Living in contemporary India, it seems, is like experiencing the outer manifestations of religion everywhere — from the loud assertion of politically engineered and triumphant Hinduism (or Hindutva) to the inflated desire of many “believers” to articulate their social/cultural identities and even “nationalist” sentiments through the symbolism of the mandir politics. Yet, despite this intense excitement and euphoria in a heavily polarised social milieu filled with all sorts of binaries (secular/modernist “arrogance” vs “legitimate” cultural pride; or, “morally bankrupt” atheists/Marxists/liberals vs “sanatani” Hindus), some of us need to be aesthetically and spiritually contemplative, meditative and reflexive to converse with these “believers” as well as nihilistic “secularists”, and make them see that what is being practised as religion today has no resemblance with the religiosity of love and compassion. Moreover, the aggression implicit in a politicised religion like Hindutva cannot be justified simply because non-reflexive and fundamentalist traits can also be seen in other organised religions like Islam and Christianity. In fact, the “uniform” the followers of Hindutva have been persuaded to wear to demonstrate their religion, the slogans they have been encouraged to utter, and the “enemies” they have been told to identify and eliminate take them away from the authentic spiritual and existential quest — say, the search for a meaning of existence amid death, impermanence, pain and suffering.
Before we begin to reflect on this quest, it is important to acknowledge that we have often been conditioned by organised religions and associated priestcraft, with their grammar of rituals and other practices, to think and behave like “Hindus”, “Muslims”, “Sikhs”, “Jews” or “Christians”. And this conditioning or this thought that one is a “Hindu” or a “Muslim”, as a wanderer like Jiddu Krishnamurti repeatedly reminded us, causes duality, division and violence. It prevents us from experiencing the world — the inner as well as the outer — with freshness and mindfulness. Instead, we transform ourselves into a crowd of “followers”— “followers” of Ram, “followers” of Krishna, Jesus, or Mohammad. While it gives us a false sense of security, it fails to fill the void inside. No wonder, we behave like parrots; we keep repeating the mantras or quoting from the scriptures without any deep realisation.
Does it make sense if you quote from the Sermon on the Mount while your missiles kill the children of Palestine? Does it make sense if you speak of the Vedantic wisdom of oneness while seeing your Muslim neighbours as your enemies? What else is it if not hollowness? When we refer to the Bhagavad Gita, we speak of detachment and non-possessiveness; at the same time, we remain greedy and exploitative. No wonder, these days in the cacophony of “Jai Shri Ram”, seldom does one experience the ecstasy of love; instead, there is only aggression or revenge. It divides; it does not unite. It does not heal; it further intensifies the wound.
Is it possible for us to decondition our minds, see ourselves as seekers without any badge or uniform, and live with profound love, empathy and compassion? Well, the phenomenal world we live in is filled with death, sorrow, pain and impermanence. No market-driven excitement, no spectacle, no puja, no temple/mosque/church, and no secular promise of a revolution can alter this harsh existential reality. Think of, for instance, the permanence of impermanence. The flower that is blooming right now will wither away after a couple of hours; or, one who is a celebrity today will be forgotten tomorrow. To contemplate the reality of impermanence is to realise the futility of narcissistic and egotistical pride. Possibly, this is the joy of being reduced to zero. This is the lightness of being. Likewise, the reality of death ought to be contemplated every moment. And possibly, far from making us pessimistic and life-negating, it helps us to cultivate a sense of gratitude, mindfulness and the art of living here and now. Even though I will die, I can live with a sense of gratitude. The kind of gratitude that led a poet like Walt Whitman to say, “To me, every cubic inch of space is a miracle…”. Or, the fact that I do not know whether I will be alive tomorrow might lead me to live at this very moment with deep love and compassion, and like with William Blake, I too might “hold Infinity” in the palm of my hand. In a way, this quest has nothing to do with a fixed boundary, an organised religion, or a fixed messiah. Buddha and Christ, Mirabai and Jalaluddin Rumi, Tolstoy and Gandhi, Tagore and Blake, Dostoyevsky and Herman Hesse might be our companions, our co-travellers; but no guru, no organised church, no avatar can salvage us. It ought to be our quest, our journey, and our song of life, death and redemption.
It is sad that everything is becoming its opposite. Religion has lost the religiosity of love and compassion and become yet another form of manipulative politics; priests and mullahs have replaced seekers and wanderers; the bricks and stones of temples have become more important than our inner poetry; and the humility of meditative souls have been replaced by the narcissism of political masters.
Is it time to wake up?
Pathak writes on culture and education
