According to the 2011 census, the first to include a ‘non-faith’ category, India has over 2.87 million people who don’t follow any religion. This includes atheists, rationalists and those who vaguely believe in some ‘unknown’ force, yet adhere to nothing in particular. More men than women, they said, did not believe in God and a majority of the people who ticked the non-faith box, live in rural areas.
There will always be people on both sides, those who question whether religious belief is nothing more than irrational superstition, or an innate human need with unexplored potential. From the perspective of devotees, the health benefits of belief have been well-documented.
An intensely felt relationship with God is a better guarantee against depression than almost anything else. Spirituality, if properly fostered in childhood, will pay off hugely in adolescence, when young adults are most vulnerable to risky behaviour. Research suggests kids raised in a faith tend to do better academically and are better able to negotiate difficult times. Despite this, in most countries, the number of religiously unaffiliated is rapidly growing.
For those who cannot reconcile what we know of the world and its brutal, bloody history with the ephemeral idea of somebody watching over us while devastation and tragedy continue unabated, belief is not really an option. Living in an era of faith-fuelled conflicts, it was only a matter of time before many more Indians would begin questioning the concept of a higher power.
Though, according to a Gallup poll, 81 per cent Indians still declare themselves as very religious, for the first time ever we have three per cent of the population who have rejected traditional religion and that’s not counting the thousands who are probably too embarrassed to admit they feel the same. Since wisdom means, somewhat, not having to pretend anymore, this small but growing number may turn out to be the very force to counter the terrifying rise of fanaticism.
I live in an area where there are approximately 300 temples in a five-km stretch. Ashrams, yoga centres, charity hospitals financed by God-fearing Delhi industrialists take up another few kilometers. Between Diwali, Janmashtami, Budh Purnima and the Navratras, not to mention the kanwarias’ stalls that just got dismantled, this once leafy green suburb looks like a permanent, desperately chaotic, carnival.
Stalls selling incense, marigold and idols of deities take up what remains of the road. It has a palpable air of festivity at all times, since for many Indian families a weekly outing includes a place of worship. In this pandemonium, it’s easy to forget that the elaborate frescoes and intricate carvings in India’s famously magnificent religious sites came about only because of mankind’s devotion to a higher being.
Over the centuries, the shared history of ritual and custom led to some great architecture that does serve a purpose: an option to soak in their breathtaking beauty while slowly moving towards our own chosen myths.
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