Recently, a video from Banke Bihari Temple in Vrindavan went viral. Devotees were seen drinking and collecting what they believed to be Charan Amrit—holy water flowing near the deity’s feet. They cupped their palms, whispered prayers, and shared in what they thought was a miracle. But here’s the truth—it wasn’t Charan Amrit. It was condensation from the air conditioner. This reminded me of the year 1995, when people believed Lord Ganesha idols were drinking milk. Spoons, cups, and gallons were offered in faith. But scientists later explained it as capillary action—the milk wasn’t vanishing, it was just absorbed by the stone. Yet, logic was ignored. The emotional high of the moment was stronger than reason. In Mumbai, a similar scene played out. Water was seen dripping from a crucifix at the Church of Our Lady of Velankanni. Some called it a miracle. But rationalist Sanal Edamaruku traced it to a leaky drainage pipe. What followed wasn’t gratitude—it was blasphemy charges. He had to flee the country. 

From crosses to clouds, from Hindu temples to Islamic symbols formed by tree bark or sky patterns—we’ve seen how easily people tie random shapes to divinity. It’s a psychological phenomenon called pareidolia—our brain trying to find meaning in patterns. People often turn to superstitions when they feel afraid, helpless, or uncertain. It gives them hope when nothing else seems to work. When someone’s going through tough times, even the smallest sign can feel like a message from God. For the poor, when hospitals don’t heal, schools don’t teach, and jobs don’t come, they begin looking for miracles. Superstitions make people feel like they’re not alone—that something bigger is in control. But when that hope is built on illusions, it comes at a cost. Emotionally, it keeps us from healing through reason. Socially, it traps us in outdated beliefs and blocks progress. Politically, it becomes a weapon—used to stir emotions, hide real issues, and keep power in the hands of those who thrive on our dependence. India has such a beautiful spiritual culture. 

Our traditions, our stories, our rituals—they're part of who we are. But some of these practices are followed simply because someone older said so. Don’t go out during eclipses. Don’t let women into temples during their periods. Don’t ask questions. Just follow. But when culture becomes fear-driven, it starts limiting instead of guiding. I’m not against tradition. I’m against the fear that’s tied to it. Superstition, sadly, keeps the poor where they are— telling them their pain is fate, not the result of failed policies. Just look at countries where religion rules public life—Pakistan, Afghanistan, Nigeria. Deep faith, but also deep unrest. When God-men replace governance, progress disappears. Michael Parenti once said, “Poor countries are not underdeveloped, they are over-exploited.” And that hits hard. In today’s India, faith has become political currency. It’s not just devotion anymore—it’s display. Temple inaugurations turn into media spectacles. Religious chants echo on campaign stages. Election approach, and suddenly a temple rises or a riot brews. Coincidence? Not really. It’s a strategy. And we? We’re the pawns. While leaders grow louder in chants, our real prayers—for jobs, justice, and dignity—get lost in the noise. It’s like building massive statues while nearby schools collapse. And questioning? That’s now a crime. Ask “Why?”— you’re anti-national. Critique superstition? You’re faithless. "They don’t build temples to God. They build fortresses of influence." We fast for blessings but ignore the hungry. We donate to temples while public hospitals beg for support. Isn’t it strange? 

True progress doesn’t come from rituals. It comes from Reason, Reform, and Responsibility. My friend Dinesh once promised that if he got a job, he would give his entire first-month salary to Tirupati. And he did. What pained me was that he came from a very poor background. His family has debts, and that money could have helped ease some of their burden. I’m not against showing gratitude—I understand his faith. But sometimes, I feel like we’re taught to give up even the little we have, just to prove our devotion. It hurts because I don’t think God ever wanted us to suffer to say thank you. If anything, I believe that if God truly loves us—and I know He does—He would give us blessings for our hard work, not because we promised Him something in return. His love is not a transaction. It’s not about deals or sacrifices. “If you give me this, I’ll give you that much money.” Or even worse—"If You fulfill my wish, I’ll walk barefoot to see You.” I get that it’s their way of showing devotion. I do. And I believe that if an action causes unnecessary suffering, it means that action is morally wrong. But somewhere deep inside, it hurts. Because I don’t think any loving mother would want her child to suffer just to prove love. Then why would God? I feel God already loves us—indefinitely—just as we are. His love doesn’t increase with the weight of gold coins, and it doesn't reduce if all we have is a small, sincere prayer. To me, prayers don’t need pain. They need purpose. Instead of saying, “If you give me this, I’ll offer you riches,” why not say, “If you help me get this job, I’ll finally buy myself that piano I’ve always wanted.” Or, “I’ll feed street dogs every day,” Or “I’ll try to bring comfort to someone else the way you comforted me.” Isn’t that a more beautiful offering? Sometimes I feel, God doesn’t want our wealth—He wants to see what we do with it. I may not build temples. But maybe I can make a hungry child smile. Maybe I can sit beside someone who feels abandoned. And maybe that’s worship, too. Because I believe... God made me with eyes to see goodness, and hands to spread it. Think about it—what if the real prayer is not to chant louder, but to ask deeper? What if God doesn’t want rituals out of fear but reflection out of love? 

Faith and reason were never enemies. But when faith is hijacked by emotion or political convenience, we start worshipping AC water and toilet leaks—and calling it devotion. He doesn’t need sacred water or miracle milk to prove His power. His greatest miracle is us—our kindness, our strength, our questions. So let’s not reduce Him to rituals. Let’s not chain our faith to fear. If He is truly God, then trust this: He can take care of Himself. He doesn’t need superstition to stay alive. But we? We need awareness to truly live. You might read this and think I’m an atheist, but I’m probably a little crazier than that. I believe I’m my own God for a few moments when I’m helping someone. For me, God isn’t somewhere far away—God is where good deeds happen. It’s in the kindness we show, the way we connect with each other. And I believe God lives in you too—nurture that and honour that.  

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