My belief in God has changed and continues to evolve over the years, shaped by my experiences, the people I meet, the books I read, and the things I see. As a child, my prayers were simple and transactional—I prayed for good marks or to get out of a difficult situation. I believed that if I prayed sincerely, things would change. But over time, I realized that my prayers had no direct effect on the outcomes I wished for. This led me to conclude that last-minute prayers do not create miracles.
As I grew older, my prayers became simpler. Whenever I was in a temple or during a pooja at home, I found myself saying just one sentence: 'May all be well.' After that, my mind would go blank. I do not believe in rituals or specific forms of prayer, nor do I adhere to any religion in a strict sense. Yet, I continue to follow the practices of my family—not out of faith, but out of habit.
I am often conflicted by many religious practices. I do not fast, nor do I engage in transactional prayers. I do not believe that God expects anything in return for devotion. More importantly, I do not fully understand what God is. Why do we need to please God? If God is all-powerful, why does good and bad exist? If God is testing us, does that mean He lacks control over what we do? The idea of a God who punishes and rewards like a teacher grading an exam seems at odds with the concept of a supreme, all-knowing being.
Instead of a deity with human-like emotions, I believe in a supreme force or a law of nature that governs involuntary cycles of life. I have never experienced divine intervention that punished my wrongdoings or rewarded my good deeds. But I do see a larger rhythm to life, an order beyond human understanding. Perhaps that is what I perceive as God—a force that moves, not with expectation or judgment, but simply as it is.
Growing up with Tamil traditions, I have often observed practices like 'venduthal' and 'nerthi kadan,' where people make vows to God and fulfill them upon their wishes being granted. I have never understood the idea of negotiating with the divine. If God is all-knowing, why would He require offerings or fulfilled vows? I wonder if these practices arise more from human emotions of gratitude and fear rather than any divine expectation. They seem to be a way for people to seek control over uncertainty, a reassurance that their faith is being acknowledged.
Similarly, Tamil customs include elaborate temple visits, processions, and rituals that are deeply woven into cultural identity. While I participate in them, I do so as an observer rather than a true believer. I appreciate the sense of community and continuity these traditions bring, yet I remain uncertain about their spiritual significance. If faith is meant to be personal, why does it often feel like an obligation to follow inherited customs? Perhaps faith is less about structured belief and more about finding peace in whatever form resonates with us individually.
So, I no longer seek miracles in grand gestures; I see the divine in the simplest things. In doing so, I realize that my journey of understanding God is ongoing—fluid, changing, and deeply personal.
