A lot of people ask me, “Don’t you have anything better to do? Why do you keep writing stuff like this? Why don’t you show deference to religion, God, tradition, and authority?”
Then there are the hardcore haters who ask, “Why are you wasting your time scribbling all this subversive nonsense?”
In our part of the world, everything we do has to serve a purpose. And if that purpose is to make money, even better. If it does not make money—whether it is exercise, bathing, or even brushing your teeth—there are always the great pragmatists among us who will ask, “What’s the point of all this?”
Not everyone is like this. There are exceptions, of course.
Some do not care about utility or purpose; they just know what’s right for everyone. Like, there is a small group among Hindus who are certain that India should become a Hindu Rashtra. Or that fringe among Muslims who dream of a Caliphate straight out of Syria’s nightmare. And then there are a few Christians who sincerely believe that Jesus is about to arrive any day now to personally punish everyone guilty of disbelief, dirty thoughts, or touching themselves down there without hurting anyone else. These same folks run questionable ventures, head moderately coercive mafia outlets, drink themselves silly and evade taxes—and yet confidently believe they are headed straight to heaven. Why? Because they follow their faith, as they understand it, and pray.
It is true that many have a problem with me. Specifically, they wonder why I insist on speaking in the language of reason alone. Why not about faith, or God, or God’s will?
“Can’t you just attend church, show some deference, behave a little?”
People keep saying, “You need religion, Jimmy.”
But let me tell you something—do you need to teach a fish to swim? Or a hen to lay eggs? Do you need to teach politicians about publicity? No. Similarly, no one teaches the Pope the Bible, right? I kid you not, no one need teach me about God.
I am not saying I am omniscient. But when I attended Sunday school in childhood, I always came top. let me tell you, I have got state awards. And God himself once told me: This is not the way to my enlightenment. And that is the astonishing story I am about to share.
From the age of five or six, I had questions. Big ones. Like:
Where did I come from?
How did all these billions of humans end up here?
This massive, sprawling universe—this infinite expanse—why is it even there?
Of course, I did not think about it in English back then. It was more like, “എന്തിനാടാ ഇവിടെയെല്ലാം ഇതൊക്കെ?”
I devoured books—Poombatta, Balarama, and later, Balamangalam, where Dinkan first appeared as a humble comic-strip god. By third grade, I had finished every book at the Children’s section at Neyyattinkara’s municipal library. Trips to Trivandrum with my father meant a haul of new books, and soon I was reading Jakob Perelman’s Physics for Fun.
Slowly, all the traditional religious thought died a natural death in my mind. By my 12th year, the process was complete.
At the same time, I attended Sunday school for spiritual studies! It was interesting. One day, I had a brilliant question for my teacher:
“Sir, didn’t God create light on the first day?”
“Yes,” he said enthusiastically.
“But didn’t the Sun only come on the third day? How was there light without the Sun?”
The teacher was stumped. Then he laughed.
“Hey, am I the teacher, or are you?”
That class, as the teacher was droning on about medieval saints, I had a vision.
In the vision, I was transported to a strange place— something like the busy vegetable market at Thrissur, near Sakthan Thamburan Stand. It was full of people eating something. It was banana peels! But not ripe bananas— raw banana skins and stems! Right next to them, a buffet was set up with idli, appam, stew, biriyani, pork vindaloo—you name it. Yet, no one touched any of this tasty food! It was very, very strange.
I was starving and tried to grab the buffet, but the crowd stopped me. They shoved me towards the unripe banana peels and stems instead. I tried eating one—it was horrible. I spat it out.
Suddenly, my teacher woke me up: “What kind of mischief are you dreaming up now?”
That was my first vision.
Years passed. I had become a doctor, and many of my elders thought that I was spiritually deficient. Despite my protests, I was taken, kicking and screaming, to a church retreat. The first day was spent in cacophonous communal prayer.
That night, I had another vision. This time, I was in heaven—a glittering place shining brighter than Gujarat in a nationalist WhatsApp group. In the centre, on a throne, sat someone ten times more dignified than Modi, with a beard that touched the floor.
He looked at me, furious:
“Didn’t I tell you not to come here?”
“When? I don’t remember!” I stammered. I shivered with fear.
“Look, kid. I made unripe bananas and banana skins for some, who are not altogether ready for the truth. But YOU? You don’t belong there. Go eat the biriyani, the appam, the pork curry. And remember: Rational enquiry is your path. The truth is hard, but not impossible. Many will follow you on facebook, whatsapp, youtube and instagram.”
“And the truth, will I get it?” I burbled.
“Go. Start searching, you moron. Even if you don’t get it, it will keep you busy and out of trouble.” He thundered.
And just like that, the vision ended.
So, friends, that is my story. Some might not believe it, but that is okay.
If you think this deserves to be heard, share it.
Let those with ears hear.
Let those who can follow, follow.
(Jimmy Mathew)
