Graphic by Asyrique Thevendran/The Gazelle

My childhood was littered with Enid Blyton books and tennis lessons. I suppose this was a concerted effort my parents made to culture me in all things Western, despite me being the quintessential Non-Resident Indian kid, revolving only in Indian circles. My spare time in between those activities was spent going to swadhyaay — a weekly congregation of boisterous Hindu kids, facilitated by their parents, eager to teach them basic and widely chanted Hindu prayers. My 8-year-old self was miffed. I didn’t want to sit in a room with kids who didn’t  have the same flair for the English language as I did, and I disliked being the only one struggling to read Sanskrit while the others had it rolling off their tongues like honey swilling in tea. Over time though, I picked it up. At religious functions, I said these Sanskrit prayers quietly under my breath. It became a personal habit that I still engage in.

My parents were never exceedingly religious. We had idols of Lord Ganesh, Sai Baba and others in a little corner that was reserved for prayer in the house. We specifically worshipped these two deities, as many other families in our community did, but I was never picked on for not praying regularly. We only went to the temple once a year, for five days during Ganesh Chaturti, a festival celebrated in the honour of Lord Ganesh. I had no pressure to be devotional — it was a model of family functioning that differed significantly from the other NRI families around us. I was simply taught that gods exist, that we believed in the power of certain gods and that I should pray and have faith in any god I chose. I was taught to marry my sense of morality with the critical beliefs of Hinduism, take what worked for me, get rid of what didn’t and do the things I wanted to. I didn’t have to go to god’s doorstep everyday. My only job was to have faith.

Before heading to NYU Abu Dhabi, my parents decided that I was to spend three months traveling through India in the monsoon season, visiting family and informing them of my departure to university. During this trip, I felt very unfulfilled. I was racing from house to house and city to city, meeting distant relatives and touching their feet for their blessings. I remember invoking Lord Ganesh’s name in conversations with them, saying it was by his grace that I was able to make my way to such an education.

Then, I realized that I had never visited Siddhivinayak, a temple built for Lord Ganesh in Mumbai. It holds a place of incredible significance in the minds of believers of Lord Ganesh, and many visit the temple from their homes barefoot as a sign of their devotion for a god believed to be the remover of all obstacles. I was incredibly worried that I would never be able to pray at the temple and be in the presence of a god whose name I had taken for so many years in my times of need, peace and comfort. I expressed my uneasiness to my mother as we sat sipping chai.

My mother turned to me and said, “When you truly believe, and it comes from the depths of your heart, god will lay a path out for you leading to his doorstep.”

I didn’t believe her.

Then my aunt told me that a friend who worked with her had been going to Siddhivinayak every day for the past 20 years. The next thing I knew, I was waking up at 5 a.m., having a cold shower and walking to the temple. With the help of my aunt’s friend, I was allowed to cut the long line and find my place right in the front of the women’s section for the 6 a.m. prayer. Inlaid with gold, a small orange idol of Lord Ganesh lay sitting inside an alcove, adorned with garlands of fresh flowers. The image took over my senses. Within seconds, the prayer started. Being in the presence of that sort of spirituality and energy, with a hundred bells ringing and a thousand voices syncing with words you never understood but had spoken for several years, is an astounding discovery to make. I stood there, rooted to the ground, surrounded by women clapping to the steady rhythm of music and words, my heart beating ridiculously with a feeling that pierced right through the folds of my skin and flesh, connecting with my soul. For that half hour, I cried tears of joy as I prayed, tears I still struggle to define yet understand completely.

There is something to be said about a kind of spirituality that transcends understanding, that hits you square in the heart when words absolutely fail to explain. There is something to be said about believing in the concept of a god — not necessarily as a savior but as a being or an idea that exists, supplying your soul with peace in times of despair and pain. I don’t think there is a need to go to a temple or a religious site to say you believe in a higher power. The beliefs we hold in our heart are sufficient, as is the knowledge that we will find our way to god or anything we desire in life so long as we simply have faith. And if that means finding understanding in the presence of an idol, in the familiar ringing of bells, coupled with the synchrony of unfamiliar yet connected voices, then that is what it is.