age. He writes “…being a priest means different things at different age to me. When I became a priest it was to keep the family tradition going. To keep my parents happy. When I came to Canada it was helping other Zarathusti to keep up with our rituals. At my older age it is more dispersing religious knowledge to the community and to non Zarathusti community.”

Priests in North America have also been the major force behind the prayer classes that local Zarathusti Associations hold. Generations of children have learnt what it means to be a Zarathusti at these classes taught by priests and parents. Children learn their prayers for their navjote ceremonies and later on about the values of their religion.

Beyond that, the involvement of priests within the religion in the traditional sense is limited. This may primarily be due to the lack of Zarathusti population to sustain priesthood symbolically. Dr. Kersy Antia, a senior priest from Chicago, says that in the future the traditional role of priests as knowledge-bearers may be lost forever. Dr. Antia feels the ever increasing need for priests to answer the enormous amount of questions that face our religion today. Dr. Bagli sees two possibilities for priests in the coming years. “There are two ways one practices the religion (a) through living it and (b) through devotional practices. In my view, the two are inextricably intertwined. I have noticed young members of the community sincerely trying to practice the Faith by living it, but are not always party to devotional and ritual practices.”

The future of the Zarathusti community in North America is very much dependent on the active participation and guidance of its priests. Kobad Zarolia sees “a bright future for Zoroastrian community if we follow our fore fathers example when they started establishing in India. They built Fire Temples first when 20 to 30 families got established in a village or city. Building of wedding halls always took back seat to Fire temples. In North America we have reversed the trend and that what worries me. “

The onus of the success of the priesthood lies primarily with the parents and the community in general. Parents need to take the extra step in making their children understand their religion and culture beyond just the prayers they recite and the ceremonies they perform. As they grow older, a wider understanding of theology, rites and ceremonies, and the deeper meaning of our scriptures. And the community in general needs to give the respect and encouragement due to the priests to do what they do best. Dr. Bagli is optimistic in his outlook on this issue. “I see a long of young talent coming up as lawyers, doctors and social workers, and also in the extracurricular fields. However somewhere along the line people have to come to  grip with the fact that Spirituality is a reality and making it a part of their life can only bring greater benevolence to the community.

There is a need for a deeper awakening and understanding of our religion. The will and knowledge to tackle the problems and issues of a modern diaspora can lead to the ultimate redefining of the role of priests as the keepers of this most ancient religion. This will be the challenge and the legacy of the coming generation of young priests in North America.

Atha Zamyat yatha Afrinami  (May it be so as I say it ).

Arzan Sam Wadia is an architect and urban designer currently residing in New York City with his wife Shirrin. He runs Parsi Khabar (www.parsikhabar.net) an online portal about Parsis: The Zoroastrians of India. Arzan is an avid blogger, motorcyclist and an active member of the Sethna’s 18th West Bombay Scout Group.

By Roy Wadia 

I clearly remember the day my brother Riyad, barely a week old, came home from Breach Candy Hospital on a hot and wet September day in Bombay.  The monsoon had lingered late in 1967, and the Arabian Sea waves still washed over the parapet on the Worli Sea Face promenade across from the bungalow that my grandfather the filmmaker Jamshed “JBH” Wadia had built in the 1940s. I had anticipated Riyad’s arrival for many months, from the time he protruded steadily from our mother Nargis’ once razor-thin waist to the tiny creature swaddled in white at the hospital nursery, wailing noiselessly behind the thick glass I stuck my face against in an attempt to fathom how it was that I had a new baby brother.  The miracle of birth made an impact even then on a five-year-old, and I viewed the new arrival at first with awe, and then, upon closer inspection, with a surge of protective love tinged with the realization that I no longer had the roost to myself, that a new chick had hatched, breaking the shell that I had constructed around my hitherto unchallenged dominion.

Riyad was beautiful from the outset. No ugly duckling phase for him whether he was one week old, or ten years or 20.  As he lay in his wicker cradle, mosquito netting draped around, I gazed into his big, wide open eyes and had an urge to read him a bedtime story.  I picked up my then favourite book, “The Red Balloon”, and narrated the tale of a hapless balloon that escapes from its child owner and meanders around the city only to find itself back home in the hands of a grateful little boy at the very end.  As I read out aloud to my baby brother, he broke into a wide, luminous smile and gurgled contentedly, a latter-day infant Zoroaster.  In my excitement I thought he had mastered the art of speech and rushed off to announce that wonder to our parents.  Even though they assured me that couldn’t possibly be the case, I knew that Riyad understood me perfectly even then

Given that our mother was a high-flying advertising executive who travelled extensively for work, and our father was no less busy an entrepreneur who spent long hours at his factory, we were raised in large part by adoring grandparents.  My mother’s parents Kaikushroo and Perin Khambata lived in the Dadar Parsi Colony.  Grandpa was a strict and Spartan man, who mellowed somewhat with his grandchildren.  Granny was warm and loving, and a fantastic cook whose rava laced with badaam and daraak remains my favourite gastronomic memory to this day. 

But it was our paternal grandparents Jamshed and Hilla Wadia who were our “spiritual parents”. Jamshed, or JBH as everyone called him, was the ultimate Renaissance man.  Scion of the Wadia shipbuilders who built the Wadiaji Atash Behram at Princess Street in Bombay (and several others besides), JBH himself was the founder of Wadia Movietone, one of Bollywood’s legendary pioneering studios. JBH not only produced the famous “Hunterwali” films with the blonde and blue-eyed stunt queen Fearless Nadia, he spotted many a talented actor and gave him or her their cinematic break (Dilip Kumar, Nargis, Meena Kumari, Feroz Khan, Mumtaz, Helen and Rekha to name just a few).  His studio treated all its actors and crew equally, without regard to name or rank, earning him the affection of those who worked for him.  Fluent in Farsi, Urdu, Hindustani and Gujarati, JBH wrote poetry, fiction and non-fiction, combining his linguistic ability with his immersion in literature from all corners of the world.  Moreover, he was a freedom fighter, using his film work to convey messages of independence, courage, ethnic harmony and women’s rights, whether through Fearless Nadia’s “Diamond Queen” or historic dramas such as “Veer Rajputani.”  And when it came to our ancestral history, JBH taught Riyad and me all about our illustrious forebears, with tales stretching back to the times of the East India Company.  Our glamorous grandmother Hilla was a wonderful complement to JBH, impressing upon us the need to incorporate the arts and beauty into one’s life through music, dance and other cultural pursuits.  Her eye for vivid colour both at home and on the film set, combined with an Art Deco penchant, informed her sensibility.  Blessed with a fine figure, Hilla wasn’t shy about sharing it with the world via low-cut blouses and thin blouse straps, one of which always fell off her shoulder at odd moments, especially when men were present. 

Raised in this amazing, eccentric world of film and media, it was no surprise that both Riyad and I expressed a flair for the arts and humanities rather than the sciences and mathematics (despite our father being an organic chemist by training). I was an early reader and writer, devouring books at an absurdly young age, a solid student with good school grades.  But Riyad by contrast was a slow learner and some experts suggested he was dyslexic.  But then, around the age of ten a transformation occurred. 

Without having gone through the usual diet of Grimm’s Fairy Tales or Enid Blyton, Riyad suddenly began reading avidly – books by Harold Robbins, Robert Ludlum, Sidney Sheldon, works meant for a considerably older audience.  His sensibility too was one that belied his years.  Having been constantly compared to me by everyone from relatives to school teachers, and initially found wanting in academic and extra-curricular skills, Riyad had lived in my shadow for years.  At first he tried desperately to be more like me, the younger sibling striving to reach the standards set by the older brother.  But the more he did that, the more I would put him down – scornful of his attempts.  Just as my classmates taunted and targeted me for being a bookworm and a “sissy”, I in turn took out my schoolboy angst on my adoring, doting brother.  Not only would I verbally berate his attempts to imitate me, I would often hit him as well.  Children are cruel, and I was no exception.  To this day, I cannot forgive myself for the way in which I allowed myself to vent my own feelings of inadequacy by using my brother as a literal punching bag.

1986 proved to be a key year for us.  Our beloved grandfather JBH died after a long battle with cancer.  Through the illness, Riyad was constantly by his side, pressing our grandfather’s head and shoulders in an attempt to ease his considerable pain.  While I was affected by JBH’s death, Riyad was devastated.  Later that year, I left for the United States to study journalism – and to carve out for myself an existence free of my family’s influence, wanting to make my own name without feeling that it was my family who had opened doors for me.  Perhaps more importantly, I had long realized that I was gay, and sought an environment where I could eventually find a partner and enjoy companionship in a way I could never hope to back in India, at least not at that time. Leaving Bombay was liberating.  Not only did I embark on a successful journalism career at CNN in Atlanta, I was lucky enough to meet and fall in love with Alan, a wonderful man from Taiwan who I met at college, and with whom I’ve been for the past 20 years.

With me out of the picture, Riyad finally came into his own. Not only did he flourish in school and then college, attracting a huge circle of devoted friends, he ventured into the realm of theatre and the arts, acting in plays and musicals, writing poetry and short stories, making a name for himself in the Bombay scene.  All of this gave Riyad the courage to do what he had long wanted to – become a filmmaker just like our grandfather.  The true heir of JBH in so many ways, Riyad went to a prestigious film school in Australia, winning awards for his student work and returning to India ready to revive Wadia Movietone.  With my father’s assistance, Riyad set about restoring the Wadia Movietone archives – the handful of films that still existed, the considerable number of posters, stills and lobby cards that were packed away in trunks and boxes.  From this treasure trove that had long been gathering dust, Riyad realized perhaps the most precious gems were the films of Fearless Nadia a.k.a. Hunterwali – the Lady with the Whip.  Nadia (whose real name was Mary Evans) had married Jamshed’s younger brother Homi who had joined JBH in making numerous movies under the Wadia Brothers banner.  Mary Aunty was still alive in the early 1990s when Riyad decided to make a documentary about her amazing life and times.  “Fearless – The Hunterwali Story” would become Riyad’s calling card, a beautifully made film that received a rave review in Time magazine and which was screened at every prestigious film festival around the world, including Berlin, Toronto and London.  It not only brought Nadia back into the public eye in her final years, delighting an old lady who thought the world had forgotten her, but it put Riyad firmly on the cinematic map.  It also changed my brother’s personal life in ways that one could never have imagined.

Just like me, Riyad had been harbouring a secret for years.  Devastatingly handsome in his teens and early 20s, Riyad had many girls pining for him.  He even dated some of them in college.  But the truth was that Riyad, like me, was gay.  Unlike me, however, he was torn about his sexuality.  In school, Riyad actually displayed an overt homophobia towards classmates who were teased for their effeminacy.  But in Australia, Riyad finally came to terms with who he was.  Being away from home gave him the chance to be himself, to not only accept himself but decide to be open and truthful about it even when he returned to conservative, homophobic and hypocritical Bombay and India.

In countries like India, and indeed even in the so-called “open” West, a majority of gay men grow up as self-hating individuals, absorbing the corrosive stigma and discrimination that exists towards homosexuality.  Many gay men end up getting married, having children and leading “normal” lives because that is what they are expected to do, pressured to do. On the side, of course, they lead a double life, having sex with men in secret.  This in no small part has helped fuel the HIV/AIDS epidemic in India and around the world; there are far more men who have sex with men than one would imagine, an issue that is seldom acknowledged and discussed, with devastating consequences for individuals, families and ultimately societies at large.

When Riyad returned to India, he was determined to shatter that mould at least as far as he went.  Not only did he come out swinging, his openness was all the more vocal and dramatic after years of suppression. Riyad truly became one of the most prominent gay rights activists in Bombay, indeed in India.  There had been others before him, such as the illustrious Ashok Row Kavi who was fearlessly out even when I was in college.  But Riyad took his advocacy to a new level.  By being part of Bombay’s social upper crust, from a well-known family, he made sure he was seen and heard in circles that were not used to such an in-your-face approach.  His dashing good looks and attractive, larger than life personality made him the life of the party.  His candour was disarming – it was hard for homophobes to taunt him because he pre-empted their barbs by declaring himself out and proud in no uncertain terms.  He wore the pink triangle and rainbow insignias of the Western gay rights movement at a time when even many gay people in Bombay didn’t know what they signified.  And Riyad was not shy about dating men.  It was a time when the Voodoo Pub at Colaba became gay on Friday nights, and Riyad was there in full force, with an increasing number of men who were inspired and emboldened by his attitude.  I recall going there with him one night and being amazed at not only the number of men who were there, dancing with abandon, but by the number of people I actually knew from my school and college days who I would never have imagined to be gay.  Bombay, and India, were changing and Riyad was at the vanguard of that change.

With “Fearless” a smash hit on the festival circuit Riyad’s international travel was in full swing – from city to city he hopped, and with all this travel came the opportunity to explore the gay scene in city after city as well.  This was in the early 1990s, barely a decade after a dreaded virus had emerged across the globe.  Being the older brother and the more “conservative” one, I kept nagging Riyad time and again about the need to be careful.  Riyad was in his 20s, fabulous and successful, single and gorgeous.  The “invincibility of youth” is such a cliché, but it embodied Riyad to a T. He would barely tolerate my lecturing, calling me a “boring, married, ‘heteronormative’ gay man.”  

After years of suppressing his true self, Riyad was in no rush to settle down even though he had been given the opportunity to do so when he met a Canadian-Chinese filmmaker, Paul Lee, five years his senior and very much in love with Riyad.  Riyad was very tempted; he was truly attracted to Paul who was handsome (a former Armani model), talented and emotionally mature.  Alan and I spent a memorable weekend with Paul and Riyad in San Francisco, where “Fearless” was being screened at the gorgeous Castro Theater. Both the latter-day Wadia brothers walking in the Castro district with their Chinese partners – sometimes life really is stranger than fiction.  I liked Paul immediately, and urged Riyad to hold on to him.  Paul wanted a commitment from Riyad; even if Riyad didn’t move to Toronto, Paul insisted on long-distance fidelity.  Paul was my age, and had sown his wild oats.  He craved stability, home and hearth.  Riyad had only recently come out, and wanted to taste the fruit of every tree.  Much as he loved Paul, the timing wasn’t right.  They agreed to remain friends, although Paul never quite forgave Riyad for having, from Paul’s perspective, squandered a rare opportunity for companionship and love.

Even as Riyad globetrotted with “Fearless”, he was preparing his next project.  He wanted to explore an overtly gay theme on film, a first for India.  The fiction and poetry of Poona-based R. Raj Rao came to his notice.  Rao’s work spoke of the gay subculture that existed at the time, one imbued with suffering and self-loathing, where stigma and discrimination by society make it impossible to live a normal life, a world where family support is usually non-existent, forcing one to build a new family among one’s gay friends.  Birds of a feather flock together, shielding one another from the harsh realities of the real world, and it is this message that resounded with Riyad as he embarked upon what was to be a seminal work, a 13-minute film based on six hard-hitting poems, “BOMgAY.” Starring Rahul Bose and with cameos by many of Riyad’s close friends and Riyad himself, “BOMgAY” perhaps even more than “Fearless” is the film which Riyad is remembered for today. It perfectly encapsulates what it was like to be gay in urban Bombay.  And, for a film that was never screened to a mass audience (the Indian Censor Board would not issue a certificate for a film like this), it has acquired near-mythical status – I still get requests from people all over India for a DVD copy, and “BOMgAY” is still in high demand at gay film festivals across the world, 13 years after it was made.

Just as Riyad was about to embark on “BOMgAY” however, a spell of ill health led to a round of medical tests the results of which were life-altering.  When he received the diagnosis through our family doctor in Bombay, Riyad collapsed in our mother’s arms and wept.  She was the first person he told.  When I received the call from my mother, I knew what she was going to say even before she uttered the words.  Even though I had been living with this fear for so long it still seemed so unreal.  In years past, I’d known several other young men who had been felled by the disease in the prime of their lives.  And more recently, I knew several others who were living with the virus, and doing perfectly well thanks to a regimen of sound nutrition, healthy living and a positive outlook.  When my tears stopped, I told Riyad that he too could live on for many, many years and that the choice was entirely his.  Medication at that time, in 1995, was prohibitively expensive especially in India, but that too wasn’t beyond our reach should the need arise.  Those were the early days of Riyad’s diagnosis, and there was still the hope that this could be successfully fought.

Riyad was tiring of life in Bombay.  The hectic social scene, the expectations that he would be endlessly fabulous party after party, the professional need to make one unique film after another.  And then there was the diagnosis, the knowledge of which haunted every waking moment.  Riyad had told very few people beyond the immediate family and a couple of very close friends. He did not want sympathy or pity in any form, especially not from those he loved – he dreaded that more than any health challenges that may have lain in store for him.  He decided a change of scene was needed, a move to a place where no one knew him, where he could start from scratch on his own terms in a way he couldn’t any more in a city that he knew too well.  And so it was that he moved to New York in 1997, arriving with a few clothes and a lot of hope.  Hope that his considerable talent would shine in a vibrant although very different environment. 

Unknown in New York, bereft of the support system he had in Bombay, and struggling to make ends meet by taking up temporary jobs and writing an occasional column for the Indian Express, Riyad nonetheless was at his happiest in New York.  Just being there filled him with joy.  I visited him once in Manhattan and as we walked through the art gallery district of Soho he exclaimed, “Isn’t this the most beautiful city in the world?”  He found a studio apartment ensconced in a priory run by gay Catholic priests at the corner of Chelsea and Greenwich Village, and in his spare time worked at a new screenplay for what he hoped would be his first feature film, a gay love story set in Bombay and based once again on the work of R. Raj Rao.  “Naked Rain” time and again came very close to finding a backer, including the producers of the hit movie “Boys Don’t Cry.”  But Riyad insisted on being the director, something would-be producers balked at.  As a documentary and short film maker Riyad had proven his talent, but in seeking to graduate to a feature film maker he constantly hit a wall.  Even as his social life in New York bloomed, replicating and often surpassing the glitzy scene he’d left behind in Bombay, his filmmaking career all but ground to a halt.  A brief stint with Mira Nair in the pre-production phase of “Monsoon Wedding” was almost humiliating for my proud, oh-so-talented brother. 

And then came 9/11.  Riyad was at the Toronto Film Festival at the time, helping promote a film made by a friend, and when he returned to New York he found that his temp jobs in the World Trade Center area had vanished along with the twin towers themselves.  His beloved New York was devastated, and the world would never be the same again.  Disillusioned, dejected and burned out, Riyad decided to return to Bombay.  The decision, while understandable perhaps, was not a happy one.  Back home with our parents, in a city that he had sought to escape, Riyad found himself a stranger in a place he had once loved.  On the surface, the trappings of glamour were still there – the parties, social events, the articles he continued to write for newspapers and magazines.  He even made a few ad films and public service announcements, including one on HIV/AIDS which was to be his last cinematic work.  But his heart was no longer in filmmaking, and nor was it in anything else.  His once robust frame had begun to thin down, and while he joked that he loved his new, slender figure, he was secretly scared but refused to share his fears with our parents or with me.  He did confide in his best friend, the filmmaker and actor Ashish Sawhney, but even then refused to give in to self-pity. Riyad however manifested his inner grief and turmoil from time to time.  Our family doctor recalled that once, during a particularly heavy monsoon downpour, he drove past Worli Sea Face where we lived, and saw Riyad alone on the promenade, whirling around and around in the blinding rain, his face turned heavenward.  It was as though Riyad were calling to the elements to claim him, to carry him away. 

The irony was that Riyad refused to take any medication, despite the fact that he could have easily accessed the best health services through our family’s considerable contacts in the pharmaceutical and medical world.  One part of Riyad would not believe that he actually had been diagnosed.  He read websites that discounted such a diagnosis, denying that such a condition existed.  On the other hand, Riyad from time to time would undergo blood tests to determine his latest counts, the results of which were truly discouraging.  In early 2003, I happened to meet a woman in Delhi who had an amazing gift of being able to diagnose people’s illnesses and then send them spiritual healing if they so chose to accept it.  While this may sound absurd to some, I sensed that Riyad could benefit from this if he was open to the idea.  Like my father, Riyad was a self-professed agnostic, who had over the years mocked my belief in reincarnation and the spirit world.  To circumvent this, I pretended that I was taking him to Delhi for a holiday.  We went there in May of 2003, and met the healer.  Riyad looked at me in some amusement, but being the good sport that he was engaged in an animated conversation with the lady who explained to him how she could see that his immune system was shot to pieces but how, even at that stage, he could heal himself if he really wanted to.  I hadn’t told the healer about Riyad’s condition and he looked rather amazed at this accurate diagnosis.  Then, the healer became very quiet and shut her eyes.  She said, “Your beloved grandfather, who is your true father, is standing behind you, Riyad, and he is pressing your shoulders and stroking your head, in the same way that you comforted him when he was ill.  He wants you to know that you are not alone, and that he and many others in spirit are there with you.”  Riyad’s eyes were wet with unshed tears.  As we left the healer’s place, he turned to me and very quietly said, “Thank you for this, thank you.”

After our Delhi visit, I returned to my home in Atlanta.  Shortly thereafter Riyad was diagnosed with tuberculosis of the stomach.  He was in great pain, and began losing weight fast.  The tuberculosis had spread rapidly, ravaging his once beautiful body.  In November, as he became weaker and weaker, he was rushed to the hospital, where his situation slowly stabilized.  Even then, he refused to tell most of his many devoted friends what was going on.  One of them who had heard the news called him, fearing the worst, and when Riyad confirmed the diagnosis asked Riyad why he hadn’t told him all those years.  To which Riyad replied, “I didn’t want you to see me as my disease, but as myself.  You believed in me for the person I was, not out of pity but out of love.  Why would I risk losing that love and replacing it with your pity?  That, more than any disease, would have truly killed me.” 

Riyad returned home from the hospital in just a few days, and was doing relatively well.  His appetite had returned with a vengeance and our excellent cook Anil would make Riyad a range of choice dishes.  I was about to rush from Atlanta to Bombay to be with Riyad, but he dissuaded me from that, saying I should stabilize my job situation first and visit him only if I were on my way to China where I had received a tentative communications consultancy offer from the World Health Organization.  “You’ve got to save some money for a while, my jaan,” he said, “you don’t have work right now.”  Then, just before Thanksgiving towards the end of November Riyad called me. “Don’t worry, darling, I’m well on my way to recovery.  I promise you and Alan that I’ll be around for the next 20 years.” 

On November 30, Riyad had eaten a full lunch of saas ni machchi and yellow rice.  His feet had been hurting a lot in recent days, and he still walked with a stick.  Our mother took him to the terrace for some fresh air, and then tucked him in bed for his afternoon nap, as he was still easily exhausted.  He had a candid conversation with Mum that day.  “You know this is the end, Ma, don’t you?”  My Mum pleaded with him not to talk like that. “But it’s true, Ma, you know it’s true.  I really have done all I want to do and said all I want to say.  And Ma, I can hear the sea calling me now.  It’s time to go.”  As Mum was about to leave his room, Riyad called her back.  “Press my feet for a while, Ma, it feels so good when you do that.”  Mum sat at the foot of Riyad’s bed and began gently pressing his legs and feet.  She sang his favourite lullaby “Summertime”, which she would sing to us when we were children.  Suddenly Riyad clutched our mother, gasping for breath.  “Ma,” he said, “Ma.” And just like that, Riyad was gone.  Frantic efforts to revive him were in vain. He had suffered a sudden heart seizure, a blood clot that had traveled from his leg to his heart.  After months of suffering, the end was swift and painless.

It is hard to describe the outpouring of grief that followed Riyad’s passing.  His friends, who numbered in the hundreds, crowded our Bombay home that very afternoon, attending his funeral that same evening and then coming over to our home for days and weeks afterward.  From all around the world the condolences and tributes flowed – Europe, America, Australia, Asia, Africa.  The messages were heart-rending.  People who we knew and even those we had never met would call my parents and just cry over the phone, no words, just tears.

For all his cinematic and artistic talents, and for all that he did to further the cause of gay rights and equality in India, it was Riyad’s ability to make and keep friends, to make each of his friends feel so special, his genuine love and caring for those be befriended, that was perhaps his greatest gift to the world.  For years, many of his friends could not bring themselves to accept his death.  In fact, for several people life came to a virtual standstill in many ways.  Many told me that Riyad’s death robbed them of a significant aspect of their lives, and that nothing was really ever the same again. In perhaps the most supreme of ironies, at a memorial for Riyad in Bombay just days after he passed away, a young Gujarati man approached me and broke down.  In between sobs, he told me how Riyad had not only helped him after his own diagnosis by ensuring he had access to medication, but that Riyad had also met this man’s parents and helped him tell his family that not only was he gay but that he had been diagnosed positive as well.  I was to learn that this was not an isolated story.  Riyad was instrumental in counseling many gay men in Bombay after their diagnoses, helping introduce them to doctors and health providers and, in many cases, supporting their families as well.

For my father, Riyad’s death was the beginning of the end – his health took a toll from which he would never recover.  For my mother, an amazingly strong person who nursed Riyad through his illness and despair, who brought him into this world and who eased the transition from this life to the next, Riyad’s passing has only intensified her belief in the after-life and spirit world. As for me, Riyad’s death taught me the meaning of the phrase “to die of a broken heart.” In the year after his death, I felt I was drowning in my sorrow, suffocating with grief.  In yet another irony, just three weeks after his passing, I found myself at the World Health Organization in China, assuming a new career in public health communications.  Among my tasks, to help WHO in creating HIV/AIDS awareness and messaging for a country where the disease had only just been acknowledged by the government as a crisis in the making.  After years of denial and neglect, China was waking up to its AIDS challenge, and I was privileged enough to play a small role in helping the government and NGOs there reach out to marginalized and vulnerable populations, including men who have sex with men.  And yet, even as I carried out this important mission, I kept telling myself “Here I am trying to help save people I don’t even know, and I couldn’t even help save my own little brother.”

All through that year in China, I felt I was going mad.  “Can’t anyone see that I’m slowly dying,” I would ask myself.  “Can’t the world see that I need help?”  But no one could, of course, because on the surface I seemed as calm and normal as before.  I couldn’t talk to my parents – they were immersed in their own grief.  I couldn’t talk to friends – no one I knew had suffered such a loss, and no one could really understand.  By day I would work and at night I would cry myself to sleep.  “Riyad, take me with you,” I would say, “Don’t leave me here like this.” 

Ultimately, however, Riyad saved my life, strange as it sounds.  When I was at my very lowest point, on the verge of doing myself irreparable harm, I was guided by what I can only call the spirit of Riyad to a wondrous healer, a Chinese woman who spoke no English, but who took one look at me and accurately diagnosed my grief and the harm it was causing me physically and mentally.  Over the next several months, this amazing healer worked on me and brought me back from the brink.  Just as I had taken Riyad to a healer in Delhi once, he in turn led me under divine grace to my lifesaver in Beijing.

It took a long while but I was able to cast off my grief bit by bit until I found myself in Bombay on November 30, 2004, for the prayers on Riyad’s first death anniversary.  I arose early that morning, before the rest of the household.  It was a beautiful day, with rare blue skies.  From the window I could see the water sparkling, Riyad’s beloved Arabian Sea that had called to him just a year ago.  I sat at the table where my mother usually recited her prayers and talked to my baby brother as though he were there.  “My darling Riyad,” I said, “Forgive me for holding you back with my grief.  I will always miss you.  But you lived and died on your own terms, and I must respect that. I must respect the choices you made, just as you respected the choices I made.  Please forgive me for all the weaknesses I showed as your older brother, but please know that I loved you, and love you, with all my heart and soul.  Let me carry that knowledge in my heart, and let that be my source of joy from this moment onwards. You will always be the first thing I think of in the morning, and the last thing I think of before I close my eyes at night.” 

At the table where I sat and prayed was a portrait of Riyad taken when he was about five years old.  Shot by our Dad, an excellent photographer, the picture shows Riyad, who was such a beautiful child, in soft focus standing behind a gorgeous red rose.  As I finished my prayer, and before I opened my eyes, an amazing aroma of roses wafted across the room, delicate yet powerful, lingering in the air for several seconds before fading away.  Whenever the pangs of loss are especially sharp, when the urge to hug and hold him is stronger than ever, all I have to do is think back to that moment to know that my brother Riyad is here with me, always and forever.

Riyad Vinci Wadia

Born in Bombay on September 19, 1967 – Died in Bombay on November 30, 2003

www.wadiamovietone.com

Filmmaker: “Fearless: The Hunterwali Story” (1993)

                   “BOMgAY” (1996)

                   “A Mermaid Called Aida” (1996)

Selected writings:

“Long Life of a Short Film: The Making of BOMgAY”:

http://media.opencultures.net/queer/data/indian/long_life_of_short_film-wadia.pdf

What do you know? : Indian Express columns

http://www.indianexpress.com/ie/daily/19991124/ile24104.html

http://www.expressindia.com/news/ie/daily/19981223/35750794p.html

Decades after he fled from Iran, Dr. Farhang Mehr, former deputy prime minister of Iran, is still driven by his hopes for the unity of the world’s Zarathushti communities. In his biography, “Triumph over Discrimination: The Life Story of Farhang Mehr,” he describes these dreams in his own words:

Zoroastrianism and Zarathushtis are undergoing a tumultuous intellectual and spiritual voyage: An effort by Zarathushtis in diaspora to preserve their cultural identity. Knowledge about one’s religion and culture, one’s jistory and heritage, are some of the tools needed in order to this odyssey successful. Other tools required for the journey are freedom of choice, protection of human rights, protection of the environment, golbal solidarity, and cooperation with the democratic process. Zarathushti’s must be dedicated to good thoughts, good words, and good deeds; tolerance and inclusiveness are essential to achieving our goal of maintaining a strong and solid community. We must hold fast to this dream…

I dream of the preservation of Zarathustra’s teachings, which make up the core of Zoroastrianism, and the preservation of the meaning behind our rituals and customs. The core of our religion is the beliefs and doctrines contained within the Gathas. They are everlasting and unchangeable. They give us the strength to undertake our mental quests. The rituals are described in the literature accompanying the Gathas. The actions of the rituals appeal to our senses. Imbued with meaning, the rituals are a manifestation of the faith, a reminder of our devotion and commitment. Without meaning, rituals become empty motions, devoid of significance. The core and the rituals together are necessary in order to maintain faith.

It is possible to be open-minded and acquire new and different political identities without sacrificing one’s religious identity. In the ever-changing, ever-expanding global community, religious minorities are not assimilated into the more powerful majority groups. They are encouraged to exist, allowed to flourish through cooperation, understanding, free interrelation, and tolerance. To encourage this is in the best interest of humankind, because it promotes peace and prosperity. Religion is a large part of this….

I dream of the formation of a large and flourishing Zoroastrian community. A living religion must also have a vibrant community rich in real religious commitment. Without a community of practicing believers, a religion becomes nothing more than a museum, an artifact, a relic to be viewed by the curios and studied by historians and scientists. We should maintain a community of Zarathushtis in mind and heart, treading together the path of truth and righteousness. As a single entity we should be showing love, upholding justice, exercising compassion, working for peace, engaging creatively in constructive work. Together we should be practicing good thoughts, good words, and good deeds in order to reach a community-wide goal of enlightenment and unity with Spenta Mainya and Ahura Mazda.

These goals cannot be achieved with the current social and religious attitudes of our fractured community. The core of Zoroastrianism as laid out in the Gathas is immutable; the traditions and practices not based in Gathic principals may be modified.

Liberty is the most precious of Ahura Mazda’s gifs to humankind. It is a component of divine law. The right to liberty is so undeniable that Ahura Mazda does not curtail humankind’s actions, even in regard to one’s choice of religion.

Intolerance is not a tradition sanctioned by the Gathas. A tradition of non-acceptance has established itself within the Zoroastrian community, and manifests itself in our attitude toward people who, thought not born to Zoroastrianism, are devoted to Zarathushtra’s teachings and desiring to embrace our faith. This tradition owes its existence to historical – not religious – facts…

Though at times difficult, some traditions can – and should – be modified as social conditions demand change. In a civil society, issues can be resolved through discussion and the application of reason, good will, and compromise. Compromises should not be confounded by hypocrisy, but should come through constructive confrontation and a willingness to work toward the greater good….

I dream of a revival of our ancient glory, this time in terms of culture, not politics or power.

In the modern world, political entities and natural independence are giving way to cultural entities and international interdependence. With our members so scattered around the globe, it is unrealistic to dream of Zarathushtis forming a political entity.

As a cultural entity, however, Zoroastrianism can be formidable. I dream that the Zoroastrian community will rediscover its history and culture, the lofty and well-regarded traits that enabled Cyrus the Great to present and promote humanitarianism to the world and Darius to produce a profoundly efficient judicial system. Through religious tolerance, these two great leaders created Pax Achaemedia, and were able to lead the world into a new era of progress and prosperity. The powerful influence Zoroastrianism has had on humankind was well known in ancient times; Zoroastrian ideology influenced Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and a host of agnostic faiths as well as ancient philosophers like Socrates, Plato, and Pythagoras.

The Gathas, once regarded as a compendium of ethical rules, can once again be a beacon of light in a vast sea of moral darkness and decline, providing guidance and answers to modern ethical dilemmas. It is my dream that Zarathushtis so excel  in their chosen professions that they once again influence the global community, entering into the uppermost echelons of honor and achievement in society as a whole.

I dream that the spirit of Zarathushtra will live on in our youths. It is up to you, especially those of you living outside of Iran and India, to prove that Zarathushtis have the talent, motivation, strength, and benevolence needed to flourish in the next millennium. You must lead the way. You must do what is right for righteousness’ sake. You must be vigilant, working hard to protect and promote Zoroastrian values, and to keep the eternal flame alight.

Excerpted from “Triumph over Discrimination: The Life Story of Farhang Mehr,” ISBN 978-0970-93370 by Lylah M. Alphonse. Reprinted with permission.

The Zarathushti Diaspora migrating to North America started as a trickle in the ’50s, and later turned into a steady stream of educated, talented, ambitious and adventurous youth in search of a way to make a mark in a foreign land. The incentive was higher education, economic prosperity, and several other factors. These immigrants set roots in their new homeland, worked hard, excelled in their professions and personal lives, and spread the word of Zarathustra to a new continent. At the same time they maintained their roots with the mother ship, be it Bombay, India, or Tehran, Iran, and every location in between.

For those now commonly named the ‘founding generation,’ the West became fertile soil for the creation of new dwellings, communities and ultimately formal associations and groups based on religious and cultural similarities. Zarathushti organizations sprung up all over the continent and played a big part in preserving and teaching the religion and culture to their own children. Their offspring, the ‘first generation’ of Zarathushtis born in North America in the late ’60s and into the ’70s and ’80s had the comfort of being raised in a sound religious and cultural background where they understood their religion, mingled and socialized with other Zarathushtis, and had the luxury of an infrastructure built by the founding generation.

Zubin Mistry, Cyrus Cama, Mantreh Atashband, Armaity Homavazir and Nikan Khatibi outside the NatGeo exhibit during the 2nd NextGenNow conference: Your Future in Your Hands, held Aug. 1-3, 2008, on the campus of George Mason University in Fairfax, Va.

Today, while the founding generation matures, the first generation is rapidly developing from young parents to young professionals, and an unmistakable transition vacuum has emerged. The need for more community development, intergenerational dialogue, debate, idea sharing, leadership and networking and prompted the Coming Together Roundtable (a legacy project of the Eighth World Zoroastrian Congress) to propose creation of a next generation initiative at its meeting in January 2007, led by Rohinton Rivetna.

NextGenNow was born from the Coming Together Roundtable mandate and held its first conference in Chicago with the support of FEZANA’s youth wing, ZYNA, and an army of volunteers and leaders from the Zoroastrian Association of Chicago. Conference co-chairs Jim Engineer (FEZANA’s PR Chair at the time) and Nikan Khatibi (ZYNA Chair at the time) led efforts to bring young people to the conference, introducing a new and fresh approach to making the conference innovative, stimulating and fresh in content, including community building and development, intergenerational dialogue, religious education and interfaith awareness.

In early 2008, Engineer and Khatibi wasted no time attracting fellow conference attendees Mantreh Atashband, Armaity Homavazir and Farah Minwalla into spearheading the second NextGenNow conference in August 2008, on the campus of George Mason University in suburban Washington D.C.

The group evolved organically with the five founders becoming directors of NextGenNow, and tapped Toronto-based Zarathushti graphic design and hosting firm Webngrafix to produce the the www.nextgennow.org web site, and its catchy logo was developed by Montreal-based Zareen Austin.

The group mobilized and continues to build an expansive online social media presence, establishing networking and awareness groups on Facebook, LinkedIn, and Twitter. Its collective impact has touched more than 500 young Zarathushtis in North America and abroad.

The goal, according to Engineer, was to focus more on the community development challenges facing North American Zarathushti communities at various stages of development; to bring young Zarathushti college students, young professionals, transient professionals and young parents together; and to better understand, gauge and track the views and sentiments of the next generation community-by-community.

“It is the penultimate responsibility of each generation to provide a pathway for future generations so they can advance and grow harmoniously,” Engineer said. “Our leadership team is committed to the mission of NextGenNow, and through intergenerational dialogue, bridge building and collaborative engagements, we will help facilitate a transition in leadership, attracting more young Zarathushtis back into the fold, and ultimately sustain and grow our communities as a purposeful agent of change.”

NextGenNow, through its two North American conferences, grassroots focus groups and social media presence, has attracted more than 500 young Zarathushti professionals, students, community leaders ranging from 18 to 45 years-of-age. The group also prides itself on attracting members of the founding generation who share and support the organization in its mission.

NextGenNow in its short life has had the kind of success many organizations wish for. And therein lie some of the challenges it faces moving forward. On the future of NextGenNow, director Mantreh Atashband says, “NextGenNow will be a community mobilization catalyst, supporting the next generation of Zarathushti leaders in creating and implementing innovative ideas and initiatives.”

The issue of identity as an organization is another issue. Should NextGenNow stay on an independent path, or become an umbrella organization under the all-encompassing FEZANA?

Dr. Rustom Kevala, Immediate Past President of FEZANA, visualizes NextGenNow as an advisory body available not only to FEZANA, but also to all the FEZANA member associations and Zarathushti groups throughout the world.

“NextGenNow should be a conduit for the views of young Zarathushti students and professionals about the direction and goals of Zarathushti organizations in community and intergenerational matters. As such, the leadership of NextGenNow should have direct access to Zarathushti leaders and activists throughout the world.”

NextGenNow’s Khatibi agrees, adding that independent or not, the movement behind the organization was to spearhead a concept of community building in a different way.

“Sometimes it just takes a new way of thinking to get people energized and motivated towards a common goal – and through NextGenNow, we hope to jump-start a youth community that is yearning to take charge.”

Can NextGenNow share the same autonomy under the FEZANA umbrella? That balancing act will be an internal consideration for  NextGenNow as it finds its way. Thankfully its founders have a very clear idea of what they envisage the organization to be, and will lead it on firm footing for the ‘next’ generation to take the mantle in the years to come.

Arzan Sam Wadia is an architect and urban designer currently residing in New York City with his wife Shirrin. He runs Parsi Khabar (www.parsikhabar.net) an online portal about Parsis: The Zoroastrians of India. Arzan is an avid blogger, motorcyclist and an active member of the Sethna’s 18th West Bombay Scout Group.

Over the years, Zarathushtis have built a great reputation around being charitable and supportive to social causes in their own communities, and in society as a whole. Whether rallying to reconstruct an old school in Iran, or support a struggling family in India, the collective “we” always pull together. We pull together and donate our time, talent and treasure to help support initiatives greater than our own self-interest.

Many communities have the desire and will, to mobilize and support change, but can get flustered and agitated in the process for a variety of reasons. Looking for resources and the tools to aid in supporting any cause, can be a challenging task. And sometimes these issues can cause ripples in a community and within its members. When individuals and organizations do come together to work for a common or shared goal, it is not uncommon to see a scrambling over power, leadership, opinion and competing interests. Ultimately, the group needs to come to a consensus of moving toward true collaboration and team work – trust and transparency are critical ingredients to accomplishing a shared mission!

Most communities share the same struggles through similar dynamics – constantly in search of a change for the better, out with the old and in with the new, but how do we accomplish REAL CHANGE?! How do we begin? Who do we turn to?

In order to effectively mobilize a community, there are some key aspects that need to be addressed, including:
- Who are the community gatekeepers? You need to identify the key people in the community who can push your agenda—who are ready to take a stand, and are willing to work to see it accomplished. You need a catalyst!

- What is the community vision? It’s very important to be on the same page, working toward the same goal—and making sure the vision and goals are aligned.

- Who are the truly dedicated members? Identify those individuals who can support the same goal, even if they don’t see eye to eye!

- Have you recognized and encouraged? Paying gratitude to those who contribute to reaching the goal is very important

- PATIENCE, TIME and WILL! Make sure you have lots of it – because you’ll need it!

All this sounding too heavy, or maybe too familiar? Wondering how in the world all this is accomplished?

Case-in-point: NextGenNow

When I think of the work we’ve been doing at NextGenNow, I think of a young organization still in its infancy, but a shining example of a true community catalyst. As a director of NextGenNow, I’ve had the unique experience of helping to mobilize young Zarathushtis, to help start a dialogue about the future, to focus on the now and what we can do together to mature the inevitable change required to advance as a united community

We are evolving into a catalyst of change, addressing the unique challenges facing the next generation of Zarathushtis through a respect for our religion, heritage, culture, and most importantly, the founding generation in whose footsteps we follow.

NextGenNow, is also a community think-tank in which ideas are shared, issues are tackled, and initiatives are launched. We work to support and sustain Zarathushti communities, providing a connection to the next generation of emerging leaders, and working in collaboration with FEZANA member associations, committees and other critical Zarathushti organizations worldwide

Back to our model – once your people are hyped and ready to make an impact, don’t forget to iron out a few additional kinks.

You need to ensure that everyone’s morale is on the up-and-up before you launch. You need to communicate, communicate, and communicate! If you have personal biases, discuss them! If you feel a ‘turf war’ happening within the team, that may hinder the forward movement of the goal, talk about them!

As they say, “you have to clean your house first, before inviting people over!” So, you can’t mobilize and be an effective tool for change, if there is fighting and bickering on the inside. Everyone has to be on the same page, and working toward the same goals!

Okay – so one last thing before going to launch, make sure, YOU’RE ORGANIZED!

Ensure your team has a well thought out plan with measurable objectives, that you’ve selected a leader, your goals are in order, your timelines are set, and everyone knows their tasks.

Now that the groundwork is in place – let’s PUBLICIZE!

In order to gain community support, you have to publicize, engage across divides and find a common ground. Relationship building is critical. Generate support and involvement for your cause through a good public relations plan. Remember that a new initiative must be recognized and perceived as an asset by the community in order for it to be successful!

So, now that you’ve got the basic understanding of community mobilization, let see you put it to use. GO CREATE CHANGE!

Mantreh Atashband is a public health professional working with communities and organizations to address gender as a determinant of health. Aside from her involvement with various Zarathusti initiatives, she also holds executive positions on diverse boards of directors and supports organizations in their capacity building and organizational development.

A couple of years later, as a graduate student at Columbia University’s Journalism school, I needed to pick a topic for my Master’s project. Thinking back to the fire jumping ceremony, and the cursory research I did into Zoroastrians, I felt like there was an interesting story to tell. As a Jew, I know what it’s like to live in a community negotiating religious continuity. There are fewer Jewish families today engaged in the Jewish community, and many are working to find out how to reach those who are unaffiliated and get them to “choose Jewish.”

As I started to look deeper into the Zoroastrian community, I realized they shared many of the same issues as Judaism – only more so.

Going up to the Zoroastrian Association of Greater New York, I found a set of folks who are dedicated to raising children who identify strongly with their heritage. But something was quickly pointed out to me: this works well in a large metropolitan area. It doesn’t work so well in area’s where there is literally only one Zoroastrian family.

It’s impossible for me to put myself into a situation where I can understand what it’s like to be the “last” of something. And I can see how it would be so easy to assimilate, forget about your past and move forward.

That’s what makes the work of groups like NextGenNow so remarkable.

Finding, engaging youth and trying to grow a religion that is often written off – nearly every major news article about Zoroastrians written in the last couple of years focuses on their decline – is a herculean task. But my impression as an outsider looking in is that there innumerable people willing to accept that challenge, willing to figure out how to educate and inspire today’s generation and equip them – beyond religious classes – to lead Zoroastrians in the future.

Blog Note: You can read Levi’s full thesis on Zoroastrianism also on http://nextgennow.wordpress.com/.

Levi Fishman is a freelance writer living in New York City. A recent graduate of Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism, his work has appeared in the New York Press, the Chicago Tribune, the Albany Times-Union, and the New York Jewish Week.

Some Zarathushtis, like Trity Pourbahrami of California, define “interfaith service” as “peace-building inititiatives.” “The first and most important role I play in interfaith settings is to listen without judgment and prejudice to what is being said,” she says. “The second role I play is to share experiences and understandings about my religion that enhances peace-building efforts and promotes interfaith dialogue.”

Others, like Rohinton Rivetna of Illinois, say that “interfaith” is simply “the interaction with faiths.” “An individual who is steeped in interfaith matters has the benefit of a very wide perspective. He or she has a better understanding of others; motivators and likewise the demotivators,” he explains. “Such an individual has a distinct advantage over others as growth and success of an individual are closely related to one’s ability to relate with others. There is then every possibility that an individual with interfaith exposure will stand at an advantage.”

My personal journey with interfaith started in the streets of Mumbai, India, where our idea of interfaith was the festivities that surrounded the different celebrations and the holidays marked in red on the yearly calendar. It was great! I loved it! Since we did not all believe in the same method of celebration of light and color or the victory of good over evil — or for that matter the changing of the seasons — we got to doing it more than once a year and got to take extra days off from a routine week. As children, we were accepting of one another’s differences without question. We were overwhelmed by the beauty of the environment as well as the transitional beauty created temporarily through color and sound, rhythm and movements, by the eloquent expression of affection amongst people and of their deep religious faith.

The Zarathushti household that I grew up in did not restrict any of this development — in fact, it was encouraged. On Our “Dadaji ni table” (table for God), we had imagery and iconic elements from various other religions and beliefs and photos of different saints and gurus. For me interfaith service has included my mother following the rituals associated with almost all the festivals of every other religion, of neighbors coming to my grandmother to have her say a prayer to a saint from another faith on their behalf, and of my husband telling me stories of how he watched his grandfather — a practicing Zarathushti priest — providing comfort through conversation and prayer to the merchants and vendors of varying faiths and religions who lived in his neighborhood.

This helped me develop my appreciation of different beliefs and also of the study of humanities, in the acceptance of the iconography of different cultures and beliefs, of the subtle adaptations of general practices. I have always been overwhelmed by the beauty of what the knowledge of interfaith brings.

These packages of experiences and thoughts came with me to America. Before then, my association with religions had been one of acceptance. That soon changed, however, to one of questioning and verification. Some of the questions arose from the people around me. Some arose from the desire to understand one’s existence so far away from home. I was fortunate to involve myself with the Parliament of World’s Religions celebration, Chicago (1993) — a centennial celebration of the 1893 World’s Parliament of Religions, and the first recorded attempt to create a global dialogue of faiths.The initial declaration for this event spoke about commitment to a culture of non-violence and respect for life, of solidarity and a just economic order, of tolerance and a life of truthfulness and of equal rights and partnership between men and women.

What I wanted to get out of it was most eloquently explained by Dr. Steven C. Rockefeller, a member of the religion department at Middlebury College, in “A Source Book For Earth’s community of Religion”: “Each is inspired by a unique vision of the divine and has a distinct cultural identity. At the same time, each perceives the divine as the source of unity and peace. The challenge is to preserve their religious and cultural uniqueness without letting it operate as a cause of narrow and divisive sectarianism that contradicts the vision of divine unity and peace. It is a question whether the healing light of religious vision will overcome the social and ideological issues that underlie much of the conflict between religions.”

I came away with two other important elements that made a difference in my life: making people realize that the Zarathushti Community was not just a religion described in history books and the speech by His Holiness the Dalai Lama and his message to the people, and the idea that religious beliefs need to be adapted to the times in which they are being practiced. These two very strong facts lead to my involvement with the Council for the Parliament of World’s Religions (www.cpwr.org) that was formed following the Parliament. Its annual fund-raisers, the events that it organizes at different community centers and the different vigilances that are organized to spread tolerance and understanding, all help create a holistic understanding of deep religious faith and examples of interfaith collaboration and understanding.

My cultivated belief is that one’s relationship with faith will remain as a history of humanity’s relationship with the natural world and the five senses. Words like “religious tolerance” are not part of my interfaith belief; I prefer “religious exchange” and “understanding.” As explained in the Vedas, “Reality is one. Those who know call it in various ways.” In my professional practice being fully conversant with contemporary technology and international developments, I like to develop or have an approach towards developing projects with a deep understanding and feeling for vernacular traditions and faith in humanity.

Kamalrukh Katrak Karkaria was born in Bombay, India, and traveled to the US after earning a Bachelor’s degree in order to further her studies in architecture. She lives and practices architecture in Connecticut.