Feature Article:
A Faith that Follows My Beat

“This can’t be real.”

It was like the Daft Punk concert I had attended two years ago. The same passionate fans, the heat, sweat and noise building up–the music dominating everything else in the room. Hundreds of people stepped on toes, used each others’ shoulders as levers to elevate themselves; just for a glimpse.

Except, people were not here for a band, people were here for God.

That is the only comparison that comes close to what I witnessed last summer. I traveled 2,579 miles by auto rickshaw, car and on foot, to arrive at the famous Hindu temple “Vrindavan”; which celebrates Lord Krishna’s childhood. I was completely out of place and disoriented. “But it’s just a statue isn’t it?” I thought to myself as I stood in faraway corner trying to escape the convulsing madness. There was no organization, no apparent tangible benefits of being there, or opportunities for scenic photographs. Then it hit me. I did not really believe in God.

Watching fanatical pilgrims praying in unison, I felt like I had betrayed my parents. Had I become an outsider in my own family? I began to feel hollow, as if I was missing an essential piece which made me–well–me. I had always thought that our shared religion bonded me to my family, to honor our God and follow our common religious practices. Every other Indian family I had come across professed some form of faith. Thus, I religiously performed all the ceremonies and celebrated the festivals, without actually understanding or believing in any of it. Truthfully, I followed the herd.

This epiphany was disrupted by a frail old man, wearing a white dhoti, one of the many ascetics calling Vrindavan their home. Staff in hand, chanting in Sanskrit, he said in Hindi “Are you praying for your family?” I quickly replied “Yes,” hoping he would leave me alone. He smiled and walked away. I sighed and looked down at my palms and noticed that they were placed in the praying position. It occurred to me that I always prayed like this before any important event in my life. This was not because of a commitment to God, but because of the values my parents had instilled in me. They did not tell me what to pray for, but to be grateful for the things I have. They had not taught me to touch elders’ feet to conform to societal norms, but to show my respect for them. Finally, I realized that I did not celebrate our festivals for the Gods, but to take a moment to recognize the importance of unity, and the family that has always been there for me.

A year later, my hollowness is replaced with a growing faith. Not a faith in God or a religion, but a faith in my values which keep me united with my loved ones. People might be here for Lord Krishna, but I am here for the people I care about most.

-Written by Radhika Mathur