You would think at this day and age, people would have evolved enough to move away from religion.
Come on, you have to be really stupid if you think that religion gets you closer to god.
Even if the version of the said god is of a big man in the sky who is partial to a segment of his creation, who is as sensitive to slight as a PMSing girl, who is jobless enough to keep a tab on if or not you have masturbated in the morning and who finds delight if his mad fans kills off some of his creations as a PR stunt to further his name.
Come on. Seriously.
Personally I am of the belief that believing or not believing in the existence of a god is not a necessary criterion for a human to lead a civilized, social life.
By no degree am I an atheist. I am whatchamacallit, a 'who gives a fuckist'.
But it wasn’t always so.
Few know that there was a time when I went in search of an external god and found myself.
I know. Anticlimax.
Sanyaas had caught my fancy. I must be honest enough to admit that the attraction was not due to any spirituality from my side (this is on reflection, though at that time I was under the impression that the brightness of the halo around my head was the reason why people couldn’t stand the sight of me). I was actually recouping from my stint with drugs during college days and like any scoundrels had only two refuges.
I chose the one that involved the least work.
Having crammed my head full of second hand versions of the supposed divinity, I thought I was on my way to becoming the next messiah.
The things people do for popularity!
So one day I found myself in front of an ashram, head shaven, waiting for the darshan of a lady who is called Amma and who hugs every single person she meets.
Why? Well, this was the only thing I could get at such short notice.
Now if you are familiar with religion, you would know by now that it’s an epidemic. Half the state of Kerala was there getting their share of hugs while the remaining half was probably at home enjoying their kappa and fish curry washed down with toddy.
Being a tad bit of a misanthrope, I find crowds unsettling. So I waited outside, until the hall became almost empty. Then, very self consciously ,approached this lady who sat on the dias, wearing a white sari. I couldn’t help noticing that she looked a lot like the maid we had when I was small, Kuttiamma. As I hugged her (again very self consciously), she asked me in my ear almost whispering: What happened to you, son?
It wasn’t a question.
I replied: Nothing.
Then she asked: What do you want?
I replied: To become one.
She told me to sit next to her on the stage. So there I was, sitting , very uncomfortably, along side the God woman and a sundry mix of some 10 or 12 other holy bunch from different sects.
I tried my best to look holy. This involved sitting cross legged, keeping my eyes half closed and ignoring the itch on my nose.
Thus I passed the next hour or so until everyone left. Since there was nothing much to be done after becoming a holy man, I continued sitting there ignoring the itch. I was startled to my senses by someone touching my feet.
I must have jumped about 2 feet while still sitting cross legged. I opened my eyes to find an equally startled man who must have been as old as my father still lying supine on the floor with his hands stretched reaching out to a place on the floor where my feet was about 2 seconds ago.
That’s when I left. I apologized to the man and left.
Who is the worshipper and who is the worshipped? Both are fools.
That in short was, my friends, one of the steps towards me becoming a who gives a fuckist.
But then who really gives a fuck?