With folded hands

I have a problem with God, which I hope S/He addresses quickly. Well, my problem is not with God per se, but with all those people who have chosen to build temples and then have chosen to ignore the most important ingredient there. The prasadam.

Time was when the dull monotony of a temple / religious gathering visit was alleviated by the ritual of collecting prasadam. When growing up in Mulund, I had to regularly visit the Shivankovil and the Raghavendra matham. Shivankovil had paal-pazham for prasadam everyday and on Maha Shivrathri there was thandai. Raghavendra matham did not have a de facto prasadam, but more often than not, there would be faithful handing out sweets. There also was eru-thengai, which embodied the saying “its not the kill, it’s the thrill of the chase”. Raghavendra matham also had a fragrant akshatai which one was supposed to put on one’s head, but was used as a mouth freshener after a smoking a cigarette on the sly. A visit to these temples left one well satiated.

Then there were the saarvjanik festivals. Chundals during Navratri (To all the mamis who filch on the chundal but keep kolu: A kolu without chundal is like a marriage without consummation), modak and other assorted prasadams during Ganpati. The most generous Ganpati mandal was the one outside Matunga station. During the Ganpati, a bunch of us would make regular treks from Podar college to the mandap and collect prasadam with cupped hands. The men inside would not bat an eyelid, but they did request us to say a prayer. Anything karega for that mix of nuts, white sugar and Godfatherly compassion.

But things are looking bleak. A visit to the major temples in the city and elsewhere requires one to buy a packet of sweets outside the temple, carry it though the temple and then eat it outside as prasadam. I wonder which demented idiot thought of this practice and then popularized it. I have never felt the heavenly benevolence coursing through me after eating BYOP. Then there are places that give out flowers as prasadam. Flowers that someone plucked from the plant, thereby snuffing out all chances of the flower propagating its seeds to its next generation.. And what is one supposed to do with this flower ? Cant eat it, cant keep it, will stink the next day. Unless it’s a dried lotus flower dipped in a sugar-saffron syrup sprinkled with pistachio flakes, flowers are not appropriate as prasadam.

One place that stands out in this prasadam desert is the temple in North Bombay that gives out sheera as prasadam many mornings. This is not any ordinary sheera but a godly concoction of ghee, brown raisins, cashew nuts and sooji. Every time I visit Bombay, I go for a run that culminates at this temple in Juhu. After buying a newspaper and then removing my shoes, I make a quick tour inside and collect a generous helping of the prasadam in the newspaper. Sometimes, the man giving out the prasadam wonders why I ask for more. My response, which I always suppress owing to the divinity that I am about to partake, is ‘taara baapa no soo jayech ?’