Not in the way many like me usually mean it—with doctrines, rituals, obligations, or inherited beliefs.
It was never really about religion, faith and belief for me.
Religion was never taught to me in a formal sense. I was born in a “Busy” Hindu family – it was not expected from busy parents to have taught me religion.
I studied in an Arya Samaj school, where, every Monday morning at sharp 7 am, we had what was called the *Homa* period. A ritualistic havan.
I remember the smell of the smoke, the sound of the Sanskrit chants echoing in the hall—but truth be told, I didn’t understand a single word of what was being chanted. I was {and am} a slow learner, always have been, and this ancient language never really landed in my mind in any structured way.
But there was something about *Shanti Path*. That repetitive chant of “Om Shanti, Om Shanti, Om Shanti” — maybe it was the rhythm, or the familiarity of repetition — that stuck with me.
It felt easier to follow, to recite along with others, to feel like I was part of something, even if I didn’t quite grasp what that something was. No one explained what was happening. It was just… happening. It was part of the school day like any other class.
At home, things were no different. My mother, a government servant, never had the time to follow elaborate rituals. But I could sense that to her, God mattered. Not in a heavily ritualistic way, but in a quiet, dutiful way.
I always got the impression that God was important—to be respected, maybe even to be pleased—but not so important that He should slow you down from catching the 7:35 AM bus.
Her father, my *nanaji*, was a Ramayani—he could recite the Ramayan by heart. That devotional thread passed on in small, practical ways. She read *Sundarkand*, mostly on the office bus or on rare evenings when she wasn’t swallowed up by work.
My father wasn’t religious. Nor were my uncles. The men in my family didn’t speak much about faith or the divine. I have no idea why? but i know they were always part of every small ritual that we tried to follow. Quite dutifully.
And yet, in the last five years, I’ve found myself drifting more and more towards religious places.
Not necessarily to pray.
Not necessarily to follow anything structured.
But still,
I go.
I sit.
I look around.
I listen.
Almost every time, I cry.
Not a dignified, tear-rolling-down-the-cheek sort of cry, but the kind that comes in waves—uncontrollably, uninvited.
What do you call that? Is that religion? Or is it something else?
Maybe a wise person would say that I’m seeking moral and ethical anchoring. That a temple or a religious place is acting as a compass, helping me re-align my inner self.
Maybe it’s rekindling something—compassion, humility, forgiveness—that the world tries to wear down.
But then again, what do you make of the fact that the first thing I do after landing in a new city, town where i am due to visit a religious place is look for the best place nearby to eat?
Does that make me a tourist, not a devotee?
Or maybe the two are not so far apart. After all, food too has its own sanctity…..sheer stupidity. Its own way of connecting people.
These places—temples —have become more than just spaces for worship.
They are social spaces.
Not in a Facebook kind of way, but in a very real, tactile way.
I meet people there.
I talk to strangers.
I see faces I would never otherwise encounter in my world.
Not particular individuals, but that strata of people whose stories and silences often go unnoticed.
So no, maybe it was never about religion. But maybe it was always about something deeper. Something unnamed. Something that has little to do with belief, and everything to do with being human.
Or maybe I am currently misfit – neither quite inside nor quite outside !!
#ASeatInThePrangan #SpiritualButNotReligious #SacredSpaces #ModernSpirituality #FaithAndFood #HumanConnection #TempleDiaries #SearchingWithin #BeyondBelief #SilentSeeking #EverydaySpirituality #NotQuiteInsideNotQuiteOutside #ReligionAndReflection #SacredAndSimple #StoriesFromTheMargins #WanderingSoul #TearsAndTemples #RitualsOfLife #InnerCompass #BeingHuman
