Jyothy Sreedhar


The temple celebrates grace.

The hard rocks are there in the centre, called idols.

Gold ornaments adorn those black structures.

The lighted lamps glorify it with more golden rays.

A view of mixed gold inside the decorated doors with tiny bells.

And the chants, perfectly ununderstandable for me.

Good, if the idols know Samskrutha.


The people around have begging gestures,

sentimental expressions and filled eyes.

Their lips utter something that’s vaguely heard out.

Their long hairs drip water from the tie extreme down.

I but have layer-cut hairs untied.

I have no complaints, no requests, nothing to beg too.

For not getting bored, I converse, and have a scan around.

The temple audience is often full of beggars.

They over detail their little worries

and keep on asking for everything with bowed heads.

God then seems to me like a tax official

whom people have to convince that they are paupers,

without documents.

And put the ‘black money’ to the ‘bribe fund’

Called by different names.


I hate the devotional songs on air.

It distracts my silent friendly conversation with Him.

It intrudes into the privacy zone of just a myself and Him.

The high shrills of singing voice pierce my ears everytime.

The drums beat on my eardrum,

the instruments stab deep to the needed silence.

I often feel that I am there as a music program listener.

Wonder why I have to, when my God is within and around,

Wherever I am!


This is why I hate being in temples.

It is only for the queue of real beggars who fake their living

and for the musicians who sell their divinity to distract prayers.

It is for the greedy management

who consciously miss the coins and notes while counting.

And yes… it is also for the lovers of bribery.

A hundred rupee to pass the exam,

Another hundred to be the first,

yet another to get the rank.

Sleep baby, sleep. God will take care!