Sometimes I look at the Sai Baba idol in my temple and wonder what he’s thinking.
Sai Baba is what could be considered a Hindu saint, who provides solace for Indians globally while symbolizing the peace and the morality society should embody. At least, that’s why you can see hundreds of individuals bowing down to him. But as an Indian stranded from India (I’m born in the US and speak broken Hindi) I have been questioning my faith.
A basic principle of Hinduism that I was taught a young age is that we carry God within us all. Wherever we go, a part of this higher being is with us. But if that’s true, why do I only think of God when I enter the temple? Why do I only think about my faith when I need something? In a time of need, in a time of worry—that’s the only time where I push my hands together to ask for a miracle.
It hurts me to say this because I know how meaningful this faith is for my parents. They’ve told me numerous stories of this faith getting them through depression, financial struggles, and even in just days they felt isolated from everyone. If it’s so meaningful for them, why have I never been able to feel the same way.
There isn’t a particular point of this passage I’m writing, but rather, a remembrance of commitment. A promise to keep faith. Not exactly in those idols my family holds dearly. But just to keep faith.