Prayer without piety is like a promise without proof

 

"If I really wanted to pray I’ll tell you what I’d do. I’d go out into a great big field all alone or into the deep, deep, woods, and I’d look up into the sky—up—up—up—into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I’d just feel a prayer."

-  Anne Shirley in 'Anne Of Green Gables' by Lucy Maud Montgomery

I was sitting inside a temple, accompanied by my grandmother, enjoying the beauty of the golden yellow evening sunlight falling on the walls and pillars. I derived a unique pleasure from the scene  that was spread out in front of me. 

The sight of the women in their colourful sarees, their oiled hair neatly combed and adorned with flowers, and their turmeric tinted traditional features accentuated by sparkling nose studs and large, round bindis; people meditating or reading from shloka books, the distant hum of the priests chanting..

..the kids determined to reach the overhead bells all on their own, jumping with all their might, their arms  and necks  straining upwards, until they relented and accepted the help of an adult who had been offering to lift them all along, their satisfied faces glowing with a sense of achievement after they had made as much noise as metal on metal could make..

..this, together with the cool breeze, the chirping of birds and the consciousness of being present inside a sanctum meant to be reigned by vibrations of positivity, pure goodwill, elevated thoughts, staunch faith and strong beliefs, was lulling my mind into a therapeutic sense of peace. 

Until this inner calm was shattered by loud voices beside me. 

There were two women supposedly praying in front of the sculpture of a deity on one of the pillars - without either of them throwing a single glance at the sacred form to whom they were petitioning. While their hands went through the motions essential for performing a puja, neither of their minds was engaged in solemn meditation or spiritual submission.

Their tongues wagging at warp speed, they were exchanging sensational anecdotes about their respective daughters-in-law - scrupulously focusing, of course, on their flaws and deficiencies alone, taking great care that no slip of the tongue should accidentally expose anything that could be construed as a virtue. 

They were so eager to impress each other with a woeful impression of the present state of things in their households, that they were talking over each other's sentences. While their hands waved the aarti plates in front of them, their minds weaved through the characters  of the said daughters-in-law, and their mouths wove a tight net around them so that not even an iota of goodness could escape.

Meanwhile, nearby, a small group of destitute children were collecting and playing with the leaves that had been shed from an obliging tree. Together, they fashioned a sort of garland, and with the greatest innocent enthusiasm, the deepest joy, and the purest love, they ran towards the sculpture on the pillar, in order to make an offering of it. 

Unfortunately, the timing of this heartwarming gesture coincided with a crucial juncture in the tales of the two women - when one of them was rewarding the other with a bumper offer - by throwing into the bargain, certain staggering details about their neighbour's daughter-in-law too. The second woman, not willing to be long outdone by the first, and having luckily come into recent possession of some riveting new gossip of her own, was just beginning her scintillating narration. 

Irked by the unwelcome interruption, they angrily shooed the children away, unceremoniously discarded their handmade garland, and proceeded to arrange their own flowers, betel leaves and bananas in its place, while their voices continued to give All India Radio a run for its money. 

Reader, I appeal to your honest, unbiased and instinctive opinion - whose offering do you feel reached God?

Is prayer a mere combination of rituals performed by the arms, verses recited by the tongue and endless entreaties crafted by the brain (the mind having been cut loose to wander) to be laid out in front of God to coax Him into consenting with it all? 

Is God the supreme ocean of truth, peace, love and knowledge, or a crying child who needs to be calmed down? 

Is not the way to connect with God anywhere, anytime, under any situation and while performing any action, to let our minds silently merge in peace, contentment and gratitude with Him, to experience the love of a Parent, the guidance of a Teacher, and the knowledge of a Spiritual Mentor?

Parents make their kids blindly learn verses by heart and recite them like detached automatons to win prizes in competitions and to show off in front of visitors. Should they not, in addition to it, educate and train kids in understanding the deep cultural implications behind the rituals, and applying the values and principles, hidden like gems behind those verses, in their daily lives? 

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(If you are wondering what happened to those two benevolent and generous women, they managed to heave themselves up and walked away, all the while complaining about how their knees hurt from sitting on the ground for so long, how time had the audacity to move so fast without their permission, and how late they were to return home to their sundry chores, in a manner that would have made an observer assume that they had been coerced at gunpoint into coming to the temple to tittle-tattle. ) 

I love rava upma. There, I said it.

Social media seems to be flooded with upma memes.

I just happened upon one showing the troubled face of a husband who, after being asked by The Wife to pass his verdict on the taste of the upma ominously lurking on his plate, has almost forgotten to chew and swallow his mouthful in the shock of the worst dilemma of his life - if he were to say it is tasty, she'll heap two more karandis of it for him to struggle through; on the other hand, if he were to admit the absolute truth and declare his lifelong enmity with it , the aforementioned karandi will end up as a weapon against him!

Although I thoroughly enjoyed all the creative memes, I am scared to tell people that I actually like upma, lest they should turn their dismayed, scornful gazes at me.

But now that the sluice gates have been opened, I am going to just go ahead and let it all rush out and brave the consequences - I hate ice cream.

Okay, before you get the sneaking premonition that I must be cracked and close this window, hastily clearing the history, cookies and cache on your browser so that you never again stumble upon this page even by mistake, I think that I can offer some kind of reason which may prove to be a mitigating factor, at least in the case of the ice cream.

It may be that when I was born I started out, if not with a penchant, at least without an aversion to this capricious, gooey stuff that cannot make up its mind whether it means to be a solid, liquid or Bose-Einstein condensate, and the sole purpose of which seems to be to freeze your tongue and shoot alternating current through your gums, so that you can't even realise what flavour it is that you are eating, unless you read its name on the box in which it came. 

But, when I was seven and had just got my tonsils out, I was informed by my parents that the doctor had advised them to give me nothing but ice cream for the next couple of weeks. I was, of course, initially thrilled. Not so much at the prospect of ice cream, but with the novelty of the situation, the opportunity of doing something so irregular and out of the ordinary routine. 

And so, I ate a meal of a cup of vanilla ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner, throwing supposedly sympathizing, but factually smug sideways glances at my parents and Paati who, in my naive juvenile eyes, were poor grown-ups who had to supress and hide their wild impulses under the veil of convention and propriety, and could never have the chance to flout rules as I did. For, who wouldn't be excited at the chance of getting to eat ice cream all day, everyday? 

This self-satisfied feeling lasted but for a few days. 

I think, for us, nothing in the world can have a lasting charm without the existence of its exact opposite. Plain homemade dal chawal feels like heaven the day after a heavily loaded feast at a restaurant for dinner; a couple of days of travel and sightseeing feels good after a series of working days; a day of listless inaction spent lying in bed like a crocodile on a shaded bank feels great after the bustle of travel; going to school felt like a prize to kids after lockdown, but then again holidays were gratefully welcomed after endless homework.

Happiness wouldn't be as thankfully valued as it should be, without the existence of a fair dose of trouble, and we would never truly appreciate the little everday things, the beauty in the trivia of our daily lives, until they are snatched away from us. 

Philosophical ramblings aside, a few days later, the smugness was wiped off my face. Now, when I looked at the warm nei saadam and carrot kaai on my Paati's plate, it was no longer with a complacent grin. My Amma was no longer pouring elumichai rasam but the elixir of life, and it was no longer on plain rice but paradise. 

I dreamt of curd rice and roasted potato sabji at nights. Even the so far least sought after beetroot kaai started tormenting my senses with its aroma, with the tiny mustard seeds looking like beautiful decorations on the vibrant, lustrous, ruby red pieces, the shredded coconut visible here and there looking like light snowfall on a mountain. 

The last straw fell in the form of a lunch plate with vathal kuzhambu rice and vaazhaipoo parupu usili. I looked at that appetizing plate, and then at the fluffy white mess in the bowl in my hand. That was my breaking point. 

That was the exact instant I simultaneously developed a lifelong aversion to ice cream and a strong love for all things simple and homecooked. 

To this day, even a seemingly plain homemade dish like mor koozhu, venn pongal or the poor rava upma (which suddenly finds itself on the receiving end of the internet), is a million times more precious and inviting to me, than any other fancy dish. The overhyped and elaborately named dishes of fine dining restaurants exude only a sense of impersonal distance.

And the ice cream, to me, symbolises everything cold, unoriginal, textureless and transient. 

Maybe I am cracked. 

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P. S:

To the unversed in Tamilian (or Indian) ways:

rava upma - semolina dish

karandi - ladle

paati - grandmother

dal chawal - lentils and rice

nei saadam - ghee rice

kaai - dry vegetable dish

elumichai rasam - lemon rasam

vathal kuzhambu - sun dried vegetables cooked in a tangy, spicy gravy

vaazhaipoo parupu usili - banana flower dish

mor koozhu - buttermilk and rice flour dish

venn pongal - tempered rice and lentil dish

No templates, please

"Anyone who ever gave you confidence, 

you owe them a lot. "

- Truman Capote in 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'

We have all been completely consumed by, and assimilated into the digital world - like insects trapped in an invisible pitcher plant, that never fails to lure us in with its enticing scent of entertainment and convenience. 

And so, as we get on with our lives amidst the omnipresent digital signals darting and flitting all around us, our sense of empathetic understanding - our perception of,  and insight into, the minds and personalities of fellow humans - has been benumbed.

We have started treating people like apps. Just as we choose themes on our devices, we are expecting people around us to conform to templates too. We are trying to customise humans. 

It is 2023, in supposedly modern India, and here is our society still brutally judging people for simply and honestly being themselves. 

I cannot recollect the last time I saw an  introvert being appreciated and accommodated in general. Children and adults are alike expected to be jovial, chatty and the life of the party. 

I was born an introverted old soul and my son takes after me. But I never imagined that after all these years he would be offered the same reception by the society as I was. 

If I sift through my childhood memories, I can remember countless of instances when adult guests regularly and relentlessly pushed me to "change my nature", threatening me with dire consequences upon ignoring their sage "advice". 

As I sat watching them gossiping and passing unnecessarily rude and impertinent comments about the private affairs of all their acquaintances (they must have maintained alphabetical order so as to be careful not to miss even a single juicy titbit), I used to feel that, if this was what being popular and accepted meant, I was better off being myself, and would rather face the impending social doom they most kindly foresaw for me, than try to fit into a fake and uncomfortable mould. 

Recently, my son was very considerately informed by another parent that if he does not change, he would end up without friends. I wonder if some unspoken law has been passed banning select personality types. If not, it is high time people realise that learning basic social skills is imperative, but uprooting one's unique self is immaterial, to survival. 

I wouldn't want to dissappoint these people or burst their ignorant bubbles by letting them know that our lives have turned out great, thank you very much. They should have their fun too. Educating them (that most introverts are actually deeply observant, good listeners, and as their minds are not constantly focused on talking, they are free to engage in actually understanding the people around them, and so they end up being highly matured and compassionate, and form lasting, meaningful friendships) will only deprive them of their fodder. 

Mind you, these are the same people who will, in future, search for "quiet, responsible, matured, well-behaved" grooms for their daughters. Well, Mr.Darcys don't grow on trees, people. 

And this leads me to another aspect that the Indian society seems to be obsessed with - marriage. Question people as to why one must fit into said templates, and pat comes the universal retort -  "unless you do, you will not find a bride or a groom".

Are you a woman who cares more about intellectual, spiritual or philanthropic pursuits than about your wardrobe? Oh dear! You will end up alone. You better groom yourself to have perfectly shaped brows on a scrubbed, plucked, pruned and well made-up face, spending a lot of your time striving to maintain it a certain way that adheres exactly to the  prescribed ideal. This, you must follow stringently, irrespective of the circumstances in your life, disregarding the current state of your mind while you may be struggling through some trauma or trouble. In short, you must follow all the trending rules of beauty until you lose your individuality and end up a clone of every other so-called beauty on the planet. Then, and only then, will you miraculously find your soulmate - a "man" man.

Yes, a "man" man. Have you boys been under the misapprehension that you have escaped the pincers of these protocols? Have you been harbouring the false hope that you can skim through life despite being "different" from most other males? You need to be enlightened right away. If you want to be accepted, you must cut a "rough and tough" macho figure. You do not have the option to be too sensitive, too gentle or too "soft", or wear "girlish" colours. As a child, you should have never played with a doll or tried to take care of a soft toy as a mother cares for her baby. Outdoor exercise is vital for all humans, but it is only your gender that always has to particularly prefer sports to indoor art activities or reading. Never mind having a clue about any of the basic skills one requires to keep a house, all you have to do is make sure you earn more than your spouse.

Not that this paradigm demon would leave one alone after marriage. One still has to keep contorting to fit into established stereotypes, or else end up answering questions ad nauseam - initially about having a baby, then about having a second baby (preferably of the gender opposite to the first one); then, the new parents' lives are to be left stagnant as society's focus shifts on the children - their exam scores, their dressing sense, their personality types come under the scrutiny of the society's CCTV - and the vicious cycle gets to be repeated all over again, till one's entire life is spent in giving explanations to people about personal topics that are none of their business in the first place.

This cannot change as long as a portion of our society remains adamantly oblivious to the fact that we cannot be happy unless we are at liberty to be our true selves. 

Or are we all condemned to forget our essence and play a part for the rest of our lives, like the way people try to hide their original skin tone with layers of whitewash and paint on their faces to cater to our society's fixation on fair skin? 

When are we going to learn to look beneath the surface, to read between the lines? 

The other day, as a parent was speaking to me about some minor ailment that had been bothering her kid for sometime, I referred her to our paediatrician - a truly benevolent, good human being who is genuinely concerned about the welfare of the kids under his care. I have never returned from his clinic after a consultation without blessing him for the sincerity and devotion with which he performs his noble profession. That being the case, imagine my bewilderment, when the parent told me a few days later that she did not choose to consult him as "he didn't look like a doctor". 

At that moment, if my brain had had to choose a theme, I'm sure it would have picked one with a font that used bold, italicized, underlined letters, all caps, for the one word flashing in my mind - 'seriously?'. If that had reflected on the output screen of my face, a picture of me would have resembled  Jim Halpert looking with shocked disbelief into the fourth wall of 'The Office', the camera. 

I wanted very much to enquire if she was looking for a cure for her child, or scouting for talent as part of the casting department on Grey's Anatomy. But, as always,  I minimized that particular window on my mind, swallowed my thoughts, and mellowed my vocal output to a mere 'oh! I hope your child finds relief'. 

It has gone on long enough.. What, my ramblings? No, I meant people have passed on this legacy of narrow thinking for long enough. 

It is high time we raise kids in a way that the future society is a  gender-neutral, universally kind and accepting one, which simply lets people be, allows them to craft their own path, shape their own life, in a way that makes them happy - a world where people have only their own conscience to answer to; the opinions, needs and guidance of the loved ones who matter to them alone, to consider. 

Or else, who knows, kids in the future might not accept that the lady that gave birth to them and brings them up is their mother, because she doesn't look like the moms in Dettol ads.