If you are setting up a debate team, make sure you never invite me to be a part of it because you would surely lose. Winning arguments requires you to focus sharply on your own ideas, not to empathise a bit too readily with the other side.
But understanding anekanthavada , the Jain idea of truth being many-sided, useless as it is in debate class, is invaluable as an approach to life. The idea that no single perspective on reality can ever be the absolute or only perspective is so blindingly obvious, it seems astonishing that humans can blissfully ignore it and carry on as if each one of us has the only golden key to unlock truths.
But enough with the philosophising; let’s cut to the chase. In the spirit of understanding the ‘other’, I decided to wear the shoes of a bhakt for this one column.
In other words, even though I am agnostic and liberal, and a sucker for secularism, animal rights and single malts, not necessarily in that order, I will examine today how I might behave were I actually a cow-loving, god-fearing, bhajan -chanting, devout Hindu.
The only rule I have set is to pretend to be truly all of the above, not simply as convenient labels to flaunt but as an examined way of life. So let’s begin.
I would be a cow-lover. But once I love an animal, its gender and colour would matter zilch to me. And its corpse even less so. I would be part of a fearsome gau rakshak team that would rescue live cows and buffalos from eating plastic from roadside bins or being crammed 800 deep in goods wagons. I would chase a Lamborghini to prove my manhood, not a bull. And if aged or dead bovines are purchased by the meat or leather market, I would bid the creature a fond farewell because her being at peace would be more important than using her cadaver as an excuse for violence. But hang on, violence itself would be anathema to a good Hindu, would it not?
In the interests of swachch ness, I might be forced to point out how hard it is to be swachch if every street corner is a pumpkin-smashing, prasad -distributing centre. I might then ask if we could clean up a temple because, guess what, our pilgrim towns are possibly the filthiest places on the planet. Unless, wait, are we in rivalry with other religions here, too? If “they” can be dirty, why can’t we? Gosh, it’s hard work being competitively religious.
As for women being “holy consorts”, I might — to make a point — dig up Ammavaru and point out she existed before even time began. Or Apitakuchambal, the goddess with the undrunk breast. I would naturally be part of another fearsome squad, only I would rename it Pro-Juliet and perhaps actually help a woman being assaulted instead of busily policing inter-caste, inter-religious love affairs. Actually, I might be less hostile to love and sex altogether because my genes would be hardwired to primordial memories of Kama and Rati and Krishna.
I would belong to every bhajan mandali in town, but I would know my Kabir enough to know he started life in a poor Muslim family and rejected the dogma of both Islam and Hinduism to preach his simple brand of worship, where he suggested that if you look in your heart “you will find both Karim and Ram”.
And as I fervently spout abhangs of an evening (instead of listening to Etta James, as I so heretically do) I might recall that when Vithoba manifested himself as a Mahar, Nai or Kumhar, he might have had a message to convey.
As an abhang -singing bhakt , I would, of course, be a vegetarian teetotaller (no more single malts) but I might also remember — just before I picked up a smart device or stick to attack yet another Dalit, Muslim or secular upstart — that the founding principles of the Varkari tradition are non-violence, forgiveness, compassion and, hey ho, the complete rejection of caste.
Well, well, what do you know. If I truly were a card-carrying devout anything, I needn’t be very different from the secular me after all. The only issue is how ‘true’ I want to be.
Where the writer tries to make sense of society with seven hundred words and a bit of snark
