The Temple

By Priyanshi Dalke

I never understood temples. It's not like I don't believe in God. I talk to Him more than I talk to people (which is a lot!). I just don't get how someone can pray to God in a crowded place. For me, our conversations are strictly private (mostly because they're embarrassing!). I live in a city that is famous for its temples and as much as they attract thousands of tourists, I never really cared for them.

There is a little temple near my house. When my Dadaji was alive, he used to go there every day with his friends and just talk and attended the aartis and quite possibly sang in them happily. He wasn't like me. (I wish I was like him in so many ways). It was a small temple, not very famous, hence away from the hustle bustle of crowds. Perfect to enjoy a little peace. It was almost every day that my Dadaji used to go there. There were times when I would pass by that temple, either with my parents or friends and see him there and wave to him. He always seemed to be having a good time there. Although there were not many places my grandfather didn't enjoy being. He was a happy person. Not just happy, he was a content one.

It has been more than seven years since he passed away. I recently went to that temple; I don't know why. As I said, I never really liked going. I went there for some quiet; life has been a little noisy lately. To my surprise, I liked it. Not just because of the quiet, but that was very comforting. Not because I thought I could talk to God in the absence of tourists. Not because I was having some health problems and believed I would be healed after I went to a temple (Adversities sometimes make you irrationally want to believe in miracles). But because it was my Dadaji’s. That place belonged to him. I could talk to him there. I could feel him. I could almost see him.

I got lucky once, I reached there at the time of aarti. I don't know how to explain it, but I am sure as hell he was there singing at the top of his lungs, ringing the bells and clapping and having the time of his afterlife.

I get it now. Not all people go to temple to pray. Some go to temple to feel the presence of someone, maybe God. I go there to see my grandfather. For me, a temple could have been a lot of places. If my grandfather was a millennial, it might have been a cafe. I'm glad it was a temple. Maybe I can find God there the next time I go to meet my grandfather. I think they are friends, they sure were when he was here.

By Priyanshi Dalke