And Now I see the Face of God

Photography:  Devadeep Gupta

Author: Anusha N.

"And now I see the face of god, and I raise this god over the earth, this god whom men have sought since men came into being, this god who will grant them joy and peace and pride. This god, this one word: 'I.'" | Anthem- Ayn Rand

I sometimes wonder what is it exactly that makes the spiritual. Like the journey to the temple. Did it really just start with the first step I took into its compound barefoot? Or did it start when the thought of worship was first seeded in my mind… or is it just the act of folding hands in prayer in front of god?

I have found God in the face of men. I have found God inside me. Every man who has a belief has a God. Every belief counts. It is like a higher collective conscience. Where every man is an end in himself. If you think you are contributing to a greater cause which is undefined, I counter that dream. Can you really work wholeheartedly for a purpose that isn’t your own? Can you vouch for anything with conviction because of hear-say? You are here to fulfill yourself. And it is in the self-satisfaction of some religious or spiritual or emotional or metaphysical part of you that you feel like a higher power surrounds you. How you turn out may or may not be related to that stone that you pray in front of. But for those who believe, it is so for them.

So what is “I”.

There was a girl I once knew. We were both really young. Like the age when pebbles and raindrops are our secret friends and we talk to an imaginary class with a chalk and a stick in our hand? Ribbons and frocks? That young! I met her in a place where we were all equals. And with each day that went by we discovered newer things about each other we hated. They knew her for her predecessors but I didn’t know them neither did I know her. I was the insufferable know it all. An out-of-towner, so I was as much of a misfit in this place as the place was a misfit on me. We were like an odd-pair of socks – black in one foot and white in another. Just never a match.

I envied her for her family. They seemed too happy to be true. I envied her voice. Much louder than mine. I envied her lunch. Much grander than mine. I envied her bag, her clothes, her sport and her smile. Much prettier, fancier, fashionable and cooler than mine. So was that how it would always be? But that is the age when we think of ourselves to be what we possess. Where we feel where we come from is all that we are. When I neither knew what was I nor who was She.

But all this while that I envied her possessions and her fame; she silently wished she was me. Because she knew at that age that this would not last and that day, what would last was I, myself and me.

Then we welcomed adolescence. By this time we had managed to co-exist. She had a fair share of drama. Boys falling around her left, right and centre. Sometimes she’d reject them even before they could speak. Sometimes she’d reject them the first time they’d meet. As I tagged along on her fun filled teenage I envied her every bit. And deep down I knew she loved my library, my books and my petty little tantrums. She’d smile at me and take to my nerdy whims. And she’d rather spend the PT class playing ping-pong in a hall. When the whole bunch of ‘Them’ was busy playing in the sun; she’d always meant for me to see. That they all had fun… but she had hers with me.  

And then we were adults and we parted our ways. Trying to see what really was I and Me. I went and searched the earth, the soil and stones. She went her way down science, logic and streams. We let time mould us and somewhere in this Apart; is when the whole “I” in me and the “She” in her came together. Like a patchwork of dreams and a board full of post-its, our memories just pinned up on the timeline of our past. We left.

And somewhere in all this time apart, I saw when we came back… it wasn’t the same Her. She was lost slowly like specks of sand from a fist. She had gone through the shredder on her own as had I. But this time, it was nothing I envied, nothing I could perceive.

She’d been a mother to a family that refused to grow up; a child to elders who refused to exist. She’d been a lover to lovers who didn’t know love, a faithful friend to friends who would never yield. She’d fought battles that weren’t her own only to realize. There was no such fight when enemies patronize. She’d been a pillow to sleep on for so many maniacs. When she had barely slept for herself in years. She’d patiently suffered for those who couldn’t for themselves. She’d listened and heard and battered and bruised. She’d never demanded of those who were incapable to provide because they were just that - incapable. She’d never expected from those born to disappoint – because they were that - disappointing. She showed me her wounds one by one with a sardonic humor. 

She’d told me that these weren’t badges from battles she’d won. She’d only meant it as lessons she’d learnt. She’d say she wants to shield me. But I wondered how could she- She hadn’t even seen what they’d done to her. She hadn’t known what she was to me. To her this was never her journey so far. Because all she’d done unknowingly was play hundreds of roles at people’s demands compensating for those who lacked the decency to play their own. 

What am “I” she said, she didn’t know. No belief. No faith. No expectation. No oars. Am I the same “I” you envied all that while? When I knew I envied you…because at least you knew there is “I” in you. They let you be and reveal the true you. But I, I am solitary and that is what is me. I don’t know how else to be anymore. Because all the while I should have spent in finding me... they and I never let me.

And she said “they gave me wings to fly. But all they forgot was that “I” too need a sky.”

She said something that she could never take back. Because the truth is we all exist for ourselves. Peace is not borrowed, like faith or belief or love or happiness or sorrow or pain. God can’t be borrowed. It has to be yours. It has to be born. I can’t just be. Every “I” that plays at least ten of our million dutiful roles with a little more conviction would relieve so many souls trapped like her to just be; in their due time to be “I”.

You aren’t the “I” you want everyone else to praise. Your identity is not that which is in my eyes or his. Because if my eyes envy you today tomorrow they could say pity. If my eyes love you today, tomorrow it may just be sympathy. You aren’t the “you” I see. You are the “I” you see. Even when you think the ones who loved you do not anymore. Are you even sure you know yourself well enough for them to?

If all you search for in the eyes of strangers is love and praise, you will never be satisfied, because the “I” in you knows better than that. 

“I am. I will, whether you like it or not, exist. I shall not apologize for my abilities, neither for success, nor for my dreams. Not one of those is what you owe to others. ‘I’ am the one you owe to satisfy. Because without a satisfied you, you will never fully be one of the ten “I” you Have to be.”

God is within you and me. I search for “I”. There is no bigger religion and no bigger God.