The search for......something

Some people go to temples. Some to mosques. Others to churches.

I go to Worli Sea Face.

I’ve never understood religion. I’ve especially not understood people’s desire to pray, to fast, to perform rituals, to seek God in certain pre- authorized places. I wanted to understand what solace people found in visiting these places.

And so I searched – sometimes grumbling, sometimes willing, sometimes in desperation. I wasn't entirely sure what I was looking for: I think I was just hoping to see and feel what everyone around me seemed to see and feel.

It’s been quite a journey.

***

I don’t exactly remember my first visit to a temple, but I’ve had enough over my childhood years to be able to sum up my experience: creepy. I’m not sure if it’s because of the nauseating smell of overflowing milk that permeates the air, or the damp dirty floors that you’re expected to walk barefoot on, or the forced-down-your-throat prasad, or my own personal pet-peeve of hating anything put on my face.

Or maybe it’s because it’s the last place on earth I would go to when looking for peace.

The chaos, the venders, the money-making, and the dirt somehow don’t manage to add up to an inviting setting.

But still, a 10-year-old child has little say in such matters, and so I would trudge along behind my family as we occasionally went to temples – both local and national (Vaishnadevi). I’m not sure what went through their minds as they dragged me along: perhaps they hoped I would eventually begin to see what they saw; perhaps they thought it was a matter of duty on my part to follow the religion that was stamped against my name; or perhaps they just didn’t want to leave me alone at home.

Whatever the case, I went. And each time, I grew more and more disgruntled. By the time of my final visit at the age of 19 [See: A Surge of Faith], I had made up my mind: I officially hated going to a temple.

***

My house in Bombay is 2 minutes away from a famous church. I pass by it every day, and quite often, I would find myself wanting to walk in. But somehow my previous experience with religious institutions held me back.

One afternoon, returning from an extremely stressful and depressing day at school, I caved in. I carefully stepped inside, sighing in relief as I took in the clean surroundings. I sat down at a pew and felt the silence around me. I could feel the calm spreading around me, as the stress slowly passed out with my tears. Now this I could get used to.

Relaxing, I picked up the book lying in front of me and began browsing through its pages. And the clamminess started to kick in again. Words flew out about submitting and believing and praying, making me extremely uncomfortable. I felt like they were pointing at me, silently screaming: Disbeliever! Disbeliever!

The place no longer felt as soothing and welcoming as before. And so, disappointed, I made my way out.

***

From the moment I set my eyes upon it a year ago, it’s been a burning desire for me to visit Haji Ali. Maybe it was because the song “Piya Haji Ali” brought a smile to my face every time I heard it; maybe the idea of a mosque in the middle of the sea excited me; or maybe I was just hoping that the third time would be the charm.

After one year of wanting, I finally visited Haji Ali with a friend a few weeks ago.

And it turned out to be the biggest disappointment till date. The chaos, the venders, the money-making, and the dirt felt a bit too familiar. That stifling feeling I associated with temples rushed back, and I found myself trudging along as the beautiful soulful image I had built up over the last twelve months suddenly shattered around me.

I found myself tugging at my friend’s hand, urging him to turn around and walk back.

Third time wasn’t the charm.

***

My hunt wasn’t about religion – I gave up on that a long time ago. It was a search for peace. I assumed that was the reason people were drawn to temples and mosques and churches – because they found solace over there.

Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t choose to be an atheist. It wasn’t as though I decided one random day that I choose not to believe in God – I tried hard to feel what everyone around me appeared to feel, to see what they saw, to believe what they believed. But it didn’t happen.

And so, here I am, sitting at my favourite place in the city, wondering what went wrong in my search. Why was it so difficult – if not impossible – for me to find this place of solace? A place where I could clear my head and think, a place where I could let go of my tensions and my stress, a place where I could ask questions and answer some – was that expecting too much?

Others seemed to have found that place. That place of spirituality. Of higher forces. Of energy. Of God.

A place of peace. Inner peace. The kind I’m feeling right now, as I watch the waves crash over the rocks, and hear the ripple of the water, and feel the wind in my face. It’s soothing, relaxing, comforting, inviting – everything I would ever need to bring a smile to my face. I come back here, again and again, just to feel that comfort, that sense of belonging, that feeling of being alive.

***

***

***

I think my search is over.