A Glimpse Into My Background
I was born on August 2, 1969, on the small island of Mauritius in the Indian Ocean, into a non-Christian, working-class family with eight children—three boys and five girls. I was the second-youngest among my siblings.
On my maternal side, my grandfather came from Pondicherry in Tamil Nadu, making me a second-generation Mauritian of Tamil descent. He met my grandmother in Mauritius, whose mother—my great-grandmother—was born on the neighbouring island of Réunion. Although she had Tamil roots, my grandmother was a devoted reader of the Bible.
On my father’s side, my great-grandparents also came from roughly the same region, with roots in another part of the world.
My grandparents on both sides were hardworking entrepreneurs. One worked the fields by day and ran a busy market stall in the mornings and evenings. The other produced raffia bags in a small workshop, supplying them in bulk to local businesses that valued his skill and craftsmanship.
For a time, prosperity seemed to follow them. But life, unpredictable and often unforgiving, had other plans.
My mother and all her siblings lost their parents while still young and were raised within a blended family environment. On my father’s side, my grandmother sold much of her possessions, even though my parents were heirs and had a right to part of her legacy. Over time, what had been built with effort and stability slowly disappeared, leaving both sides of the family with very little to inherit.
My father later worked for the Ministry of Works (M.O.W.) as a plumber, the sole breadwinner, while my mother stayed at home to care for the children. After giving birth to my younger sister via cesarean section, she struggled to manage all of us while still recovering.
My father also struggled with alcohol for many years, and during that time, my mother endured domestic violence. Later in life, he reduced his drinking, and the situation changed.
It was a difficult time for the entire family, and my mother’s selflessness was evident throughout.
During this challenging season, her two older sisters, whom she rarely saw, came to visit. Seeing our situation, they offered to take me under their care when I was only nine months old. The original plan was for me to return to my biological parents after two years, but that reunion never took place.
One of my aunts emigrated to the United Kingdom with her family in the 1970s, while I remained with the other aunt, who became my foster mother. Most of her children also moved to the UK around that time, except for one son who stayed in Mauritius. I affectionately called him “brother” rather than cousin.
I had a typical childhood, much like other children. My uncle worked for a private company, skilled in many areas and constantly multitasking, while his sons—my cousins—were employed by the local authority before eventually moving abroad.
I always knew I was adopted by my mother’s elder sister and her husband. They were open about it and never hid the truth, which helped avoid confusion or tension later in life. It was never a painful or shameful subject for me; it was simply part of my reality. I naturally called my adoptive parents “Mum” and “Dad,” and referred to my biological parents as “Aunt” and “Uncle.” Although our contact was limited, I was aware of their presence and maintained a distant relationship with them.
My foster parents were not wealthy, but they managed to make ends meet. What mattered most was the love that filled our home. They cared for me deeply and raised me as their own. I felt truly cherished, happy, and safe. I could not have asked for more.
My aunt, who raised me, was a born-again Christian. As a result, my childhood was deeply rooted in the Christian faith. She brought me to church every Sunday and enrolled me in Saturday Bible school.
Yet, while growing up in church, I always struggled to understand the Bible. It never made sense to me.
School also shaped my thinking in a powerful way. The teachers, friends, and environment all influenced me deeply. Without realising it, those experiences became part of how I saw the world, almost like invisible threads woven into my thinking.
In those years, school often felt more dominant than anything else—even church. Life there was so absorbing that it became the lens through which I viewed everything. Because of this, I struggled with much of what I heard in church and read in the Bible. I often relied on sermons to make sense of it.
I could have left the church, but I had been taught that this was where the true and living God was worshipped. That belief held me there, and in a way, I felt doomed to remain.
In 1980, when I was 12, my adoptive father passed away. From that point on, my aunt became my sole caregiver. Her resilience and commitment carried me through adolescence into adulthood. Although we faced challenges, her dedication played a major role in shaping who I became. Our needs were largely met by the support of my cousins, who had moved abroad. I never lacked anything essential.
At school, I was an average student. I was not academically brilliant, but I managed to learn and pass my exams like many other children. I enjoyed school life, but that was all. I left after the Cambridge School Certificate. My results were not outstanding, but they were enough to move forward.
Looking back, I would have been ashamed to say that then—but not anymore, not after what I have come to understand about how life and society are shaped.
At the age of ten, I desired to speak in tongues, mainly to imitate born-again Christians who had already received the baptism of the Holy Spirit. In His goodness, God answered that desire.
Three years later, I was baptised in water, as I understood it to be the duty of a Christian.
My search for understanding my salvation continued until the age of fifteen. I was desperate for answers. Then one afternoon, while reading the Bible, a verse stood out to me: “I have chosen you out of this world to walk with Me.”
It was a moment of revelation, deep relief, and conviction.
In that moment, I finally understood why God had saved me the way He did. If I had been born into a Christian family, it might have felt ordinary—after all, my aunt was already a believer, and children often follow the faith of their elders.
But the fact that God chose to take me from my biological parents and place me in a family of faith was an even greater demonstration of His love for me. That, I believe, was His plan for my life.
On that day, I truly fell in love with God for the first time. I searched for the verse I had seen in the Bible, but I have never been able to find it again. Yet I remember reading it word-for-word. Today, I believe it was a miracle—Scripture revealed in that moment and forever etched into my heart.
My struggles to understand the Bible and Jesus Christ continued. Life went on as normal. Nothing outwardly changed. The only difference was that I now knew why I had been raised by my aunt, and I was comforted by the knowledge that I mattered greatly to God.
A new challenge emerged. I became deeply fascinated with the Book of Revelation. Before this, questions about money and the financial system had begun to trouble me—questions that seemed to appear suddenly and persistently. I could not explain where they came from, but they occupied my mind for a season. Eventually, I set them aside and turned fully toward Revelation.
I believe these questions were shaped by the environment around me—sermons, conversations, and discussions about money and the end times. Revelation itself became a mystery that clung to me. I searched for answers in books, articles, and sermons, but nothing satisfied my curiosity.
At times, I even imagined that one day God would send an angel to take me into the sky, show me how the world would end on a screen, and then return me safely to earth. Only then, I thought, would I be at peace. As for the rest of the Bible, I concluded, “I will never understand it,” and I relied mostly on sermons instead.
Life continued.
My biological father passed away in 1998. In 2000, I experienced another deep loss when both my biological mother and my adoptive mother died within eight months of each other—one in January and the other in September.
I became more responsible and naturally stepped into a greater role in life, but I still had no clarity about my purpose. Like many people, I was simply navigating life one day at a time. Marriage was never part of my plan.
At one point, I found myself asking God directly: “What shall I do with my life? If knowing You simply means attending church on Sundays, then I am done with routine.”
Around 2002, while drinking tea and reading the newspaper, I came across an advertisement about emigrating to Canada. It caught me completely off guard. For the first time, the idea of leaving Mauritius entered my mind. I had never considered leaving my country, which I deeply loved. Yet something shifted within me, even if I did not fully understand it. It took nearly two years of reflection before I acted.
In August 2004, I left Mauritius—not for Canada, but for Ireland, where I have lived since, at least for now, until God leads me elsewhere. I did not fully understand it at the time, but I now recognise it as the gentle prompting of the Holy Spirit.
August 2004 – Ireland
Life in Ireland was not bad, but it was unfamiliar. A new country, a different culture, a new climate, and food I had to learn to adapt to. Fortunately, I adjust easily to new environments. Along the way, I noticed small reminders of home in certain historical buildings—perhaps due to shared colonial history, or perhaps coincidence. Either way, I found myself constantly discovering.
The Irish people, with their warm, easygoing nature, were welcoming. A simple glance often came with a smile, sometimes even a kind word. Slowly, I settled into a new rhythm of life. Nothing dramatic—just the steady process of starting over.
What I did not realise then was that God had something unexpected ahead for me.
Something I had not asked for, and something that had not even crossed my mind, was about to happen—and it would change my perception of life forever.
It was December 2008. I was on a train heading back to Balbriggan in north Dublin, where I was living at the time.
Two days earlier, I had spoken with one of my brothers in Mauritius. He told me that life there was becoming increasingly difficult and that many people were struggling even to buy basic food. His words deeply affected me and created a burden in my heart. But I was in Ireland, adjusting to a new life, and I felt powerless to help.
That same week, I spoke with a close friend from Mauritius, someone I used to pray with. She simply said to me, “Pray, and God will answer you.” I did not formally pray at that moment, but my heart remained restless.
That day on the train, I tried to distract myself by reading a book from the Balbriggan Library: Success Built to Last by Jerry Porras, Stewart Emery, and Mark Thompson.
As I read, one sentence suddenly stood out as if it were alive. At the same time, I heard a clear inner voice saying:
“If you want to do something for Mauritius, go and tell them that Jesus Christ loves them.”
Immediately, I experienced something I cannot fully explain in natural terms. I saw a light descending, and I felt a sensation as though something was placed within me. There was a moment of separation from my physical awareness, followed by a deep internal shock—like a “click” inside me.
In that moment, I wondered whether this was what death feels like. But instead of fear, there was awareness—an overwhelming sense of encounter. I believe God was awakening my spirit.
This is my personal experience, which I did not ask for, but went through nonetheless. I believe God allowed it as part of answering the deep questions I had been carrying, including my search for understanding Revelation.
The next morning, I woke up changed.
Something within me had shifted. I felt detached from the material world, as though I was seeing life differently. A quiet inner voice began to guide me—steady, clear, and unlike anything I had known before.
For the first time, I began to understand why Jesus Christ died. The message of the cross, which I had heard many times before, now carried meaning.
Over the days, weeks, and years that followed, I came to realise that I had not simply known about God through sermons and tradition. I was now beginning to know Him personally.
After nearly forty years, I had an encounter that changed everything.
Chapter 2: The Wilderness Before the Encounter
Everything I thought I was meant to do with my life changed after that encounter. Any ambition I once had toward building a career slowly lost its grip on me. Something far greater had interrupted my life, and I could no longer see the world the same way again.
For years, I never truly understood the Apostle Paul’s experience. I often thought to myself, How does a man go from persecuting believers to suddenly preaching Christ after one encounter? It sounded too dramatic, too abrupt, almost unbelievable.
But after what happened to me in December 2008, I understood.
When God reveals Himself to a person in a way that pierces beyond intellect and reaches the deepest part of their being, something shifts permanently inside them. You may still look the same outwardly, still wake up in the same room, go to work, and carry on with daily responsibilities, but inwardly, you know you are no longer the same person.
Drawn by this new reality awakening within me, I began a journey of discovery with the Holy Spirit as my guide. At first, it felt exciting. I was hungry to learn, desperate to understand, and eager to share what I was experiencing. I rushed ahead emotionally, trying to dive into depths I was not yet ready for. Looking back now, I realise I lacked wisdom and maturity. Zeal carried me faster than understanding.
One of the biggest mistakes I made was speaking too quickly about my experiences and discoveries, especially to fellow Christians. I genuinely thought they would rejoice with me. I believed they would understand my excitement and perhaps even help guide me.
Instead, I was met with confusion, suspicion, mockery, and rejection.
Some listened politely before distancing themselves. Others looked at me as though I had become strange. A few mocked me openly. I could sense discomfort whenever I spoke about what I was discovering. The more passionately I spoke, the more isolated I became.
That hurt deeply.
At the time, I did not understand why. Today, I realise I was trying to draw people into a journey God Himself had personally brought me into. Not everyone could understand what I was experiencing, especially when I myself barely understood it.
So I withdrew.
Little by little, I pulled away from people and retreated into silence. Oddly enough, it was there, in the quietness, that I finally began to find peace.
In those lonely and broken moments, I heard God differently—not through noise, not through emotional excitement, not through endless talking—but in silence.
There, the Holy Spirit began teaching me patiently. He called me to humble myself, to slow down, and to seek Him sincerely through prayer. What began after the encounter became a deeper journey within the journey itself.
For years, Christianity had largely been routine to me: church services, sermons, Christian language, religious habits. But now God was drawing me into something far more personal. Slowly, I began to understand that what He truly desired was a relationship.
Not religion alone. Not performance. Not appearance. Relationship—the kind of closeness Adam and Eve once had with God before the fall.
That understanding did not arrive overnight. It came through many difficult seasons designed to humble, shape, and refine me. Some of those seasons were beautiful. Others were painful beyond words.
The Holy Spirit began confronting things within me that I had never truly faced before: fear, pride, impatience, anxiety, self-reliance, hidden wounds, and deep inner struggles I often tried to ignore. Scripture also began changing before my eyes. Verses I had heard repeatedly throughout my childhood suddenly became alive and deeply personal. The Bible was no longer merely a religious book filled with stories and teachings. It became a living conversation.
Yet the process was not easy.
There were moments when I felt as though I was walking through what the Scriptures call “the valley of the shadow of death.” Fierce inner battles emerged from every direction. Fear would attack my mind. Anxiety would overwhelm me. Hopelessness would try to crush my spirit. Some days felt unbearably heavy.
Those experiences stripped me. They exposed how fragile human beings truly are beneath their outward appearance of strength and control. They also taught me dependence on God in a way I had never known before.
Many times, I felt broken. Many times, I stumbled. Many times, I questioned myself.
But somewhere deep inside, I also knew I could not turn back.
The same God who had awakened me was carrying me through the wilderness, even when I could not fully understand where He was leading me.
Over time, I began to see that the wilderness had a purpose. God was not simply giving me information about the world; He was transforming me first. Before speaking publicly about Babylon, corruption, power, or the condition of humanity, He had to deal with the condition of my own heart.
That process continues even now.
Then, in September 2023, I came face-to-face with my own mortality in a way I had never experienced before. My blood sugar, blood pressure, and cholesterol all spiralled out of control simultaneously. Physically, I was unwell. But inwardly, something even deeper was taking place.
During that season, my attachment to the material world weakened dramatically. The ambitions, distractions, and pursuits that consume so much of human life began losing their importance in my eyes. I realised how fragile life truly is and how quickly everything visible can pass away.
Yet even in that dark valley, God remained faithful. He continued teaching me, strengthening me, correcting me, and shaping me for the purpose He had prepared long before I understood it myself.
For a long time, I believed the assignment God gave me concerned Mauritius alone, because that was the burden on my heart when I first heard His voice on the train.
But over the years, I slowly came to understand something much bigger.
The message God was showing me was not limited to one nation, one people, one race, or one culture. It concerns humanity as a whole.
Regardless of skin colour, nationality, religion, language, social background, or political affiliation, we are all living inside a fallen world shaped by fallen systems. Beneath our differences, humanity shares the same struggles, fears, suffering, corruption, and longing for meaning.
I have gone in circles many times before this purpose finally began taking shape within me.
And perhaps that was necessary.
Because before God could show me Babylon in the world, He first had to lead me through the wilderness within myself.
It was during those moments that the Holy Spirit led me to write this book. By then, He had already taken me back to the Garden of Eden before the fall, to show me the world God originally created, His plan for humanity, and the world system fallen men built after the fall—a system that continues to shape the suffering, corruption, and destruction we see today.
I came to understand that this is why God will eventually destroy this present world system and restore humanity to its original purpose according to His will.
This, I believe, is the assignment He has given me.