<p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>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.</p>.<p>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.</p>.<p>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.</p>.<p>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.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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.</p>
<p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>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.</p>.<p>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.</p>.<p>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.</p>.<p>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.</p>.<p class="bodytext">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.</p>
