Mark of honour

There's a mark on my left wrist. Not just a dot of a birthmark but a prominent one which I'd always been conscious of. A conversation starter, it would send my cheeks flushing as a child. Why did I get one on the wrist, for everyone to see? Long-sleeved shirts were my standard attire, much to the amusement of my friends. "Hey, show us your awesome tattoo!" They joked.

My mum tried to put a positive spin on it. A devout Hindu, she told me a birthmark can reflect something from an earlier life. Mine was wavy with a peak at the top. It's fire, she said. Maybe there was an incident with fire in your past life. This fascinated me. It may also have been the reason I became a firefighter.

When Nandini and I fell headlong into each other, life was complete. Yet, she was apprehensive of my line of work. She prayed for my long life and showered blessings with the sacred flame of Lord Ganesha.

"This fire," She said, gently nudging the fragrant smoke from the flame towards me, "will protect you. May Lord Agni keep you safe." For a firefighter, Lord Agni is the divine beacon and it was put to the test when a skyscraper in South Mumbai went ablaze.

After hours of perilous operation, the inferno was doused. It did leave a mark on me though. Due to a rip in my uniform, I got burns on my wrist, right where the birthmark used to be.

When my mother saw the scar, she caressed it lightly and said: "See? It looks like a star now, for good luck. Lord Agni protected you, once again."

I carry it like a badge of honour since.