A devotee prays after taking holy dip in the Ganga river on the occasion of Maha Shivratri festival during the ongoing Maha Kumbh Mela 2025, in Prayagraj.
Credit: PTI Photo
I embraced atheism when I was a college student. But growing up in a society steeped in tradition and belief, I, like many others, was inculcated with the culture of prayer and offering.
As a child, I would pray for the fulfilment of my mundane needs. During school vacations, my brother and I would often stay with our mother’s elder sister, whose home was situated near a vast river. My cousins and I would spend hours bathing and playing in the river. But our journey to the riverbank was always tinged with fear. We had to cross a public burial ground, which filled me with trepidation.
In my native place, we buried our dead in the same compound that our home stood. So I wasn’t afraid of the dead or the grave, per se. But common graveyards were another matter, and the fear of ghosts haunted me at night in my aunt’s house.
I believed any sound I heard to be the footsteps of ghosts. I would promptly pray to the local goddess, promising her 25 paise in exchange for a peaceful night’s sleep. My debt to the goddess would grow with each passing vacation.
However, as I entered college, my voracious reading led me to the concept of atheism. I soon became an ardent atheist, and the ghosts that haunted me disappeared forever. Hence, I wrote off my debts to the local goddess, and both the ghosts and the thought of my unpaid debt ceased to haunt me.
Atheism had freed me from the shackles of superstition, and I began to criticise others’ faith as mere fantasy. However, as the years passed, I faced great misfortunes in my life. I no longer criticise others’ faith, for I have come to realise that, even if there may be no god, those who believe in the existence of a higher power find solace in their beliefs.
My wife, a native of Kerala’s capital, Thiruvananthapuram, is a great devotee of Aattukaal Amma, a revered goddess in the region. Whenever I attempt to explain that such deities are mere creations of human imagination, she counters with a persuasive argument: “I believe I could find a teetotaller like you only because of the grace of the goddess. I hate men who drink and always prayed to the goddess for a teetotaller husband. If I was not blessed by Her, how could I, living 340 kilometres away from your place, find such a good person such as yourself?” Her conviction is unwavering, and her arguments disarm the atheist in me.
Though we hold differing beliefs, our marriage is a harmonious blend of faith and non-faith. My wife does not attempt to convert me into a believer, nor do I try to persuade her to adopt atheism. Instead, we coexist peacefully, each respecting the other’s perspective. I have come to appreciate the coexistence of faith and non-faith.