An incomplete pilgrimage

I was never one for religion, never was, maybe never will be, religious at convenience at the most.

So, when I got an offer to accompany a couple who of friends on a pilgrimage, i wondered, why ?

The most obvious attraction for me was climbing up the 3300 odd stairs up to Tirumala, the humble (?) abode of Lord Venkateshwara, also known as Balaji, and visit one of the biggest tourist attractions Andhra Pradesh has to offer.

So, the intent decided, i signed up for it. And as it turned out, even though I didn't get a chance to say Hi to the One himself, i did meet some interesting people and dug up some questions, the answers to which I will be searching for a while.

We had to catch our bus from Shantinagar bus stand at 10 pm. Signaled an auto rickshaw and told him the destination and got a ridiculous fare estimate. ' I hate these auto's ' , i muttered to myself and let him go.

Another auto i signaled, told him the destination, and with a vigorous nod, he signaled me in. just to be sure, i asked him if he would be charging meter fare. His answer amused me as much as my question amused him.

Bemused, he replied, yes of-course! Why do u ask ? I said that the previous auto guy had asked a ridiculous amount. He then just smiled and said 'Kuch log milke sabka naam kharab kar dete hain'. There was a certain civility in his response and manner that I find wanting in most auto drivers' in Bangalore. I sensed he was different. How different , i was about to find out.

My friend and I started chatting about the itinerary and the route when the driver interrupted us to,ask if we were going to Tirupati, we replied in the affirmative and he began a friendly and all knowing banter about Tirupati, the places to see, what timeline to aim for, how he used to go there twice a,month and how to obtain your fix of nicotine there, if  u need it.

Then, he veered to the subject of our employment, which was strange, but given the friendly nature of his, we answered. In our endeavor to answer him, we slowly went about pronouncing the names of our employers and when we were done, he just nodded knowingly and nonchalantly, he said, ‘Yeah, I work at IndusInd bank’ .

Wait. Did you just say you work at a bank?! My friend and I just stared at each other. Our expressions – ‘Say what?!’

Finally, getting a grip, I asked, (there is no way you could ask this without feeling stupid), ‘Then why are you driving an auto!?’

‘ I got a 3.5L package from the bank, being a vehicle loan executive, itne me Bangalore me kya hota hai?’. Wait, that sounds like me. No, like all of us in the IT industry. ‘That’s why I work at the office from 10 – 5 and then drive an auto from 5 – 11.

It was just plain mockery. Here we were, complaining about the peanuts that we earn, even though our earning is enough to keep us pampered and here is this man, who is working to shifts, in entirely different jobs, making his ends meet and still happy.

Meeting people like these, it changes you, you look at life differently, and suddenly our lives don’t seem to be that bad as we complained, suddenly things were in perspective – people with bigger troubles than ours are more contended. Life isn’t just about CBRs, PS3s, B-twins and a 2BHK, it is about appreciating what you have and being contended with it, not to undermine ambitions, but still living life to the fullest as it comes.

But my embarrassment didn’t end there. When we reached the bus stand, I handed him a 100 rupee note. There was the question of a 3 rupee change; I just wanted to waive it off. Not a good move that, after talking to him for that long, he made sure, our exchange was exact to the rupee. Not only that, he gave me back 11 rupees that he asked me to put in the Hundi at Tirupati, at his behest.

I knew, I had a sleepless night ahead of me, the stiff bus ride was a factor to it, but the chance encounter with Vishwajeet was going to be the real culprit.

We reached Tirupati at 4 a.m. and decided to start the climb while it was still cool, and of course ‘Shubh kaam me deri kaisi J ‘

The climb to Tirumala is on paper a daunting one, 3300 odd steps, never easy. But we were pleasantly surprised, after getting freshened up at the pilgrim center, we started our climb. The first step contains a holy fire from which we took our blessings. Also, we took off our shoes, I had read it somewhere - the climb is best done barefoot.

It isn’t really difficult, the steps are designed for an easy walk, after every 15-20 steps comes flat platform which allows the muscles to relax, and so we powered through.

The interesting thing that I saw was a backbreaking ritual, two women smeared every step on the way in vermillion and the man of the house lighting up camphor cakes on each of the steps. The trio would do this for all the steps. One step at a time.

What kind of belief is this? What faith powers these men and women? Grandma’s and Granddad’s ignoring their throbbing knees and aching backs taking every step with a smile on their faces as vital young men like us catch our breath on the side.  Maybe God really resides here, here in the steps, not up there draped in gold.

As I climb up the vermillion caked steps I notice another group of men, saying they will be climbing the stairs in one go. This got me thinking. The multitude that was climbing the stairs, some climbing out of devout passion to the One, some climbing because their parents said so, some climbing out of habit and some like me, just trying to prove themselves, they are capable to climb 3000 steps.

Which brings me to the question of faith, a question of belief, a question that haunted me as I stood in line to meet the One, the question that tortured me as I left the queue saying it just wasn’t worth it?

I am puzzled behind the motive of it all. Why do people climb those steps when they could have easily reached the temple on a bus, in a car, why do they brave standing day and night in a sea of sweat in the sweltering heat, constantly being battered by waves and waves of humanity (?) trying to force the queue ahead when they know people with wads of money will be allowed to meet Him first.

Most of these people don’t make enough to live properly yet they still believe, yet they still brave all the discomfiture to pay HIM their respects. What do they have to pay HIM respect for? They lead an uncomfortable life, barely managing to piece the bare amenities of life, the lowest rung of our society.

While I was standing in the Queue, I saw VIP cars and people with tourist packages go in and come out after their moments with God while elderly people get pushed around.

This is entirely illogical. I have always been told that the whole point of a pilgrimage was to show God that we are willing to suffer; we understand the pains that we need to go through to obtain the Promised Land.

Then how come money changes it all?  How come people in AC cars get to go ahead and meet him ahead of the people who climb the stairs braving all sweat and sore muscles, and blistered feet, and wait for 16 hours straight after the climb to get a fleeting chance to get to see Him.

As I walked back from the line another line of thought opened up. Maybe these people brave all this inhumanity because it gives them a sense of purpose, a push to go on with their mundane lives, a reason to overlook the difficulty of their existence.

Another reason I heard was, ‘God didn’t want to meet you, so you left the line’. Another old wives tale in my mind. This is a question I will be grappling for a long time; I cannot fathom the logic behind all of this. Maybe I am trying to justify my lack of faith or maybe I am finding excuses, but I believe that if He created me, it shouldn’t be so hard for me to go and meet him. That would just make him a terrible, terrible parent. Not that I claim to be his favorite child or anything.