My relationship with God has always been one of quiet friendship. I have never been overly ritualistic or religious in the strict sense. But I do love the ringing sound of temple bells—it calms the mind. The serenity of the inner sanctum, the peaceful gaze of the deity—something about them brings a quiet joy. When I sit in the temple courtyard after the darshan, the storm of thoughts in my mind slows down. While I am not someone who prays every day or visits temples regularly, I do bow my head briefly every time I pass by one. It is not a grand gesture—it is a moment of acknowledgment, a nod to something larger than me.
Lately, I have observed a growing polarity in people’s attitudes. On one hand, there are ardent believers who are quite ritualistic and possibly on the verge of blind faith. On the other hand, there are confirmed atheists who are quick to mock everything that has the whiff of a belief. Everything has to be defined, defended, debated. Between these two extremes, there seems to be little space left for gentle faith, quiet respect, or simple practices.
In my opinion, it is the intermediate road which contains wisdom. That middle path—the path of balance—can often be the most meaningful. It does not dismiss the past, nor does it blindly accept it. It does not resist the new, but it doesn’t rush to abandon the old. It holds both ends of the thread with care.
In my opinion, it helps to spend ten minutes every morning in silence—a practice that modern vocabulary now labels “meditation.” And while English may dominate our daily conversations, chanting sacred verses or hymns at home has its own value. These age-old practices—havan, mantra uchcharan, reciting stotras—they may seem old-fashioned, but they generate a palpable positive energy in our spaces. The rhythm of a chant, the lighting of a lamp, the fragrance of agarbatti—these are sensory cues that create a mood of stillness, if only for a few minutes.
Technology and science are unquestionably important. They are constantly changing to improve our lives—this is good. I too find great enjoyment adapting to them. But even as we advance, I have always felt there is something more than science, more than logic, more than belief and incredulity—I have no name for it. A few call it God or Supreme Being; to me, it feels like Nature. Or perhaps, a quiet intelligence that pervades all things. It is in the way a river carves a valley, how a tree finds light, how a wound slowly heals.
Perhaps faith is more about appreciating the merits of both camps than it is about choosing one over the other. In a society that continuously pressures us to pick a side—believer or sceptic, traditionalist or modernist—it is easy to forget that one can be both curious and reverent, questioning and accepting. Faith, in this sense, is not always noticeable, loud, or assertive. Sometimes, all it takes to get through uncertain times is the silent strength or the quiet decision to be kind even when no one is looking.
Faith does not always demand a temple or a scripture. Sometimes it can be found in the small rituals that bring us together—like watering the plants, lighting a lamp in the evening, serving food with affection, or simply taking a moment at the end of the day to express gratitude. These are not grand proclamations of belief, but humble affirmations that life, in all its messiness, still holds meaning.
And when doubts do arise—as they inevitably will—perhaps faith is also the willingness to sit with the doubts. To not rush for answers. To resist the urge to dismiss them in frustration. To trust that clarity will come in its own time and way. There is something deeply human in the act of waiting—not passively, but attentively—for understanding to unfold.
By all means, embrace new thoughts, challenge old paradigms. But never forget that we shall receive back what we give to the world, whether it be in words or actions. That is the true law of nature—beyond religion, beyond philosophy. It governs us quietly, like gravity. I believe in the simple philosophy: You reap what you sow. And so far, it is the goodness I have tried to sow that has carried me through life.
So yes, I do place my trust in something deeper—call it faith, or simply an understanding that life flows best when lived in balance. It is not a doctrine, not a fixed rulebook, but a way of walking—a little slower, a little softer, with eyes open and heart steady. Of course, that’s just my perspective—my simple mantra.
About Sachin Kulkarni:
Office Manager at BCAS since 2024, Sachin enjoys exploring new ideas and perspectives because he believes it broadens his understanding of the world. In his spare time, he enjoys reading books, listening to music, and writing blogs. He thrives in the company of others, always ready to listen and connect with empathy. While aware of life’s challenges, he maintains an optimistic outlook—embracing creativity, modesty, and a youthful spirit. Sachin chooses to live simply and frugally, yet he approaches life with enthusiasm and purpose.
Sachin can be reached at sachinbnhs@gmail.com.
