I didn't realize I came to India to have my "first" Bar Mitzvah (and write Haikus (and really long titles))

Well, I was trying to avoid actually writing full sentences. But alas, now that I am officially a man, I guess I should write about it. Sara and I were told that there was a synagogue in the vicinity of the German Bakery, Koreagon Park. So we decided to try and find it. The only direction we were given is that its to the right of the bakery, so we followed the road along all the way to the river, searching, until we came across a pavilion right on the water at which point we decided to chill. We asked a man there who in a Scooby Doo fashion gave us another clue... it's a large white building, a-hah! Also, it turns out we were sitting right next to the ghats (where bodies are burned along the river in according to the Hindu religion) So we walk back up to the Bakery and see right next door is a store is a white building.... but this one has the words "Jew ery Place". Oh Lord. This is a bad joke... right? Sara and I immediately start to think that everyone is convinced that the jewelery store with the missing "L" in the name is the "Jewish Temple" everyone is talking about. So we go in and ask the shop-keep. With a sigh of ironic relief - he tells us it's down the road. We eventually find it, and inside a very warm family welcomes us and immediately begins to question us about our parents and our relationship to Judaism.

Well apparently Sara and I don't know that much. We couldn't identify the man in the painting on the wall (famous rabbi?) and don't know more than three words in Hebrew besides "Shabbat", "Shalom", and "Gimmel" that's on the side of a Dreidel (Yeaaah, a fourth!). Another twenty-something Israeli is starting to put on tefillin when the mom, Rachel, asks if I had that put on at my Bar Mitzvah. Considering I was brought up in a reform synagauge - the answer is no. At this point she is aghast and tells me I was never actually Bar Mitzvah'ed and need to have the tefillin wrapped around my head and arm. I refuse. Five minutes later her son comes up and asks me again. I also refuse. We then start talking to the father (it turns out he was in Pikesville (my hometown) two weeks ago at Beth Tfiliah meeting up with his friend the cantor...the world is way too small) who then asks me a third time. I didn't refuse. (Law of threes, I can't help it). So we went through the motions, he put the tefillin on my arm and head and had me say the Shama and the Viahafta (can't spell). Upon completion, the two sons threw little packets of bread at me and started singing and clapping the Mazel Tov song. We then said the motzi and had some wine. I then said " I didn't realize I came to India to have my second Bar Mitzvah." The father looked me in the eye and corrected me: " Your first Bar Mitzvah". Oy Vey.