When John Paul II visited Mangalore...

My mother was a religious woman. More catholic than the pope I might add. Orthodox and highly regular church goer, she believed that everybody in the household had to follow her cue. Fortunately for her my brothers and sisters were quite okay with the rule. My dad, was another story. I, however, had a problem. When I was a kid, the evenings were meant to be whiled away with friends playing games and soaking in life - unfortunately, it was also the time when the evening mass would be held - around 6 PM. It took a lot of threats and cajoling for me to dress up and head for the church - grumbling and tumbling and one step away from blaspheming. No wonder I grew up with the moniker.... of being Satan's child (-:

I was a foot taller and in college and my mother continued to be her worshipful self. She endeavoured to take us on pilgrimages spread across south India. I remember visiting Velankani with the whole family and I felt like I was in a Bollywood movie as we all got separated in the surging crowds. But no, I did not get lost. Another time it was to Dornahalli near Mysore - which is incidentally the family patron saint, St Anthony's Shrine.

I remember her now as I did a decade ago when she had just passed away at the age of 62 of cancer. Pope John Paul II was on his second trip to India. The first time he had come, it was a memorable event for me.

Mother was not the one to miss out an opportunity of seeing the pope and attending a mass featuring him. The reverend pope was scheduled to visit Mangalore and Catholics from all over Karnataka, nay India, were going to be there. Once she made up her mind, nobody could change her mind. I resisted (as I surely was expected to!). I had my arguments. "The pope is just a representative of god, Mom." was my call. I tried educating her. "The popes were not all good - some of them were worse than tyrannical kings and - do you know - they would forgive sins if anyone donated funds to the Vatican?" No effect on her. "Do you see the vestments they adorn - purple and blue and all decorum - comes from royalty...why do they have to dress up like that?"

As usual, I had to give in and it was a crowd of 20 or so packed into a "Standard" van who made our way to Bajpe, which is where Mangalore's airport is located and the venue for the Pope's mass. It was an overnight journey from our hometown.

On the way, my brothers sneaked into a orchard that bore some toddy trees and pinched a pot of freshly extracted toddy and gulped it away. It was not fermented and I dare say they did not feel a thing.

Nearing Bajpe, the traffic kept getting bigger and bigger. And when we finally managed to reach the venue, it was an ocean of people. I had never see such a large crowd of people in my life (I had never been to the Kumb Mela!). I had seen crowds gather for Mrs Indira Gandhi and also Rajiv Gandhi and they were huge - but I had never, never seen anything like this. It was awesome...

It was an ocean of catholics from end to end. On any other day it would be shimmering hills and rocks but today they were just populated with people. Everywhere the eyes could see there were catholics out to catch a glimpse of the reverent Pope. It was like the mountain coming to the prophet. Only this time, the prophet, if you can call the pope that, had come to the people. I was flabbergasted at the sight. It was unbelievable.

Fortunately for me, mother was not the one who would pull us with her to the front of the pew. In this case too, she abandoned us to our whims and made her way to the centre - wanting to be as close to the Dais from where the pope would conduct the mass. I was left to my own with every member of the group being pulled away in different directions. I was content enough to stay put where I was but the current of the people pushing to and fro had me also going and suddenly I found myself next to the fenced off railing beside which was a newly made road. I could see the officials from the Holy See, managing the event and I rightly assumed that Pope's cavalcade would pass right here.

It was a hot afternoon and the sun was scorching and had no pity on God's own children gathered here for a good cause. We waited and waited and then his aircraft was spotted on the horizon and there was a loud cheer among the crowd. It was as good as an entry for the angels. We waited some more as the plane landed in the airport some distance away and then a sigh went up in the crowd as the pope made his entrance into the venue. I watched the cavalcade approach closer and closer and when it was passing a few feet away from me I could see Pope John Paul II as clearly as I could see my palm. He was standing calmly, a pink and happy face, smiling and waving to the crowds. There was a buzz around me and I felt something.

I watched the Pope get down from his vehicle and bend down and kiss the earth and then take to the podium and say his first words ... Shanti...

It was a long time ago. But I thank my mother fervently for that experience. I am less cynical now and perhaps a wee bit more religious, thanks to her. I had seen the Pope at close quarters. A million thoughts had passed through my mind analyzing the importance of the moment. The pope symbolized not just the Catholic church, he was also the bearer of a lineage that went up as far as St Peter. Wow - !

I think of that day and and I am apt to turn pensive. While I might not actually have believed it that day, but it would be right to say that I was nearer to god on that day then I ever will be ever again.

Thank you mother.