I turn twenty-three in a few weeks’ time. This is the age
when one should delineate his/her philosophy of life. Of course, there is no
‘one-size-fits-all’ rule. Moreover, the philosophy, the ground rules by which
one plays the game, can evolve. However, unless a drastic, life-changing
event occurs, the ground rules we draw now will fundamentally remain same through
our lives. Or so I believe and I decided to work out my philosophy. I might not
find an answer anytime soon. That doesn’t prevent me from attempting, does it?
Disclaimer: This piece is
basically me musing out loud. You might find points which are not agreeable.
You, reader, are free to turn back at this point.
The first challenge I met was to define my identity, for
your outlook towards life depends on who you are, where you come from and where
you are headed. The first few bits were easy. I am an Indian by nationality – I
have my passport, my Aadhaar (dutifully linked to my bank accounts, phone
numbers, what not!). I am a Kannadiga. I accept these and I am happy. I have
neither the chance nor the will to change either of them. Fate landed me in a
Hindu Brahmin household. This is the tricky bit. I was born a Hindu, a Brahmin.
Now, twenty-three years later, am I a Hindu, a Brahmin by chance or by choice?
At the very outset, why should I bother answering this question, be it
to myself or to anyone else? It is because caste is a reality in the India of our
times, however rosy a picture we may try to paint. Off late, religion is once
again becoming part of the mainstream political dialogue, with a Hindu
chauvinist party in power at the centre, the main opposition trying to signal
that it is no less Hindu and another leading political figure saying she’ll
convert to Buddhism along with her followers.
My grandmother was very finicky about rituals. It’s familial
lore that I had once confronted her about whether she enquired the caste of the
driver before boarding a rickshaw! No. I was not a born-revolutionary. It was
merely a child’s prank to provoke his grandmother. Brahmanism to me, back then,
was merely a collection of rituals. Within my extended family, I have extremes as
examples. One the one hand, I have uncles who are very religious, perform
elaborate pujas and are proud of their Brahmin identity. I shall not speak
about their spirituality since I have never talked to them in this regard.
Moreover, who am I to gauge and judge their extent and depth of spirituality?
On the other hand, there is my father and his brothers whose Brahmanism (as far as I've seen) does not go beyond a few sholkas and stotras,
along with wearing the janivara (janeu/sacred thread) at least
during Ganesh Chaturthi and at the time of my grandparents’ shraddha. Then,
there is my brother and I, who do not even have the sacred thread. Does it make
us un-Brahminical?
As a teenager, there were times when I said I was an
atheist. At one point of time, it was quite a fad to call oneself an atheist,
with or without understanding the full implication of the term. A few of my
friends still call themselves so, with some contempt to those who call
themselves faithful. I then realized that being an atheist required much
stronger conviction than I could muster. I took a few steps back and said I am an 'agnost'. Frankly, whenever I faced some challenge or an outcome which didn’t
favor me, I said they were destined by the One above. In more successful times,
I celebrated my hardwork and effort.
Then came a phase when I had ‘private conversations’ with
Him/Her, whenever I accompanied the family to a temple. ‘I know you are not in
there. If what they say is true, how can you be restricted to these four walls?
I will not ask you for anything, for you are supposed to know everything and
hence, would know what I want – even without me having to spell it out’. At the
same time, I bowed my head in reverence in front of any Hindu temple, Jain
temple, church or mosque I passed.
I never worked out why there were so many images of gods and
goddesses. ‘How can all of these be true?’ I asked. An elephant-headed god made
no sense, unless you looked at it as a symbol, signifying that knowledge and strength
could lie within even imperfect exteriors. More importantly, who had seen these
forms before creating their likeness? Seemingly historical figures, the
Formless One started looking more attractive when compared to this, as I grappled to understand faith with my limited knowledge.
To be continued...
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