ALL FOR GO(O)D

As I tucked him in for the bedtime story, my son wanted to know why I make him say the prayer every night. I said, ``God will then show you good dreams.’’ ``So, what are the bad dreams?’’, trust a six year old to ask that. ``Ummh...bad...like wild animals, bad things happening, a bad fall while playing...’’. I was prodding my brain for more when he stared at me in disbelief and asked, ``You have such dreams?’’ I nodded yes. ``That’s because you don’t unlock your brain, take out bad thoughts from it and throw away. Then you should lock it safe,’’ he said, as his hand travelled to his head, unlocked, threw out something and shut it safe.

Long after he fell into his sleep, his words echoed in my senses. I made a point in my mind to thank his class teacher for having taught him that valuable lesson which his mom could not. While she had prescribed an end-all solution to bad thoughts in his life, I meanwhile had given him the only solution I had in hand. Pray.

That weekend I happened to watch Aamir Khan’s PK. Though it failed to impress me, it did set me thinking about Gods yet again. I recalled the evenings my grandmother made us sit before the pooja room, cross-legged on the floor, to chant the prayers loudly. It went on till my knees ached and I shifted legs one after the other to reach a comfortable position. Over the years, it became a routine. Once, out of school, evening prayers lasted only five minutes. `I have so much to study’ , I excused myself.  

Our gate opened to a Krishna temple right at the end of the lane and many evenings I stood from the steps at our home to have a darshan of the Lord when bells rang for evening aarathi. Gods had a prominent position in my life since then, though i rarely sat for fifteen minutes straight to chant.

College ended and my work life began, temple visits were cut down to half. Somewhere down the lane, I had shaped my idea of a God. Yes, he had a face and I loved seeing him in many roles and names. But I had come to see Him as an abundance of Energy that flowed into me when I closed my eyes and prayed. I believed since I was a very ordinary human being who would like to be comforted, loved, guided, answered and gifted, I needed a God with a face. In my teens, HE was a lover. Presently, HE is my partner. Probably, in my graying years, HE would be a kid and play around me.

I have read that spirituality evolves with age. It is a journey where a human being sees God in a stone, in a hanging picture, in a tree, in a snake and eventually reaches a state where he finally sees God within himself.

Right now, I love going to temples. Because that’s when I have my best thoughts. That’s when I put my mind to test. That’s when I am grateful for the blessings I have. And that’s when I am the most calm. But I know to draw the line between faith and superstition and hope my children learn that too. And that is learned  from real life episodes, not by practical rules.  

From all that childhood evenings in front of the pooja room, if I can draw out my God with sanity, my kids too can. It’s okay if my son finds me ancient and outdated. Good if he holds on without a God and equally good if he finds true faith. Till then he shall get all that I have. Including my Gods.

So, this morning I made him say a prayer before leaving his bed to fix himself before the television. He squinted his eyes to look at me but I had worn my best smile. And he gave in...