While growing up in Bombay, the question of my "identity” was pretty self-evident. I was born a Parsi, in a hospital endowed by Parsis, lived in a pleasant Parsi neighborhood, frequented the agiary down the lane to remember departed loved ones and ask for Ahura Mazda’s blessings, especially on examination days. For special occasions such as Jamshedi Navroz and Parsi New Year I dressed up in new clothes and went to the atash behram and then to an Adi Marzban natak. The entire family — aunts, uncles, cousins would then get together for a seam-splitting meal of pulao dal, sali gos, patra ni machhi, falooda, kalingar, kulfi (from Parsi Dairy Farm of course) and more. Most of my friends did much the same. Every evening after school we would hang out at the Pherozeshah Mehta Gardens at Malabar Hill or at the rocky oceanfront at Scandal Point on Warden Road.
My early years were spent at my bapaiji (paternal grandmother) Pirojbai Patell’s house on Gowalia Tank Road — where I was somewhat spoilt, being the only child in the extended family comprising my parents Jaloo and Khurshed and two kakas (paternal uncles) and their wives. My bapaiji was well cared for and respected as head of the household — she sat at the head of the table where the family had dinner together every night at 8 p.m., until her passing. I did not realize at that time, as I do now, the value and discipline of living together as an extended Parsi household, taking care of each other and respecting the elders. It was here that I imbibed Parsi values, morals, ethics, practices and unfaltering faith in the religion; and, of course, my love of Parsi food — pulao dal, dhansak, kababs, sali marghi and more…
Top: Family lunch (anticlockwise from extreme right): Khurshed and Roshan Patell,
Mucca Cooper, Rusi Vatcha, Soona Vakil, Jamsi Vatcha, Hilla Daver, Navajbai Vatcha,
Perin Cooper, Sorab Vatcha, Scylla Vatcha and Jaloo Patell;
above: young Roshan with Pirojbai Patell
At my mamaiji (maternal grandmother) Navajbai Vatcha’s house I respected her blind faith as she sat on her easy chair dressed in white (being a widow) and prayed all day… And listened to her angry rant under her breath if, heaven forbid, the rama (male domestic helper) were to pass by in front of her chair.
I clearly recall my formal initiation into the faith, my navjote, when I pledged to live a good Zoroastrian life. A large number of family and friends dressed in gorgeous garas and daglis had gathered to witness this special occasion, celebrate with a grand lagan nu bhonu served on banana leaves, and dance to a Parsi band — probably Goody Seervai’s or Nellie Battiwalla’s.
Throughout my schooling at Queen Mary School and college years at Elphinstone College and the Royal Institute of Science, where I was only one of two girls and the sole Parsi in the physics class, I lived a traditional Parsi life while also respecting the diverse cultures around me. After graduation, I was privileged to get a job at the Atomic Energy Establishment in Trombay, which was later named the Bhabha (a distant relative) Atomic Research Centre (BARC); and later at the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research (TIFR).
I took for granted that Parsis, though minuscule in numbers, were a respected and well-recognized community. The schools, hospitals, libraries, art galleries, museums and theaters I went to had been endowed by illustrious Parsis — Sir Cowasji Jehangir, the Petits and the Jejeebhoys. I enjoyed the products manufactured by the great industrial empires built by Parsis — the Tatas, Wadias and Godrejs.
Availing of Parsi scholarships, in 1960 I came to America, to the University of Pittsburgh where I earned my Masters in nuclear physics.
On my return to Bombay, in traditional Parsi fashion, I was "introduced” to Rohinton Rivetna when his family came to visit mine for tea on December 5, 1965. It was a match made in heaven. Rohinton’s visa for USA, which he had applied for months earlier, had just come through. As both of us had aspirations to come to this land of opportunity we decided to rush the process — got engaged, in elaborate Parsi fashion 10 days later, on December 15 and married a month later at Colaba Agiary on January 15, 1966. After a flurry of visits to the American Consulate for my visitor’s visa we left together 12 days after that for USA.
(Top) Rohinton and Roshan Rivetna on their marriage in 1966 and
(above) on their first wedding anniversary in Chicago
Arrival in Chicago
Rohinton and I arrived at Chicago’s O’Hare airport on January 28 — each with one suitcase and eight dollars (the maximum amount allowed out of India then). My pretty silk sari, chappals and satin-lined embroidered Kashmiri coat did little to keep me warm in the icy, -20º Fahrenheit blast of the Windy City.
The next day, we had a glimpse of American enterprise. Rohinton took two of his eight dollars and made the long trek via bus and train to the National Can office where the company president, Robert Stuart, a truly noble gentleman, had offered him (and his brother Dara) jobs in his company.
Meanwhile, I was busy settling in the two-room apartment which we had rented on a weekly basis on the way home from the airport. The doorbell rang. A friendly neighbor had dropped by to say hello. How very nice! I invited her in and offered her a cup of tea. Before she left half an hour later the "nice lady” had sold me a three-year subscription to Good Housekeeping magazine, for eight dollars!
Assimilation and preservation
In North America, my identity is not as well defined as it was in the little Parsi world I came from. My loyalties are pulled between calling myself a Parsi or a Zoroastrian — or should I say Zarathushti? Or Zartoshti? Or one of the many spelling variations in between? While my mind tells me that this is the right approach and I must separate my ethnicity from my religion, my heart is rather sad at the thought of giving up the Parsi appellation. After all, are we not an ethno-centric religion?
I also throw my nationality into the pot — India, the country of my birth, North America, my country of adoption, and also Iran where my forefathers came from — and think of myself as a Parsi-Indian-Iranian-North-American-Zoroastrian.
Those of us in the Western diaspora face tremendous odds as a tiny minority amongst a largely Judeo-Christian society while trying to find the right balance between assimilation into this new world and preserving our religious identity, culture and traditions.
If we had come in seven shiploads and settled in a colony around a dar-e-mehr our story would probably have been different. But we came in ones and twos, many as students, and settled across this vast continent, starting around the mid-20th century.
Our geographic dispersion and the pulls of assimilation are exacerbated by the rising rate of intermarriage and the spread across ideologies ranging from traditional to reformist. Differing ancestries add yet another dimension to the challenges we face, as history has brought Zoroastrians from Iran and Parsis from the Indian subcontinent together on this continent after 1,000 years of separation.
Above: Roshan experiencing her first winter in Chicago
Instilling values
Instilling Parsi values, ethics, religious beliefs and practices in my children was difficult as there was not a single other Zoroastrian around — not in school, the neighborhood or among friends and playmates. While they were growing up we made an effort to speak to the children only in Gujarati, followed Parsi traditions in our home, and took pride in being Zoroastrians.
We owe a debt of gratitude to the few early residents in Chicago who sought out other Zoroastrians in the area and organized get-togethers in their homes — Jamshedi Navroz and New Year functions, children’s religion classes — thus sowing the seeds of what was later to become the Zoroastrian Association of Metropolitan Chicago.
The key, we realized, is "coming together.”
Over the last half century we have come together to build physical infrastructure, with dar-e-mehrs/centers in New York, Toronto (now two), Chicago, Vancouver, California (now six), Washington, Houston, Dallas and the most recent one, in Cincinnati, Ohio where the community gathers for spiritual, religious, educational and social activities.
We have come together to build organizational infrastructure, with 27 associations across North America serving the local Zoroastrian communities.
We came together in 1987 to form the Federation of Zoroastrian Associations of North America (FEZANA), where the executives, the associations (which alone have voting rights) and committees (working bodies), come together to discuss, deliberate, make strategic plans and take action, while respecting the autonomy of each association. It is most gratifying to see how our next generation is now coming together under ZYNA (Zoroastrian Youth of North America), a FEZANA committee, and stepping up to take leadership roles in our associations.
We came together to form the North American Mobeds Council (NAMC), committed to providing religious education, guidance and service, training of mobeds and increasing awareness of Zoroastrianism.
We have come together to bring awareness of Zoroastrianism in North America with active participation in interfaith organizations, local councils of religious leaders, the Parliament of the World’s Religions, United Nations, nongovernmental organizations and more — so now Zoroastrians are recognized and respected as followers of the oldest monotheistic faith. Not too often now do we get that blank stare when we mention the Zoroastrian religion — though perhaps we should give some of the credit for this to Freddie Mercury!
We came together to promote scholarship and religious education with a FEZANA professorship at the University of Toronto, and the Society of Scholars of Zoroastrianism (SSZ). The religion education committees of FEZANA and the associations have really raised the bar in educating and engaging our children.
We came together as the business committee of FEZANA to spawn the World Zarathushti Chamber of Commerce (WZCC) in 2000 which supports entrepreneurial spirit through networking of Zoroastrian businesses and professionals around the world.
We came together over several decades to bring federations of the world together — first as the Coming Together Roundtable, which later morphed into the Global Working Group, and has now been formalized as the Global Council of Zoroastrians Trust (GCZT) where collectively, as a "community without borders” we are striving to bring about a worldwide Zoroastrian renaissance.
Roshan (above) taking pride in being Zoroastrian
Big shoes to fill
It would be well-nigh impossible for us in the diaspora to live up to the standards set by our illustrious forefathers in Iran and India as they blazed trails in commerce and industry and built a reputation for integrity and philanthropy beyond compare.
These are very big shoes to fill. But their example inspires us — and we believe that someday in the not too distant future the North American Zoroastrians will reach those heights.