As and when the tabulators of the NCR come round and ask me, among other things, what my religion is, i’ll have to tell them it’s complicated.
I’m told i was born in Puri, home of Lord Jagannath, in a dharamsala, flanked by a church on one side and a mosque on the other. I entered the world as the sun rose, with three holy men praying for me: the dharmsala pujari, the padre in the church, and the maulvi in the mosque.
Perhaps it was this early overdose of religion which turned me into a lifelong atheist. But if i was done with religion, religions of all sorts weren’t done with me.
Our household was a shudh shakahari one where even onions were taboo. This didn’t preclude me from tucking into chicken patties during lunch break at school.
My father died when i was five and on his annual shrad day, my mother would feed a pandit whose feet i would wash before the meal was served, he unaware, and me unmindful, of the half-eaten chicken pattie lurking in my pocket.
When i met Bunny, i got absorbed in their family ritual of chanting ‘Jai Jagdish hare’ at Diwali, me trying to keep a straight face because Jagdish is my given name.
At my mother’s gentle suggestion, Bunny and i got married by Arya Samaj rites. The presiding priest, who had a full-time job working for a diamond merchant, was a man of business as well as the scriptures and readily agreed to my proposition that he wouldn’t get paid for his services if the ceremony lasted more than 45 minutes. We managed it in 44.
After a serious leg injury when i was told by surgeons i’d never again walk without a stick i went on a family holiday to Simla. To exercise my leg, i walked daily up a steep hill to a Hanuman temple. The company of pilgrims toiling up to the shrine, many of them old and infirm, gave me the courage to continue. In a month my leg was completely healed.
So what religion do i believe in? None. But i believe in the beliefs of others, be they Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Sikh, or anything else. For all of them, i remain, yours faithfully.
