Last evening I went to an old temple in Delhi with my mother. Its a Subramnya Swamy temple. Subramanya is the south Indian incarnation essentially of Karthik, Ganesha's elder brother and Shiva and Parvathi's first born. We climbed up the ten thousand stairs to finally get to the main wing of the temple. The priests were carrying out their usual ritual of bathing the god with milk, honey and water, decorating him with sandal paste, flowers and jewellery. And finally offering fresh warm rice to him to feed him. All this while chanting the hymns, that have a calming effect on everyone present. It took them 30 mins to complete this before the Maha Arti at 7:30pm. As we enter, I see a lot of men and women and children, with folded hands waiting for the curtain covering the lord to be opened so that they can get that first glimpse of the very handsome and wish fulfilling God that Subramanya is. As I scan the ceiling of the temple to spot the number of crows sitting, while lowering my eyes I spot a Turban. In this mass of mainly, actually all, South Indians, I find it odd for a Sikh to be present. I mean do folks in Punjab even know who Subramnaya is, I think . I smile to myself saying, wow another thing about my country that surprises me, and pleasantly so. As the priests finish their ritual and God is ready to be showcased to the world, the chanting from the inner chamber suddenly stops. With a swoosh, the curtains are drawn apart and God, with his sparkling eyes and jewels on his black body, and the strings and strings of big flower malas on his head, around his neck and even wrist , looks at the crowd, smiling faintly. The devotees cheer and my hands automatically fold and my mind starts humming a prayer my mother taught me in kinder garden. I end my prayer by thanking him for everything. The priest with his big lamp, with about 25 tiny glowing balls of fire waves it in front of the God, praying to him ,ringing the bell side by side. Its a beautiful moment. At that moment you are standing with folded hands, looking mesmerized at the beautiful God, standing shoulder to shoulder with people you've never met and will never meet, the only thing common between you and them, being your faith in the goodness of the God you are praying to. And suddenly I hear the Sardar ji's voice. Loud and clear, like all sardar jis, singing away the Lords praises in Tamil. And so beautifully and completely in tune, that if he wasn't visible, I would've thought him to be a south indian priest with years of practice and perfection. I look at him and he looks at me and smiles. I smile back as well. I love India
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