The Parsi Paradox: A Closed Door to an Ancient Faith

Being born Parsi gave me a sense of home outside my immediate family. My community—a relatively microscopic religion, only 100,000 strong world wide—gave me a safe and comfortable space, bound by shared traditions and a profound sense of belonging.  I adore the simple traditions, like  Wednesday afternoon sev in my grandma's kitchen, or Navroz (Parsi New Year) celebrations, that have been cherished by Parsis for generations. Whether it be in London, New York, or Nairobi, there is always a Parsi family who invites us in for a home cooked meal. Sometimes we barely know these people, but our common faith is enough for them to welcome us in.  

While I will always have love for the community we have built, I also recognize its faults. Parsis, known for being so kind, can also be the least accepting to those outside their inner circle. A non-proselytizing religion, we do not allow people of other faiths to convert to Parsism and practice. While other religions like Christianity and Islam might welcome conversion, Parsism doesn’t. Our community is so insular that we even have “building societies” in India, where you aren’t allowed to live in certain condos if you aren’t Parsi. 

I wouldn't even be allowed to live in one myself. Even though I grew up in my mother’s Parsi community, and have enjoyed all the same experiences as Parsis before me, my identity is not legitimate, and not welcome—because my father is a Christian.

I first encountered this reality when I was ten years old, as my family planned  my Navroze, which is the Parsi equivalent of Christian confirmation or Jewish bar mitzvah. Naturally, it was going to be a huge event, with all my friends and family flying in from around the world. My mom had even hired face painters. I was so excited as the whole weekend was going to be a grand celebration of me. I had expected it to be held in our holy temple, which I visited every Sunday for prayers, and where all my friends’ ceremonies had been held. I soon learned that this wouldn’t be the case.

My dad never did come to our weekly temple visits, and as a kid, I never thought anything of it. I figured he was just too busy and that’s why he couldn’t make it. What my seven- year old self didn’t understand was that he was barred from our sacred place.

This realization was devastating to me. How could a religion that was so open to me and that gave me such a strong sense of my belonging reject my father so easily? He had moved all the way to India from Australia and made every attempt to assimilate into local culture, only to be ultimately rejected.

My fathers story highlights a larger trend of the community's resistance to change that stems from the Parsis' complicated history. The spread of Parsism to India didn’t occur out of natural peaceful migration; rather, it was following the Arab invasion of modern day Iran that Parsis fled their home in fear of religious persecution. From the moment they landed in India, they tried hard to assimilate and become a part of Indian society. However in a culture dominated by a harsh caste system, the Parsis found themselves facing the bottom of a tough ladder to climb. So instead of continuously trying to prove themselves, the Parsis decided to create their own little world in India. We built our own condos, schools, clubs, even dairy farms. In response to a deep protective instinct towards their traditions and heritage, the Parsis put up a wall around them that, at the time, kept them safe. 

This insularity, born from a need for survival and self-preservation, worked. Parsis thrived, producing titans of industry like the Tata and Godrej families, as well as cultural icons like Freddie Mercury. However the problems the Parsis faced when they first came to India are very different to those that confront them today. Parsis are now widely accepted and praised within India society thanks to their achievements and philanthropic contributions to the country. We no longer have to worry about persecution, rather our greatest threat is extinction. The Parsi religion is dying. 

As the Indian population increases by 20% each decade, the Parsi population decreases by 12%. It is a scary statistic that has gripped every Parsis mind and has made clear the reality that we are dying. Our religion is projected to be considered no more than a tribe by 2050. 

This crisis demands a reckoning. The survival of our religion hinges on our ability to evolve. Clinging to rigid rules of exclusion undermines the very essence of what makes Parsism special: its values of compassion, community, and unity.

When Parsis first arrived in India, they made a promise to the local king: like sugar dissolved in milk, they would blend seamlessly into society without disrupting it. Yet today, that same community struggles to integrate with the modern world. By refusing to accept converts and alienating the children of interfaith marriages, we are not only shrinking our population—we are shrinking our potential.

Change is scary, overhauling our cultural values isn’t something done lightly. If  we fail to open our doors though, we risk allowing our religion to collapse in on itself and disappear within a few generations. My father wanted to be nothing other than a positive influence in the Parsi community. We as a community need to extend a hand of grace to those outside our sphere: showing our caring and loving culture to the rest of the world and whoever wishes. 

Ultimately, I believe being Parsi is not about lineage and we shouldn’t focus on purity. The essence of being parsi is our shared values, community we created, and providing each other with an unmatched sense of support and belonging. It is only by embracing those principles that the parsi community can prosper for years to come.