The Brave Pedestrian

Let me unpack the atheism concept a bit. Theism is belief in a deity, a creator. Such belief is a default position in society, because of how we are all born into Christian, Hindu or Muslim families.. and that's how we end up with Hindu-sounding names like Krishnaraj or Christian-sounding names like Lata Tauro . Based on our names, everybody, including State, assumes that we are followers of Hinduism, Christianity, etc. However, some of us (like Lata and I, for instance) analy ze our childhood indoctrination and conditioning little by little (or all at once) and we conclude that our earlier beliefs were based on mythology rather than reality. We come to the conclusion that our religious faith is totally unsupported by evidence. (Simultaneously, we also process the available information and come to the conclusion that other religions besides ours are also similarly unsupported by any evidence.) Nor is it just a question of lack of evidence in the existence of a dei...

I had this conversation with a Hindu friend who wanted every Indian child and adult to compulsorily say, "Bharat Mata Ki Jai". "If they don't say it, then it means they are unpatriotic, and they don't love India. Anybody who doesn't love India should get out and go to Pakistan or wherever," she said. And so we had an argument, which went like this: I: For Sunni Muslims, bowing before or even imagining any deity other than Allah feels sinful. So the idea of saying "Bharat Mata" makes them very uncomfortable. You know that, right? She: Since when does an atheist like you sympathize with people's religious feelings? And what is the harm if Hindus, Muslims and everyone else is compelled to express love publicly for our motherland? We must all be patriotic and love and respect India, who is like our mother. I: Personifying India is a very Hindu thing to do. We tend to personify and worship anything, and it comes natu...

Hanuman, like Spiderman, is an imaginary superhero. The people who imagined and wrote the Hanuman stories -- as part of a larger story called Ramayana -- are ancient people, revered as sages. They lived in India many millennia ago. The sages wrote these imaginary stories for the ethical upliftment and entertainment of the illiterate masses, and filled these stories with morals. Through such stories, many generations of sages improved the quality of life of many, many generations of Indians, and helped to regulate society. Through such stories, they propagated rules for proper living, and also gave people something to believe in. But that does not change the fact that Hanuman is an imaginary superhero. He did not exist at any point of human history, and he does not exist today. Hanuman -- and the whole pantheon of superheroes, demigods, gods, demons and super-villains -- are imaginary. Time to stop being senti about our dhoti-wearing gods and grow up. Ancient do...

We grew up reading books of history and Amar Chitra Katha comics that convinced us that wise people called sages could gain superhuman powers by sitting down in a forest or ashram, meditating, practicing austerities and doing penance. Even educated people in India believe in these things as if they are historical fact, and not just mythology. As impressionable comic-reading kids who suddenly sprouted breasts and moustaches, we never had the occasion to question such childhood beliefs before entering the grown-up world. Grow up, people.Think. If a person sits in a forest or a hill for months or years "meditating", the only things he will get are: (1) severe malnutrition, liver and kidney failure (2) permanent wasting away of the muscles of his legs and hips (3) horrible bedsores on his bony bums (4) insect bites and parasites. It doesn't matter whether you are a "sage" or an "asura", the same rules of biology apply to all of us. Time...

OK, I expect to draw some serious flak for this post… but here goes, anyway. Our relationship with entities is as complex as it is with other human beings and other species. We exploit and are exploited by, derive sustenance from and give sustenance to, large numbers of entities all the time. But they, not we, are the prime movers of our relationship. For millennia, they have shaped our future by selectively breeding us, whispering (so to speak) ideas into our little heads, nudging  homo erectus  to become man-the-toolmaker, and then man-the-wordsmith and finally man-who-inhabits-the-world-of-ideas. Humans today live and swim in ideas the way fish live in water. Ideas are their home, their natural habitat and the means of their continued existence. Rabbits cannot live without their intestinal flora, and humans cannot live without their ‘cranial fauna’. Rabbits are rodents whose lives depend so heavily on harbouring the right sort of intestinal bacteria, that at the time of we...

There was a time, about 7 years ago, when my blogger nickname was Friendly Ghost or FG. And just to debunk the myth that I am always a serious-minded person, I want to repost this blog about a chat that I had with a bubbly blogger-buddy whose nickname was Saakshee. March 12, 2007: Those of you who are privileged to know the quirky Saakshee know that she's looking for e-pals now. There ain't nobody on this iLand who has a cyber-libido like her, and who has as large an appetite for cyber-flirting as she does. But here's some breaking news: until Friday, it seemed as though she was devoutly an atheist who turned up her nose at the Hallowed Spirit. But one found that she falls down most ardently before Him. Indeed, she wishes to embrace Him with a passion. How did a ghost make this startling discovery? While chatting with her of course! Read on: FG: So you don’t wanna talk serious tomorrow? Saakshee: NO FG: You wanna flirt as usual? Saakshee: YES FG: okeedokee… Sa...

There are others in need, and they deserve you more This year, Goddess Lakshmi, please pass by my door There are others in need, and they deserve you more. Take my earnings, my wealth and my pride, I pray Let shared wealth — not my own — glow radiant today. Am I falsely proud, Mother? Is this illusion and lie? Take me down, Maha Kali. Make me stand small and shy. Come with your sword, like a sheep shear me naked And then hold my hand, help me hold my head high. My countrymen stand small, how can I stand tall? Cast their fate upon me, in their midst let me fall. And then, Mother Shakti, give me love, strength and grace To be a guide they can trust, and a true friend to all. ——————— Happy Diwali, my friends. I am praying for an end to our collective mania for endless economic growth, and our addiction to the rat race. I’m praying for peace, contentment and a healthy dose of reality. I humbly ask you all to join me in this prayer. Krish 98215 88114   – October 15, 2...

For me, Ganesha is there-yet-not-there. I don’t worship God in the form of Ganesha. I probably never will. Ganapati idols and pictures evoke no reverence or feelings of sanctity in me. And yet… and yet… This happened on 18th September 1998: Back then, I was fanatically regular about my daily morning swim, driving to a nearby club in my little green Maruti 800. Dad and Mom often accompanied me. That day, Dad was terribly busy and wouldn’t come. Neither would Mom. “Krish, won’t you stay home and help me out?” Dad pleaded. He isn’t someone who normally asks for help. He isn’t the sort of  guy who would ask me to cancel my swim, knowing how much it meant to me. But that day, he asked, he pleaded. “No, Dad… sorry. I can’t miss my swim.” Blunt refusal. Somewhere inside me, a little niggling voice was asking whether I was doing the right thing, but I brushed it aside. As I drove out of our neighbourhood, its narrow link to the highway was totally blocked, all du...

Mother, You who alone walk the hidden passageways of my heart, You who sense my every twist and turn, You who know my littlest truths and subtlest lies, You who see my most secret desires and lusts naked, Even ones that I do not dare acknowledge… Hear me, heed this prayer: Let my all be taken, returned to the good earth. Let the slow-burning fires of my many thirsts be quenched. Let my various hungers cease their endless creeping about the earth Like sleepless ghouls seeking satiation, saturation. Let them die unfulfilled For they are never silenced by fulfilment. For far too long have my brothers and sisters been cast away into the cold. The eloquence of this two-legged child who prays too frequently Makes you deaf to my legless and many-legged brethren Who suffer and die in silence. Their hunger and pain, their indignity As they are driven from their waters and their lands, Their homes desecrated, torn from their roots in the earth Are plain to those who see and hear. Why...

My neglected Mother who is largely unworshipped, You gave me dreams and daydreams Of being your footstool when I was tiny. I have not forgotten the ecstacy of those dreams. Mother, decades ago, I pledged my right hand to you And gave only my left to your rival. Bless me then to fulfil this oath. Let her be at arms length May I never prostrate before her. May I never pray to her whom the world worships. I beg you, Mother Don’t curse me by casting me away Or lose me by letting me drift. Or let me be one whom the world swayed. Don’t let me wake up one morning, Mother, And discover that somewhere along the way, I mortgaged myself in bits and pieces To the bitch goddess of wealth. Bless me that I may watch the dance of this goddess With amusement befitting your child, your plaything. When she turns her face to me, let me not be charmed. When she turns her back to me, let me not be anxious. When it looks like she has gone, let my heart not sink. When it ...

…was pressing the blunt heavy chopper to his throat unnecessarily hard, grinding it into adam’s apple. “Die, you filthy monk! You lying dirty bastard! You betrayed the trust with which I sent my wife to prostrate before you… swine! Now you die!” he was screaming into his ear. Guru Vaastava wished his disciples would learn to express even anger in a gentle whisper. A trickle of blood soaked the saffron cloth on his chest. His mind was numb from the sudden attack of this obedient disciple, Ramana, in the dead of night. Oh yes, he remembered Ramana’s wife… how could he not remember those perfectly-formed white thighs? How could he forget the look of surprised pleasure in her eyes? He remembered how he had bid her to lie on her back in the prayer room, in front of the black stone linga that she had so lovingly rubbed with sandalwood. Under the stony gaze of the hooded serpent, he had gently caressed her toes and feet as she lay whimpering in passion… caressed her calf-muscles with a c...