I'm not much in the habit of yelling at Sudeep, and even less in the habit of cursing at him, so I won't be joining that reaction to his decision to abstain for Lent. Besides, I agree with him: it is possible to find meaning in the time of meditation associated with a personally-foreign religious tradition. Stripped of the intimate cultural and historical associations, stripped even--as I have personally understood it--of any more than a passing and cursory understanding of the religion's reason for a fasting season, what remains can be a deeply personal and alone (but not not lonely) experience.

I fasted for Ramadan in 2004 though I am not Muslim; I did so to live by the practices of the family with which I was living (though I drank water in the desert to chase away the black spots that would have otherwise danced across my vision). I can confirm the Catholic viewpoint--that if the fast is a complete abstention from food and beverage, the rumbling stomach and countdown to sunset can easily crowd out all quiet and reflection.

But the wrenching--out of bed for the pre-dawn meal, in hunger pains when noon is only a few hours past, in staying a tempted hand from breaking the fast while preparing the sundown meal--is its own lesson. Sudeep wrote that "no professor, parent, or friend has demanded I consider my mortality so vehemently" as the "uncertain terms that 'you are dust, and to dust you will return.'" Having one's own schedule, planned with the morning breakfast ritual of being alone and awake when no one else is, voided by a plan that (personal decisions hold) shall not be overturned becomes a pressing demonstration that there are other schedules and priorities in this world than those I set myself alone. The foreignness of it--as it was, to me--led me not to think of my personal fasting within the context of Ramadan and Islam. The utter newness and still strangeness of much surrounding the season meant I approached the experience without the ability to explain it fully through my own past and cultural background. Still, the very difficulty of fasting from sunrise to sunset demands a reason; one must be sought if it is not provided.

In Louisiana where I am from, giving something up for Lent is almost a cultural habit, akin to the unanimous adoption of king cakes during Epiphany. And after Epiphany succeeds the New Year and Christmas, which succeed Thanksgiving, what is given up is often high-fat and high-sugar. It became, in an elementary school confusion that anyone could not be observing the season, a time to give up spinach, watermelon, and the wearing of socks with egregiously large holes in the heel and toe. But speaking as someone who gave up fried foods and ice cream after my first-year college dining hall habits began to lean that way, Lenten resolutions are an effective diet: 40 days is not too long to live without a desired luxury (french fries dipped in Tabasco), but it is enough to break a bad habit. The length of time is far more practical than that of a New Year's resolution, and quite appropriate for re-setting a schedule.

Concentrating on a desire to remain the same size as the suits one has just purchased (again, personal experience) is quite practical; it is, however much the religious framework may help you (me) towards that goal, a secular pursuit only slightly beyond not wanting to look paunchy in a dress at an upcoming wedding.

Lent is always the worst time of the year, but not for the usual reasons.

Indeed, as a categorical Hindu, there's always some raised eyebrows when people find out that I'm observing Lent. "But you're Indian," most people respond, forgetting that St. Thomas founded a church in southern India, and that I was born and raised in the states. Even those remembering that I call myself a Hindu seem to have problems with this, often forgetting that I rarely observe anything remotely Hindu, rarely observe the holidays, and even more rarely don't eat beef. Indeed, I'm a Hindu for historical reasons more than anything else.

Still others wonder why Lent, of all the church seasons--"Perhaps something more fun?" is the general question here, to which I'm somewhat dumbfounded: there's a certain substantiality to the Lenten season--a certain darkness and meditative quality associated with the priest marking you with the ashes of last year's palms, and reminding you, in no uncertain terms that "you are dust, and to dust you will return." Forgive me, but no professor, parent, or friend has demanded I consider my mortality so vehemently.

But spiritual reasons aside, what interests me even more is the unilateral nature of such things: every year I'm asked by my openly-not-Hindu acquaintences if there are any Diwali celebrations they can attend, or perhaps even more offensively, donning a bindi (affectionately termed "Hindu-dot"), traditionally afforded only married women as a symbol of pseudo-divinity, in an attempt to appear more worldly to the approving throngs.

Going East is easier than moving West: it becomes increasingly more socially uncomfortable to refuse a cup of tea or dessert of glass of wine. For forty days and forty nights, my seemingly open-minded acquaintences and friends turn into green monsters, reminding me that there's really no problem in not observing Lent, that I am Hindu, rolling their eyes and heaving increasingly louder sighs, and lecturing me for what seems longer and longer about how I've missed the point completely (without, of course, asking first what I consider the point, exactly, to be). Friends who have been trying to convert me to Christianity from time immemorial are particularly irked, one of them dubbing me a "fucking jackass" for the duration of an increasingly antagonistic conversation. Even my Hindu friends take an awkward pause in the conversation: "So what, are you Christian, now?" they ask smirking.

But the question is this: is it really that much of an impossibility? Is it so tabu to find some sort of meaning in the time of meditation in the church season, particularly if I'm not an ecclesiast? Is it that vehemently not okay to participate in the season? And, perhaps more poignantly, why does it not work the other way around?

In another unanimous opinion (per Chief Justice Roberts) the Court upholds the Solomon Amendment, which threatens to defund universities whose law schools exclude military recruiters (and about which I have tirelessly blogged before, e.g., here). I erroneously predicted a 2-Justice concurrence/dissent. As I wrote then:

I think that the military should not exclude openly gay servicemen, that law schools should not exclude discriminatory employers, and that Congress should not force the law schools to include employers it does not wish to. Everybody has acted badly.