Skip to main content

Even gods need a break



I have been entrusted with the most respectful job in my house since my mother in law passed away more than a year ago. While family members discussed who would perform daily prayers at home I slowly raised my hand and nominated myself. My husband commented casually – this should be as simple as getting a cup of tea from the kitchen. I thought to myself – this couldn’t be any more complicated. So it’s been almost a week now – I have been paying homage to the almost 20 gods’ pictures hanging and resting in our pray room. 

For a year I thought to myself how would I pray? I am not an atheist. I may rebuff occasionally about how most of our festivals are paradigm to our gods and holy everything. I may argue thousand times with myself and anyone interested that the 33 million gods will not punish me for being a woman and for my impeccably well timed menstrual cycle. I pray mostly on my stomach full and I refuse to open my shoes in temples; I know I am not an atheist. I don’t have a routine to visit temples I visit when I want to, when I feel the need. To be honest I have never felt in harmony after visiting a temple. Preferably I would feel happier if I were in a green patch of land overlooking a pond with some swans swimming. So why do we pray? 

I don’t know why we pray. If I had the answer I would have may be started praying earlier or maybe never pray. But most of us pray on our own terms. There is definitely no rule of thumb. So I have decided to justify my daily prayer at home. I have started communicating with the 20 gods in my pray room. I sit, I light up few incense sticks, I remove the worn out flowers and replace it with some fresh ones. But mostly I just sit there and stare at the 20 gods and slowly I confess. I confess about my feelings, about my actions and communicate. The silence from the other end is wonderful for a change. This is a wonderful opportunity for me, two times a day to reflect on how I did. So while I was enjoying my time alone with the 20 gods I remembered my help reminding me to ring the bell. 

Ahh ring the bell. But why, I was enjoying my ME time with the gods. God knows I am here in the pray room. If god watches over our every action than god must know I am here – not praying exactly but honestly communicating. Isn’t communicating better than singing some songs with my lousy voice and irritating the hell out of my neighbors (although I wouldn’t mind)? I search for the bell and start to ring it and it won’t ring because I don’t know how to work it. I pause and speak to the gods again – ‘dear gods please be patient with me, I am doing my best. I may not know how to ring this bell in rhythm but I promise you I will get better.’

So now my praying time is mostly dedicated to perfecting the bell ringing skill. Although my motor skills have always performed better when it comes to sports and socializing, somehow ringing the bell is a difficult task than I had imagined. So what next? 

This isn’t the first time I am praying. I pray often. I pray for my loved ones, I pray when my loved ones are in trouble and I pray when I am scared, lonely and sad. I pray because I fear the unknown. I pray because I am afraid my actions may cause discomfort to others and I pray because I seek forgiveness for my wrongs. I pray because I strongly believe my actions will haunt me one day. See I told you, I am not an atheist – I just feel there shouldn’t be any rules and regulations to call out to god. There shouldn’t be any order while praying – light the incense, offer flowers, light another incense, offer some sweets and ring the bell and sing some religious songs. 

Strangely, I never thought I would be able to pray routinely. I am surprised it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to a year ago. I have found peace – the comfort of talking to gods and being able to express my anger and guilt without being judged is a huge relief. I do feel at harmony when I pray today although I may not be praying as per the rules. After all the gods must be happy too for I am not singing the same song with a lousy voice every morning and evening.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A letter to my future teenage daughter

My dear daughter, you are only seven today but you will soon be seventeen. And when you become 17 I know the world will no longer be the same for you and I. We will be together in the same house but we will be distant apart in our heart and head. I was once 17 you know. And like everything else nothing is constant so before you grow up too fast I am writing a letter to you and the million other 17 year olds just like you. Love life - you are going to fall in love - hard. So hard that you are often dizzy with love. A love that is insignificant but withholds you from achieving all your dreams. Dreams that you dreamt when you were barely ten. Dreams that your parents dreamt for you when they first held you in their warm loving arms. Dreams that your mother dreamt for you when you were just a tadpole in her growing tummy. You are 17 and you have just graduated high school. At the verge of becoming an adult. You think you are big enough to make decisions and that you know the best f

Dreams pursued

My precious Photo: Shradha Giri Last night my nine-year-old and I held hands and cried. We then laughed and then cried again. This isn’t something we normally do – our daughter, our precious one who was quiet for a change sat still, listened to what I had to say. The thing is, I have decided to change my career at this age and it is creating a ruckus which I didn’t think of earlier. I guess no one thinks through until the day one starts working on the decision. I decided a year and a half ago that I would invest in a school. Both my husband and I danced at the idea one idle weekend. We didn’t think of the distance - 500km. A year and a half spent running to banks, local ward office and to tax departments, the deal was done. Just like that with considerable amount of loan on my shoulders, I became a part of the system where I have always wanted to make a difference. I spent the past two weeks in my new role and I was baffled by what I observed (I also spent a few nights c

Oh boy! women bleed

Menstruation is a taboo. No one talks about it. Women do not openly purchase sanitary napkins. We pretend we don’t menstruate. We refrain from talking about our period at homes and at work places. I have always tried to reason with the stigma vis-à-vis the biological fact a female body goes through. Like how men have beards when they hit pubescent - girls bleed. What’s the big deal I repeat? Often, families and friends laud the teenage boys for sprouting one line moustache or a goatee. The boys are identified for being macho and finally a man. On the contrary, families hide their girls when they start their first period, ashamed when their bodies provide proof that the girl is perfectly healthy and normal. These young girls go on to believe that their bodies have betrayed them. They coax their bodies because suddenly it has made them impure. They can no longer mingle with the other sex openly; they must be mindful and often face exclusion from family functions. They are forced to a