Hare Hare!

"Oh, ok, we've got to bow now!"

"Bow to what? Where?"

I feel awkward, as if I'm wearing a tracksuit from SportsDirect on a red carpet in Cannes. Defensive, wanting to become invisible. Not understanding what's going on and feeling out of place makes me a bit narrow-minded, a refuge for a couple of minutes. 

It's the daily 7pm prayer. I am the absolute minority in London Krishna Temple, as I have not a slightest idea about the ways of this worship. Seriously, it's a bit daunting to not know where to bow and whether it's ok to be looking at people, so in my ignorance I'm just standing next to the door and trying not to stick out too much.

Around thirty worshipers, male separated from female by an invisible line, are facing a handful of colourful and adorned caged deities. Behind the bars, Krishna and his consort Radha to the right, three cartoon-looking green deities to the left. "They are probably for children," is my first thought. Later Google tells me it's Jagganath (with a brother and a sister), a form of Krishna. 

Chanting and drums seem to excite a couple male worshipers, and they start moving in a way that looks like ecstatic dance. We get some water sprayed on our heads, smell some sacred flowers; I pass on sacred food as I just had a totally non-sacred wrap from Pret. 

When the prayer finishes, I am relieved to sit down and listen to a Russian-speaking Maharaja, who gives a talk on the spiritual path and development; that's the reason why I'm here. What he told us that evening warrants a separate post. 

But for now I think what I wanted to say is that being a minority is scary, and it makes it easy to indulge in withdrawal. What saved that 30 or 40 minutes for me was curiosity and courage to ask questions and accept that I'm an outsider and it's ok. I think this is why it's helpful to be stepping out of the routine; I feel I understand minorities slightly better now, and am more equipped for new out-of-comfort zone trips.