I got my parent’s during my birth. But yesterday, I contemplated mine.
I was roaming with my friend on Baba Kharak Singh Marg at CP (in Delhi). Seeing the glittering dome of Bangla Sahib in front, he asked me: You love going to Bangla Sahib, don’t you?
And, without any pause, I affirmed with a nod and the following statement: Yes, I love my being at Bangla Sahib.
I looked at Bangla Sahib while answering him and felt happy for some mysterious reason.
I continued, “Some places elevate your being. You sense a belonging you never felt elsewhere. Peace gushes from within you and engulfs your mind. And you can feel the omnipresence of the almighty. Be it with a group of enthusiastic children. Be it in the midst of nature. Be it a structure with varied names. Mind you, it’s the feeling that assures, and not the preknowledge, that God lives there. As when it happens, it doesn’t matter which religion your surname and your attire suggest. As for God, only the soul matters which is nameless, naked and pure” before I got interrupted.
“Bro, do you know the route from here? And why the hell you are smiling looking outside!?”
“Nothing, I was contemplating what my religion is,” I said. Only this time, my voice was loud enough for him to hear.