Dear God,
I am not an atheist as people think I am. I am not even an agnostic. I am a believer. In fact, just because I don’t go to a church or a temple, it doesn’t make me less of a believer than X, who FYI is asleep through Sunday sermon, or Y who goes to the temple only to surreptitiously feast his eyes on the hip-swaying, faux coy girls who seem to come just to sashay prettily around the deities like the whole thing were indeed a roundabout fashion show. Ok so I don’t pray at home either- I don’t pray anywhere. There’s just something warped about the concept of prayer taught to me that makes it so immensely unpalatable. ‘Ask and thou shall receive’, I was told. This is prayer, I was told. Which is not fair because starving Somalians have fairer needs than I do and their supplications must reach you before mine do, by all means. I lost all faith, over the years, in the image of you that was almost force-drilled into my head. Later, I tried to find the real you several times. I tried to find you in a church and I slept as most Catholics do in church. I went temple-hopping and was no nearer to communicating with you, but I did form a list of favourite temples- ranked based on the quality of prasadam they served. When this failed, I got interested in Jaggi Vasudev and tried to immerse myself in his teachings and change my way of approaching prayer. It got me no nearer to prayer. In fact, it erased prayer from my life- which was really an achievement because the zero-hearted nonsensical verses I was spouting at night, out of habit, seemed like an insult unto you. Osho went right over my head and I couldn’t jump high enough to gather sense. Oh and the new stuff about how one can have conversations with God as if he were a friend… I tried it, it felt rather strange. Also, my mother thought I was hiding someone in my room. So that was that. Officially anchorless and empty, at this point I felt I could well be the brand ambassador for No Man’s Land, if such a land did exist. I came to a conclusion that you would take care of my needs anyway, whether or not I touched base with you. It’s like my relationship with two of my closest friends- I do not have to talk to them every day for me to confidently believe they will be there for me anyway, even if I was a kidney-peddling fraudster or a croaking copulating bull frog. I accepted that you would give me my daily bread whether or not I asked for it and forgive me, whether or not I was repentant.
The Let Us Make Anusha Religious drives stopped ages ago. But still, my insistent cousin tells me now and then ‘Prayer is not just about asking and receiving. It is also a means to give thanks.’ Well, when I dig into a bowl of creamy mashed potato, with nary a lump or bump, my body says thanks in entirety. My five senses strike up a harmony, my gastric juices gush and gurgle, and every organ tinkles…'thanks!’ they effuse in unison. Now, in comparison, kneeling and saying ‘thanks for the mashed potato God’ seems so supremely lame. Similarly, when something I really want happens, I don’t fold my hands (as is wont by many an elder in the family) and say ‘Praise the lord. You are the most supreme. You are the master of the universe.’ See, I’m sure you already know you’re the master of the universe- so I don’t want to reiterate that. Instead, I go ahead and indulge in hardcore happiness. My happiness is my prayer of thanksgiving to you.
All said, I do have some requests. I mean, I know Somalia still needs you, and Afghanistan too, but if you don’t mind terribly, and you’re up for some lightweight duty, you know what to do. Also, if we are destined to meet in a more direct sense sometime, please don’t be put off by my seeming nonchalance. It’s fake. Maybe then I can have a proper conversation with you, without doubts creeping into my mind, as to whether perhaps I ought to check myself into a mental health facility.
And oh, just for the record, thanks for everything. Really.
Much love,
Anusha
I am not an atheist as people think I am. I am not even an agnostic. I am a believer. In fact, just because I don’t go to a church or a temple, it doesn’t make me less of a believer than X, who FYI is asleep through Sunday sermon, or Y who goes to the temple only to surreptitiously feast his eyes on the hip-swaying, faux coy girls who seem to come just to sashay prettily around the deities like the whole thing were indeed a roundabout fashion show. Ok so I don’t pray at home either- I don’t pray anywhere. There’s just something warped about the concept of prayer taught to me that makes it so immensely unpalatable. ‘Ask and thou shall receive’, I was told. This is prayer, I was told. Which is not fair because starving Somalians have fairer needs than I do and their supplications must reach you before mine do, by all means. I lost all faith, over the years, in the image of you that was almost force-drilled into my head. Later, I tried to find the real you several times. I tried to find you in a church and I slept as most Catholics do in church. I went temple-hopping and was no nearer to communicating with you, but I did form a list of favourite temples- ranked based on the quality of prasadam they served. When this failed, I got interested in Jaggi Vasudev and tried to immerse myself in his teachings and change my way of approaching prayer. It got me no nearer to prayer. In fact, it erased prayer from my life- which was really an achievement because the zero-hearted nonsensical verses I was spouting at night, out of habit, seemed like an insult unto you. Osho went right over my head and I couldn’t jump high enough to gather sense. Oh and the new stuff about how one can have conversations with God as if he were a friend… I tried it, it felt rather strange. Also, my mother thought I was hiding someone in my room. So that was that. Officially anchorless and empty, at this point I felt I could well be the brand ambassador for No Man’s Land, if such a land did exist. I came to a conclusion that you would take care of my needs anyway, whether or not I touched base with you. It’s like my relationship with two of my closest friends- I do not have to talk to them every day for me to confidently believe they will be there for me anyway, even if I was a kidney-peddling fraudster or a croaking copulating bull frog. I accepted that you would give me my daily bread whether or not I asked for it and forgive me, whether or not I was repentant.
The Let Us Make Anusha Religious drives stopped ages ago. But still, my insistent cousin tells me now and then ‘Prayer is not just about asking and receiving. It is also a means to give thanks.’ Well, when I dig into a bowl of creamy mashed potato, with nary a lump or bump, my body says thanks in entirety. My five senses strike up a harmony, my gastric juices gush and gurgle, and every organ tinkles…'thanks!’ they effuse in unison. Now, in comparison, kneeling and saying ‘thanks for the mashed potato God’ seems so supremely lame. Similarly, when something I really want happens, I don’t fold my hands (as is wont by many an elder in the family) and say ‘Praise the lord. You are the most supreme. You are the master of the universe.’ See, I’m sure you already know you’re the master of the universe- so I don’t want to reiterate that. Instead, I go ahead and indulge in hardcore happiness. My happiness is my prayer of thanksgiving to you.
All said, I do have some requests. I mean, I know Somalia still needs you, and Afghanistan too, but if you don’t mind terribly, and you’re up for some lightweight duty, you know what to do. Also, if we are destined to meet in a more direct sense sometime, please don’t be put off by my seeming nonchalance. It’s fake. Maybe then I can have a proper conversation with you, without doubts creeping into my mind, as to whether perhaps I ought to check myself into a mental health facility.
And oh, just for the record, thanks for everything. Really.
Much love,
Anusha
