So a long rambling pouring out of thoughts which hopefully will not be read or dissected. I write for nobody and my words have never pleased me. If you wonder if my writing will please you, then more fool you.
I have been trying quite hard in the last few days to understand my own feelings and my own views on the subject of festivals and why do we celebrate rituals. This has led to spirited but good natured debate. I have heard from cherished friends and also continued the conversations offline with close friends and family.
The subject is deeply upsetting for some reason and it is one that I am personally finding harder than others to leave behind. We discard old conversations like we discard forgotten songs. However this earworm is burning through to the last bulwark left. I really need to make sense of how I feel and what I think. This post shall make an attempt to do just that.
In summary my view is (for Hindu festivals glorifying misogynistic icons) that festivals should be seen as relics. Studied, observed, learnt from but not practised. Nor should the enormous waste or consumer orgasm be legitimised and normalised. If we are to pour such shameful amounts of funds let us repair and renew our country rather than our “Aham”. Our Ego state needs no further satiating. We can leave these behind and reflect upon true learning. This is my view. It cannot be put into pithy memorable quotes. It is not popular. It is also not quite as unreal as you may think. Our need for ritual is also met with an equal force trying to break down the shackles and to become free. To be truly free and to exist in peace.
Ritual surrounds our life as humans. We may not be aware of it but even at a subconscious level we are attuned to following the patterns laid down, or ones we have recreated in our own idealised view of what the patterns should resemble. This was true for cave people it is true today in the pulsating numbness of 2017.
We take our coffee in a certain way, we choose one shoe to slip on before the other, we put dots and dashes in the order we prefer, we eat in a particular manner and we certainly make love according to our internal script. Even when we deviate from the norm we only deviate according to what our preconception sets aside as sufficient deviation.
Throw into this every day lattice work an actual ideology and an organised religion and you begin to see the patternmaking on a grandiose scale.
I shall start with my origins rather than do a generalized overview of world religions or festivities. There is no time or patience (mine not yours) to indulge in a macrostudy.
I was born in India. In Calcutta. To a family fractured and woven together along socio economic, religious and cultural fault lines. Growing up I was aware of the multiverse that is the Hindu mythology and the paraphernalia of religious festivals never left me. I was steeped and dipped into Protestant Christian faith. I had and have strong friendship with Muslims and I grew up in a country where the Buddha was born and remains an echo. I was never more than a step away from the symphony of faith or the craftwork of religious might. I was fortunate also to have some formative human idols who instilled in me the strongest belief of all – question everything, study everything, don’t blindly believe anything or anyone. Never be afraid. That is still my watchword.
It was interesting as a child watching the elaborate preparations. Whether that was the refined politics of a staged “Ram Leela” or the super hierarchical structures of the Brahmin priesthood during Durga Puja.
Ever the observer, ever the student, ever the foul mouthed, impatient, curious cat I would lurk and linger. I would scratch or purr.
I accompanied the most ungodliest of womankind as they observed “Shiv Raatri”. I learnt “stotra paath” and I began to digest and memorise a number of different pujas for various deities. I would write out everything I learnt. From the perfect finger placements, to the correct Sanskrit pronounciation, to the way we do our prayers both in word and through periods of silence during the “havan”. I took “Deeksha”. I renounced my worldy paternal wealth – a decision I am yet to alter. I had a Guru Mata and I upon gaining my inner strength of conviction renounced her, and she in turn said Godhead was manifested in me and wanted to become my disciple. I rejected that offer, I was done. But I move forward in leaps, let us to my babehood retrace my steps.
As a child nobody wanted, it was a blessed relief to be rid of a young girl who did not smile, asked awkward questions and occasionally violently swore. I was placed with priests with the vain maternal hope it would instil discipline. The priests rue the day they were given me. Buddhist monastery fared no better. My monicker there was “Fire Child” and apparently nothing can withstand me. They obviously never knew the trick. Give me a dog to love and watch how the burning flame simpers into tears of love.
But to return to the ways of priestly discipline and my training to become a “Saadhvi” a “Jogan”.
It did. I did observe ritualistic discipline to the letter. Bathing, waking, ablutions, prayers, fast, meditation, total submissions. I did enact the part well and felt my spiritual credit card must be platinum by now.
However you cannot actually hide from the naked eye either a burning flame or the scorching sun. Realisation soon dawned upon me that the very priesthood that spoke of sanctifying the four directions and the elements, of purifying water and offerings and familial pride. The very same priesthood debased and defiled the very womanhood they worship. Hands that close in prayer are also hands that rip apart skirts and panties. Where the glorious narrative of good versus evil and the great glorious protector preserver is read out solemnly, in the very room witnessed by clay figurines is flesh and blood violated and mutilated. It does not allow for happy reconciliation of the human condition with the divine. My little ship was wrecked and mast torn to shreds.
I took a step away after the storm and while I lay broken bodied in recuperation, my tireless mind sought answers. I read and consumed books. I fell deeply in love with Sanskrit and I developed my own way of divining (pun fully intended) when Sanskrit marries Devnaagri and the resulting bastard child tongue that rolls off my lips sounds pleasing if a bit under dressed. I understood where real power lay. Not in the circuit board but in the word. In the beginning was the word. And the word was God. True power comes through a dramatic unforgettable soul permeating narrative.
I sat with a battered copy of the Bible and with each chapter I fully memorised, I tasked myself with instant recall of passages. Once I could and did regurgitate word for word, I set the page alight and watched the small pool of blue grey ash delicately fall. Here lay words that have caused wars and uplifted souls, here in the palm of my hand lay civilisation itself crushed. I was Evil. I was resolutely Evil I told myself quietly.
I found it harder. Much much harder to recall the Bhagwad in a manner similar. It took many more attempts, but I am happy it was accomplished. The Bhaagwad is a bitch of a book to burn. Mainly because I so loved the scrawls on the pages. I buried each page in flowerpots and saw Marigolds sprouting out of Krishna’s acid tongue.
I felt like the very Divine which had caused me harm were now locked and sealed in the pressure chamber of my tiny head. I could not forget and if I recalled everything I would finally understand the world. You cannot blame an Eleven year old for lofty aspirations or a Thirty Nine year old for rose tinted memoirs. Anyway I digress. You will forgive me I digress a fair bit.
If I write in quick spurts and the vision fast moving melts and merges creating chaos, you were warned early on not to bother reading.
As a mature student I truly began to delve into the power of ritual and ritualistic faith. I understand now that our world, our societies live according to a plan. A pattern. A world view. A propoganda that is continuously perpetuated. First it was religion and today it is political ideology verging on religious fervour in terms of obedience. No continent is spared. We are living our own unique “Jehannum”.
As an Indian of any sex one cannot escape the clutches of patriarchal power. We are held ransom by a brute and while the brute smiles and crushes hold we delight in what we happily rebrand as “our take on the prehistoric, the one we updated so it is acceptable”. Photograph after photograph follows verse and chapter of Patriarchal praise.
I wonder if we would be so facile if we were to strip bare the ritual (pick any) to truly see what it encompasses. But you know its in our genes. Why overthink it? Why overcomplicate and soul search? Why be the difficult loner going against the curve when the curve is so much easier. Lets slide on the curve and outdo each other and let us rejoice because we did it our way. WE are good people. WE do not discriminate or harass or dominate. WE celebrate because…. because because because…its that magic word. Culture. Its our culture. We are cultured folk. We matter.
Can we truly honestly say that we can compartmentalise and choose aspects of patriarchy, reinvent it, partake in it, and not be in an angst as to whether these tiny acts add up or not into one massive act of endorsement? We in our own way endorse this vile view – infact we make it more acceptable. The more evolved and educated we are the more valuable an asset we become for the ideology. We perpetuate it whether we intend to or not – by partaking in it we perpetuate it.
If you look at the doll’s play of Hindu ritualistic worship and you cast a clinical eye – you notice there is very little that is different from child’s play. It is child’s play but on an elaborate tableau.
We are expected to believe a fairy story and expect good or bad to befall us by our doing or undoing of said ritual.
It does make me wonder about life as a Homo Sapien before we became agrarian settlers. What was our defining morality then as we decorated caves, hunted, survived, lived. Generation after generation devoid of a narrative that prerequisites our total submission to a religious ideology. Were they less than us? Are we more worthy of life?
I find the partaking of ritual celebration a humiliation of man’s nascent intelligence. As a child unaware and uneducated you may well fall under the spell. However as an adult you cannot still hold on to things that are grimy, salacious, make-believe and unproductive.
I have heard a lot of argument against my view. I have also heard I have a “my way or the high way” attitude. That disheartened me. I have kept discussion civilised and respectful. I have not lost sight of who I converse with and what they mean to me personally. For even a repository of Evil has a personhood. I would say I have accepted points well made and I have also on occasion changed my view. However if you feel strength of feeling alone should suffice I submit and take back my argument then you have me wrong. You have not been able to counter my arguments and I have not changed my view. It does not mean either of us has diminished the other. It means we exist as adults in respectful disagreement.
The Hindu rituals that most upsets my sensibility are the ones where one gender role is neatly placed above the other. Husbands worshipped by wives. Brothers glorified by sisters. Father’s remains sanctified and cremated by the male child. These nubs. These stings and barbs. This vermilion of shame that is smeared and worn with pride. It truly utterly disheartens me.
Yes I concede rituals evolve and are also turned on their head. This toppling of the world order was expressed beautifully to me by a long suffering patient friend and she recounted how her male heir gave due respect to the female and odds are levelled. I agree this is indeed pleasing. I change my mind here to accept her view.
I also agree that as we travel and leave home shores behind we hanker far more for the familiar sights, sounds, tastes, feelings. We recreate this ambrosia we gorge on and we feel content and connected. I agree this too is pleasing and performs a function. It bonds. Heaven knows as we live in a world shattered by Hate, strengthened bonds can only mean a happier world. I accept this view.
Indulge me non reader if you may with one last query.
Why do we do this at all? Why do we have the need for this elaborate dumb charade. Why do we feel the need to bow to a force greater and gooder and ever present and invisible? Why is this Godliness necessary?
Why is our human condition not enough? Out of a numberless universe of chance we occur because at the precise moment of Time our life was conceived. We are born bipeds and we can stand upright – a luxury denied to so many fellow travellers on this big blue rock. We have a brain that grows (to an extent) and a capacity to learn and perform. We can and do save lives, write operas, build dams, establish universities, give ballet recitals and play the sitar amongst many many human actions. We also have the dubious honour of being inhuman. We rape, pillage, scorch, burn, mutilate, torture, enslave, subjugate, and control with any means that which we sense as a threat.
We KNOW as sentient beings the great damage organised religion and bigotry causes. We see the bitter fruits of patriarchal dominance. We also recognise that patriarchy feeds on its self propogation. It fuels its existence by glorifying itself and it will ever continue to do so through any and every means – subtle or blunt.
We KNOW and yet we enact the self same slime but we call it acceptable and see it truncated from their vile ideology. Is there any chance we may be so blinded by our need to conform or our need to be proved right that we will NOT honestly consider any alternative fact? Ofcourse we must shoot down dissent. We give it multifaceted names. From spoilsport to basket case to a bloody difficult woman.
Where challenge cannot be countered invective and personal jabs and jibes follow. I was reminded that if I find festivals wasteful and harmful to the environment then what about my elaborate spa vacation in terms of both financial and environmental waste. Interesting. I do not run a cult of spa worshippers. I do not spend moneys collected in donation (I happen to earn and spend). I happen to be acutely aware of the green credentials of every establishment I frequent and most of all I do not use my spa sessions as a means to snuff out the potential or promise or power of any gender. My activities do not fall into a vicious cycle that perpetuates an evil ideology. I have pettiness around me but it does not stop me or any of my family, friends or colleagues from tirelessly, silently, and continuously doing work pro bono for causes we have supported for nearly two decades. No there isn’t a photo album showcasing the outfits worn for these there is just memories.
So here we have it then. I do not understand the need for ritual though I do understand and I acknowledge they can be used to empower as well as disempower. I just wonder why partake in it at all knowing how it originates. Why not take a daring step of starting a brand new movement – one without the crutches and insignia of faith.
Would your inner bedrock be so very weak that it could not stand independence from the core ideology even for a day? What you observe is not the “Eesh” of “Eeshwar” it is actually “Adamvar”. Your inner conscience is the only Godhead you need to nurture.
Hinduism does not have sole responsibility for such fallacies. When we say the words of the Nicene Creed why why do we have to subjugate ourselves to such an extent that our only salvation, our only existence, our very worth is that which can be gained from the Divine’s grace and benevolence? Why am I having to ask forgiveness or being asked to believe in the magical, the imperfections of every single Faith narrative is like blunt force trauma to Logic. Why is it so mindless, why can we not have a conversation about how we can together do better and start by being kinder just to our own selves? Why do we need fantasy?
Live your lives with fullest wonder and with reverence not to the Divinity of choice but to yourself and those around you in this eternal fabric of life. Be good and do good and enjoy this fleeting episode of Time granted to you to be productive. You will find like children forget fairy tales and no longer are spellbound mute, you too shall grow out of the need to conform.
Long may we raise our voices in absolute dissonance to the supposed status quo.
With that I am finally done.
(With profound apologies to friends of Faith. It is NOT my intention to hurt anyone. I must speak up for my own self and you must judge me as you see fit)
The Empress Journals 