Who is this God person anyway?

There comes a time in everyone's life, when the so called existential questions begin to bother you. Questions like, "What is our purpose in life?", "Is the Bird Flu virus named in hexadecimal?" and "What is the pitch of Himesh Reshammiya's voice?" These questions flash across suddenly, unexpectedly and then vanish, leaving behind a huge question mark, much like your average Ganguly innings. These questions are juxtaposed against the so called problems of day-to-day subsistence, like “Do I have enough money to buy bread?", "Does APJ have paedophilia?" and "How many pairs of ear-plugs do I need for my next Volvo trip?"

This age is usually 18 or 19. This is the age, when most people come to realize the amount of fun one could have had if one were American - like shoot teachers, visit Neverland and watch live Super Bowl on TV. It is this agony of not being American, and having to do with Channel 7-News clips of Kareena-Shaahid smooches and small-rickety Miss Jammu videos that the average 19 yr-old Jagdish Dave thinks of the aforementioned questions. These conditions however do not affect our average DPS student though who is busy answering more pressing and important matters, like “Neha” or “Pooja” and “Chocolate?” or “Vanilla?”

And it is when life gets so frustrating that one is forced to make a choice. This is the time when important questions need to be answered. ‘Do I believe in Him?’, ‘Can I pray and make Himesh Reshammiya mute?’ and ‘Can praying help one get access to American TV?’ This is when one asks, “Does this God person really exist?” and if so “Can he really ban Mahesh Bhatt from TV debates?” It is here however, at this stage, that the average teenager commits the greatest mistake of his life.

He is conceded, at this age, into believing that Maria Sharapova is a creation of God and hence He must exist, He must have topped his Geometrical Modelling class and that He must also watch ESPN. Here our Jagdish is convinced that God must be great ‘cause not only did he make Maria Sharapova but also designed hi-tech sensing gadgetry to ensure extremely well time pulses of what can only be described as extremely-satisfying-noises. Here, he however forgets that all this creation-of-God chatter made Mr. Sharapov and Mrs. Sharpova look at each other in bewilderment and suspicion. He also forgets that Sharapova’s gain was probably Sachin Tendulkar’s loss.

Later, fortunately, for a few years, 42 satisfies the curiosity for a while. Another few years are spent speculating as to, “Why 42?”, and thinking “How can 9 x 6 be 42?” By this time, however the immediate problems of day-to-day subsistence have become even more grave, like “Shit, why did I get married?”, “Does my kid have porn?” and “Will he lend it to me?” – and these ‘bigger’ questions soon become lost, forgotten and unsought. Trampled under the pressures of grishthashrama this God person soon becomes another bronze idol in a temple and another saffron-stone under the tree, seeing which the hands clasp themselves involuntarily.

And suddenly, a visit on a visit to the dentist to get your pair of dentures, you notice the receptionists spellbinding curves, and these questions spring back to life again. “Damn! Is she hot or what?” and “Is she for real?” – the same questions, albeit more rhetorical and more remorseful than before.

They just remain there. Unanswered, unattended, unmodified. They just remain - to be fondled, and caressed – right up to the grave.