The politics of religion
I was planning to post on existential philosophy over the next few days. But, I came across something in the Hindustan Times that spurred me on to posting earlier, and about a topic entirely different from existentialism. It was about the apology issued to the son of Congress politician Vyalar Ravi’s son, Ravi Krishna for some kind of purification ceremony conducted on him at the Guruvayoor Temple. For those who are as clueless about the issue as I was when I read that article, let me explain.
The Guruvayoor Temple, in Kerala in Southwest India is one of the most sacred Krishna shrines in the region. It is a beautiful temple, built in typical Kerala style and the idol of Krishna there is one of the cutest I have ever seen. Many families come to Guruvayoor for the rice-feeding ceremony for children. This means that the first solid food given to the infant must be rice and paayasam (a delicious milk-based Indian dessert) from the temple. It is popularly believed that the child will grow up to be healthy and live a long life. So far, so good. According to news reports, Ravi Krishna came to the temple for this rice-feeding ceremony for his kid. And the head priest ordered a purification ceremony on him because he was accompanied by his wife, who happens to be Christian. Naturally, Ravi Krishna was infuriated. I would have been if my religious affiliations were suddenly questioned because I am married to a Christian. He demanded an apology, which was eventually tendered by the temple management. The priest still refuses to apologise because according to him, he was “protecting the sanctity of the temple.”
That brings me to the reason for my rants. Quite apart from the fact that this incident only became public because the said Ravi Krishna is the son of a hot-shot politician, what infuriates me is the attitude of some people as the sole protectors of the Hindu religion. The regulations of the Guruvayoor temple clearly states that no non-Hindus are allowed into the premises. Not only that, certain types of clothes are not permitted inside the temple. I would not be allowed in if I were to wear a salwaar-kameez (a traditional north Indian dress). I would have to settle for a sari or a long skirt. Similarly, men are forced to wear dhotis. Heaven help them if they are not used to it and it slips off their waist!!
While the temple authorities have every right to restrict entrance to the temple, restrictions solely based on religion are simply not acceptable to me. It appeals to my sense of justice and every cell in my brain rebels against the practice. For long, I was told that Hindu temples only restricted entry because mosques did not permit access to non-Muslims. I actually believed that until I realised that most mosques only have rules of conduct within the building itself. Of course, you would be denied entry if you went there looking like the epitome of the Hindu mother goddess. Just like you would be denied entry if you entered a temple wearing a huge cross. That’s normal. But, in this case, I find it unjust that a random priest decides on whether a person is Hindu or not. From what I learnt, Hinduism is a philosophy, not a religion. What difference does it make what my certificates say if I believe in it? Why would someone who does not believe in it come all the way to Guruvayoor to feed his child? Is it not infinitely more practical to make your rice and paayasam at home? Finally, who is the head priest to decide on whether I am a believer or not? What gives him that power?
We take pride in the fact that Hinduism is all-inclusive. But, if it is indeed all-inclusive, why do we insist on clinging to age-old, bigoted and meaningless beliefs? It is my personal opinion that temples, being centres of spirituality, should open their doors to people of all faiths. So what if mosques in India don’t do it? Who said that religious tolerance and acceptance of the other should be reciprocal. Can’t we try to set an example?
PS: For original news item, click here.
Mon cher Monoprix!
Doing some last minute grocery shopping at 9 15 pm in France can sometimes be an amusing experience. I decided to pick up some food from Monoprix because I needed oil and milk. I figured it would not hurt to pick up some rice and vegetables too. I had nearly finished my shopping when Ana came up and asked where she could find eggs. That reminded me that I needed milk as the 4 weeks-old bottle I had at home had gone bad last night. I noticed a banner telling us that the eggs had been shifted to the shelves near the milk. But pray, where do you find the milk? There it was, in tiny lettering, telling us to follow the markings on the floor to get to the milk. Frankly, I felt like a bloody fool following little blue arrows on the floor in the quest of milk. After walking for about 30 seconds, Ana and I actually found the shelves.
But horror of horrors! My favourite brand of whole cream milk was nowhere to be found. I found myself wondering if I should just go to Champion the next day to pick it up. But, being the lazy girl I am, I decided to look for alternatives. I found this cute bottle with a pink lid. Now, the lid of the bottle of whole cream milk is red. I simply assumed that the colour code had changed and picked up the bottle rather confidently. And what do I find? Marked in bold letters on the bottle are the words, “Lait spécial croissance. Conseillé pour des 10 mois à 3 ans.”
Trust me, I was torn between embarrassment, amusement and frustration. Ana cast this amused look at me and said, “Sorry sweetheart! But you are a wee bit older than that.” At which my embarrassment and frustration gave way to simple amusement. Why on earth would I want to buy “lait spécial croissance” at the ripe old age of 24? I certainly don’t need any help to grow any more. At 5 feet and 9 inches, I tower over most Indian women…and men. The last thing I need is special milk to contribute to any more bone growth.
Anyway, this incident was good distraction after a long, hard day of tests and more tests. Maybe I should think of going to Monoprix more often to amuse myself. After all, laughter is the best medicine!
Reasons for love…
Facebook is a great thing sometimes. It may distract you when you are trying to learn the principles of international humanitarian law, but it certainly appeals to the creative side of your brain and helps you post on your blog at alarming speeds. The 10 posts I put up in May is proof enough. This time, my creativity stems from a rather interesting discussion I had on a group on Facebook on the issue of marriage. Normally, people getting angry would piss me off so much that I would shout right back. But, this time, I got the feeling that these women had no idea what they were talking about.
Ok, ok…let me explain. The discussion was on marriage and it somehow veered off to the arranged marriage vs. love marriage discussion. Someone on that discussion forum actually said that she would lock up her children if they wanted to get married to someone she did not approve of. Honestly, I think that stems from a feeling that your children are your slaves. Parents often forget that their baby has grown and is now an individual with feelings and preferences. Among other things, some of the discussants said that parents knew better because they were more experienced. I agree. But one actually asked me what I saw in my man that I would not find in any other. That really made me….furious…but also terribly sad.
Clearly, these people have no idea what it means to love someone so much that you would go to any extent to be with him. As Pascal said in the 17th Century, “L’amour a ses raisons que la Raison ignore.” Anyone who can rationalise the feeling of love and explain why they love another does not really love the person. They are only with that person because it is logical to be with them. Why are we asked to rationalise and explain our feelings for the people we love all the time. I have been faced with this question many times in the course of conversations with family members. “Why do you love him? What do you see in him?”, they all ask. How am I supposed to explain it? I love him…period. I don’t go into the whys and wherefores of my relationship with him. That’s because I don’t know why I love him. I just do. When people don’t understand that, it is because they have never allowed themselves to understand. It is because they have never allowed themselves to fall in love so completely that reasons become irrelevant. I believe everyone can get love like that. You just need to allow it to happen.
That said, I was also angry about another thing. The girl who asked what I saw in him that I wouldn’t find in another man really pissed me off in more ways than one. The man you love is not a dispensable entity. He is the reason you are fighting tooth and nail with people you love and respect. You love him because he is unique. He is just….himself. He may be difficult and unreasonable at times but I wouldn’t trade him in for anyone else. I love him for who he is. Warts and all. It is very easy to say that he is not anything special and that you can always find someone better. But the question is this. Is the better person necessarily right for you? And by that logic, only the sweetest, most loyal, best-looking and most intelligent people in the world would ever find love. But, it is clearly not so. People love because their heart tells them to.
That brings me back to what I said in my earlier post on marriage. Sometimes, it is good to throw rationale out of the window and think with your heart. What is this obsession with rationality? Can’t a girl be a romantic without people thinking she is insane? Sigh!
Rants…
It has been a crazy week. For the first time in two years, I am thinking about how stressful it is to be at Sciences Po. To tell you the truth, I have never felt this kind of stress until now. Not even when I was forced to sit through 5 exams in 4 days at the end of the first semester. Maybe it stems from the fact that I am at the end of my tether when it concerns grad school, or that I am simply terrified of the future and wish I could turn the clock back a couple of years. Whatever be the reason, the fact remains that I have been stressed, depressed and generally unpleasant to talk to over the last few days. Especially for those outside of Sciences Po. People in the same situation as me know exactly where the problem lies. They are as stressed and a little bit of ranting is expected. But, everyone else thinks I am going pretty much insane.
Nicola and I must be the rant queens of Sciences Po. Maybe we are too influenced by the French and see the negative side of everything. But, trust me, it is a therapeutic experience. Ranting about the unrealistic expectations professors seem to have about our term papers, about how stupid we were to leave the writing to the last 5 days, about how the coffee in the cafeteria absolutely sucks…name it and we have ranted about it. It is nice to know that there is someone who likes to rant almost as much as I do, maybe even more. On the whole, both of us enjoy our Wednesday afternoon rant time. 🙂
But why exactly do I feel like ranting all the time? For the first time in life, I really feel the pressure to find a job. Of course, I can always find something I like to do. But, the question is, will I find a job that corresponds to my level of education? Why do all organisations ask for people with advanced university degrees and at least 2 years of experience? Where do I go for that experience if nobody will give me a job in the first place? To put it mildly, it is frustrating. Maybe I am just pampered. Maybe I am used to getting everything on a silver platter and expect the same this time. Maybe I just need to grow up. At least, when I was finishing my BA, I knew it was only a matter of time before I started teaching at the Alliance Francaise. Two years later, at the end of my MA French, I knew I was coming to Paris. But now? What is the future? What am I going to do? How am I going to cope? Anand tells me I am being paranoid. Maybe he is right. I don’t know.
In any case, I know one thing. I am fed up of university. I have been in it for 7 years. It’s time I get out and start working in the real world. And I also know that I will come back to school some day. Maybe in a year, maybe in ten. But, I know that I will never really leave school for good. I will come back, either to study, or to teach. I love school too much to let go completely.
Free Kian Tajbakhsh
Hey! Finally decided to use this blog for something constructive. Kian Tajbakhsh, internationally respected scholar and social scientist, cousin of my professor, and Indophile was arrested by Iranian authorities on charges of spying. He is being held at Evin Prison in Iran, without access to a lawyer or to visitors. Please take a few minutes to sign this online petition to the Iranian President for his release. He is innocent of all charges and works for the Open Society Institute in Teheran. Please do this for the protection of basic human rights and the freedom of expression.