Representational image. Photo: iStockWinter holidays were the best time of the year! And what truly makes them so desirous is that, I get to spend Christmas with my family back in Muscat. I loved sitting near the old fountain and watch the neighborhood kids play, cherishing those days when I and my friends ruled over the playground. On most days, my little friend Haniya used to accompany me. It was one such evening that Haniya noticed the black thread around Ayush’s wrist.
“Didi, what’s that black thread on his hand?”
“That’s a sacred thread. It will protect him from all bad things.”
“Then how come you are not wearing one?”
“Me?? Because I pray to a different God.”
“Aren’t you both Indians? Then how come you all pray to different Gods?”
Surprised on hearing her question, I explained to her about how in India we speak different languages, pray to different Gods and have different cultures and traditions. What Haniya said next left me speechless.
“Didi, in my country we all speak the same language and pray to the same God. Still, people kill each other. Maama says that’s why we are living here, away from my daadi and chaachu.”
I did not know how to console her. The only thing I knew was that I was really grateful for being born in a country where, ‘unity in diversity’ is not just a slogan!! It was from then on that I noticed these small deeds that crossed the boundaries of religion and caste and spoke of one God and one religion.
I usually travel quite early in the morning and so, often see private bus conductors give offerings to both Lord Shiva and St. Thomas, as they set out for their first ride , probably bribing both of them to send their devotees to their bus. Every Sunday morning, it is my non-Christian neighbor who picks and drops my grandmother from the church. And of course on exams days all Gods need to be pleased and our hostel chapel’s entrance would be crowded with people I had no idea even existed.
Last Saturday morning, terrified on seeing a rat sitting calmly under our study table, the only thing we roommates did was to ask Lord Ganapathi to take his vehicle out of our room and park it somewhere else. And after a lot of screaming Ganapathi agreed!
Speaking of Ganapathi, how can I forget those mouth-watering sweets Urmila aunty bought us after the puja. After all, food is love and love is God!
One Friday afternoon, I and my brother were devouring some snacks when the Juma’a prayers started at a nearby mosque. My sister, suddenly out of nowhere, asked us to stop eating till the prayers were over. That was a new logic of respect for me. And so, I and my brother sat staring at our snacks till the prayers were over. I was just grateful that she did not make us do this when the church prayers were going on as that would mean two whole hours of waiting!
During my childhood days I loved listening to the stories of the Pandavas and Kauravas, which my dad used to say quite animatedly. And now, I know the entire epic thanks to him and enjoy narrating them to my friends. It was my mom who told me the stories of the saints and so when anything in my room and the adjacent three rooms are lost, St. Antony always gain 5 rupees. And honestly speaking, he does not show any kind of partiality towards his own kind.
There are hundreds of such incidents taking place every single day in this world. And knowingly or unknowingly, we are all part of these little acts of humanity. And what stands out loud, is that we all are born with a loving heart filled with kindness; and so should it remain till we hit the graves. No words, who’s ever it be, should be allowed to tamper with it and the peace we enjoy today, unlike Haniya’s motherland. We should not rise up to the calls of the elite community if they tend to disrupt the harmony we enjoy, mistaking their words to be sacred. After all, the two greatest epics, Mahabharata and Ramayana, tells us that even Gods make mistakes!
