Temples and temperaments

Temples. Holy.
Temples in India. Holier than thou. Perhaps holier than the deity itself.

The Jagannath Temple in Puri famously disallowed the then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi to enter its premises, since she had married a non-hindu. Reports/data abound on how the temple guardians forbade people from other religious communities from entering its premises – ones with skull-caps, ones with turbans, with hijaabs or burqahs. And if in case some mischievous human being took up a bet and dressing up in the most hindu-like manner (whatever that is!) entered the temple, prayed before the idol, took prasad, made the holy round around the shrine and later boasted the accomplishment, the holy guards took no time in first resanctifying the entire campus with whatever means and modes they possess and then denouncing the person and the religion s/he came from.

In 1992 we hindus went many steps ahead; we took some axes and shovels and broke down what was a non-hindu structure, since we believed that right underneath lay the temple marking the place our holy god Rama had been born.

Temples are traditional and innocent and pure places for worship – worship by only hindus though.

All hindus? No. no! Only the upper touchable castes!

The few times I have gone to a temple, it has been with the purpose of viewing the structure either historically or architecture-wise. And in the last 4 to 5 years maybe, I have gone to barely 3 temples – the place where original India, traditional India lives (and dies).

I stood in a queue – kept my chappals outside with a low-caste young boy. We pinched and held our own footwear and when he too did the same and it happened to fall from his hand, we shouted at him – can’t you hold it properly? The queue was long and winding, believers wiling in the sun; one by one, in singularity we were given entry – passing through a metal detector and a thorough checking of wallets and purses and another stand for deposition of larger bags etc. When I finally entered, I was already flooded with longing for the multiplex and mall whose memory all these procedures have evoked in me.

I walked, bare foot, footprints and foot stains of varying sizes and shapes and patterns on the semi-muddy floor – a 300-year old floor. However even as I looked intriguingly at the infinite footprints, I knew they were all hindu upper-caste ones – how much consistency and regularity I could possess! I followed the queue to the garba griha, the innermost shrine, and looked at the shining black some 5-feet tall idol, weighed down with gold, lamps burning all around, a dank smell of oil and ghee all around. I looked yearningly at the gold – I had few gold ornaments, and most of Indians don’t. Could I ask the head priest if some gold could be sold and the money given for some non-religious cause – such as opening a school, building a few toilets in villages?
‘You there!’ My trance and scheming broke as I turned to look into the cold eyes of the policeman; now, what was he doing here? They surely had not read my mind! ‘You can’t keep the line waiting for so long. Move on!’ I realized I was blocking the way for others behind me; with the narrow opening to view the idol, it had to be a one-be-one viewing. A one-to-one viewing. God and me. Promises exchanged. I wanted to stand for some more time though; and I tried to bring a more passionate look into my eyes, believing that since the primary aim of temples is to provide a meeting ground for believers and believed, one desiring to spend some more time with the deity would surely be allowed that. I wasn’t. I saw some people squatting on the floor at a distance and praying on their own – victims like me. Passion abrupted. But if we had to go the mind’s eye route to dialogue with god, why brave the sun and the rain and come to the temple?

I was hungry by then and thought of getting some prasad; someone told me a counter was selling a range of it (5 varieties) at 10/- per gram each. I went to the counter. Brushing against oogling policemen – there were so many of them that one would think there had been a theft. But it was only in anticipation. The priest selling the prasad was chatting on his phone. I waited for quite some time before I was granted the desired 10 grams. Sitting on a pavement type structure within the temple, I started my holy meal. A group of men and women (upper-caste hindu transsexuals allowed here? I don’t know) were sitting at some distance on my left, listening to a reading by an old priest who sat on a podium and spoke into a microphone. Two speakers on each side. Suddenly almost fainted! I saw myself eating prasad and scratching my forehead on the faraway wall! God! Miracles in temples!

It was the CCTV and I located the camera just diagonally across me. So, after metal detectors, policemen and coupon system for prasad, CCTVs. Good. It is required to maintain the security of the temple.

People might think I am exaggerating and some internet savvy priest might also get to read this and put me into trouble, but I actually saw a couple of LIC advertisements. Banners pasted across water-coolers and one suspended from a wall. I wondered if some LIC agent too might be lurking in the dark corners of sanctity.

I met none though.

We left the same way – collected our chappals and decided to have some more filling snack from the series of bhajji selling shops around the corner. Smaller idols, black with gold-painted ornaments sold for 20/- each. I bought one. Wanted to lech at the gold – the semblance of it.
I was later told that temples in India – especially those that have so much tangible wealth inside them – necessarily should change according to “the demands of the modern day” and acquire machineries of globalization, of the state and of technology. It was assuring to hear that tradition in India is not static and immutable, that it is flexible and can change according to times.

Maybe it is not yet time to forego other ‘traditional beliefs’ – it will now only be not the priest who would stop the parsi-married woman, the turban-wearing and hijaab dressed people; it will only be the uniform donned police. And he will instantly call up the head priest on his cell phone.

So much for change.