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My quest to become a mobedyar was never to make a political statement as a feminist campaigner. All I wanted was to pray and perform the rites and rituals of my faith. 

As a child growing up in a Zoroastrian family in Bombay in the 1950s and ’60s, I was all too aware of the patriarchal society I was part of. However, while observing all the traditional religious practices and conventions, my family placed great emphasis on a good education, even for girls. I was given a liberal, Western education at school and later in college. This expanded my horizons and taught me to be curious, to question long held beliefs, conventions and traditions. 

Needless to say, this did not go down too well at home! When I asked the family elders why only men could be priests, the usual response was raised eyebrows, a patronizing pat on the head and the reply that that was how it had always been and it should not be questioned. Worse still was the sanctimonious explanation that only men could go through the rigorous training involved to reach the stage of ritual purity required to perform the various rites and rituals. And, as a girl, I could not possibly achieve this purity because nature had decreed that biologically my menstrual cycle made me unclean and therefore unfit to be a priest and so I should forget about such an ambition.

My parents followed religious practices such as keeping an oil lamp on the little altar in front of which the family said their prayers. On days of celebration such as birthdays and Navroz it was obligatory to visit the agiary to thank Ahura Mazda for his many blessings; and, of course, put in any requests for special favors or boons to be granted. 

I was fortunate to live right across the road from our local agiary. My earliest childhood memory is of the sound of the bells that the priest rang at the change of the five gahs or watches of the day. Each gah is presided over by a divine being and the prayers are cited to evoke these beings. Whenever I visited the fire temple I would gravitate to the sanctum sanctorum where the fire burned and hand over my offering of sandalwood to the officiating priest. I would wonder why I was not permitted to feed the fire myself. The ritual fascinated me as I connected deeply with the aura and energy of the sacred place.

Usually between the ages of seven and nine a Zoroastrian child is formally initiated into the faith. At my navjote I was excited and proud. All the gathered family and friends heard me recite the prayers and applauded at the conclusion of the ceremony. I received lots of gifts and then of course, the party and celebrations began with plenty of good food, music and dancing. The priest who performed my navjote was an elderly, truly devout and spiritual man. However, even at that age I wondered why a woman could not have performed the ceremony for me.  But I was too young to be able to articulate such a question.  

Life went on. I graduated and came to the United Kingdom to train as a nurse, got married and raised a family. The years passed and I continued to follow the religious practices I had grown up with. I participated in community events in London where there is a thriving Zoroastrian community that meets regularly and conducts religious activities. The tradition of male priests has continued and they serve the community very well. However, culturally and generationally, differences exist.

In the diaspora, many younger Zoroastrians do not understand the purpose of following the old ways. They question archaic thinking such as  gender bias, opposition to conversion of non-Zoroastrians, opposition to interfaith marriages and the children of such marriages being discriminated against. 

By this time I had retired and was keeping myself busy with voluntary activities. Confined to the home and with time on my hands, my thoughts reverted to my old quest of becoming a priest, training to be a mobedyar. It was a longing that would not dissipate. I did a lot of reading about Zoroastrianism.

 I found out that in recent times women have been trained as mobedyars in Iran, USA and Canada. Serendipitously I found a long lost female cousin in New York who had recently undergone this training and was now officiating at some ceremonies. I came across another young woman on social media who had trained in Iran and Canada. They both encouraged me to pursue my dream. I began to make enquiries. My family was supportive and encouraged me. I finally spoke to a committee member of the World Zoroastrian Organisation in London and asked if they would consider my request. To my amazement they agreed and put me in touch with our resident priest. He has since been my mentor and his family have become dear friends. I did my mobedyar training via Zoom and video calls. 

I learned the prayers for various rituals and practices that I could participate in. Since qualifying I have prayed with my mentor at various ceremonies and twice performed a navjote.

My family and friends are immensely proud and community members have been very supportive. I am aware that in India this is still not possible. Male bastions of orthodoxy hold sway and change is slow to come. Persistence, diligence and above all a huge dose of faith and trust are essential. Challenging the status quo is never easy but victory is ever so sweet.