God of a Lesser Child

A piece I had written in 1992 - still bears relevance today.

I was born in Rawalpindi in a mixed Hindu-Sikh family but grew up as a child in Poona and Bombay after Partition. My Dadi is a Hindu, my mother a devout Sikh, and my father both Hindu and Sikh. Marathi, the language of my neighbourhood, came easier to me than Punjabi. However, my Dadi forced Punjabi on me and slowly I picked it up, "gaalis" coming more readily to me than the language.

My mother bribed me with a half anna everytime that I recited something from the Japji. When my Dadi learned of this she raised my fee to one anna for reciting the Gayatri Mantra. Separately, I pestered them to listen to my recitations, especially when I was broke. There were visits to the mandir every Tuesday and to the gurdwara every Sunday, though my devotion was more to prasad than to anything else, My father was an officer in the Army and so we got posted to various places. My schooling began in convents. Besides the daily school prayer there were compulsory visits to the school chapel. I learned to say grace before every meal which was initially ridiculed by some at home, but later on they all learned to say "Amen".

With this background of family, friends, and upbringing I grew up to find myself at the crossroads one day which God to adopt. It was difficult to make a choice and the question lingered unanswered for a long time. Meanwhile my teens took me through a culture of Army messes, clubs, girls, parties, picnics, movies. There was total freedom at home and a broadminded, tolerant ambience. I grew up among my aunts, uncles and cousins. Some of them Sikhs and some clean-shaven like me. There were no barriers, no invidious distinctions.

My business with God finally came when I was getting married. We were both madly in love, run-aways from home and desperate to get married in two days' time. Court marriage was out because of the red tape involved. Hindu marriage was a long ritual with shubh mahurat and all that. Nikah was out of question for we were both non-Muslims. So the choice narrowed down to Anand Karaj. This pleased my wife some-what (a Kesadhari Sikh). We drove together, got married within an hour, and returned happily. But on reflection I realised that this was just an eyewash in the name of religion. I perhaps just cheated him for my convenience by making him a party to it. it did not elevate me or bring me any closer to him.

My religion today is being kind, and compassionate to a fellow human being in suffering. I am not a religious man and belong to no denomination. But the solace that I derive out of some small help to somebody who is needy tells me that this is perhaps what He wants me to do. My Dadi observed her Tuesday, while my mother and wife pray in the Gurdwara at home, my father had no quarrel with Hindu or Sikh. And I am at peace with myself nursing my drink every evening?

So, what is happening around the world today, baffles me beyond comprehension. Where do I stand, and where do I go from here? Leave my family and blood ties because of this small barrier of sect and creed? Should I turn my back on people who have given me birth, suffered with me, loved me so much? Can I disown them because their religion is different from mine? Can my family forget the holocaust of the Partition and the long, harrowing trek from Pakistan to India? Must we raise the ghost of Partition once again?