The Protector

You always believed in God. You always will. But when you reached this big city, after clearing the hardest of entrance exams, the boys there mocked you.

“Who believes in God these days, Yaar? Life without God is better for you and the world.” 

You believed the boys now; you had to. Their English was better than that of God, their shoes were shinier than yours, and their girlfriends tugged at their elbows all the time, following them around.  

Your world turned upside down. 

The photo of your God, which had never left your wallet earlier, slipped inside your briefcase, and the briefcase slid underneath your hostel bed. God was neglected and never prayed to. You even forgot the Hanuman Chalisa, which you had recited every day before retiring to bed.  

It was your grandfather who saw the churning of your heart when you visited home on Holi, and it was he who cleared the cobwebs that had begun to clutter your mind.  

“Remember this! Living a life with God isn’t good or bad as compared to a life without God. Some don’t believe in it; let them prosper too. Some of us draw strength from God; let us draw it. For us who believe, we know we can’t control everything in our lives. God is our protector, and in Him, we trust,” he said, thumping your back, spreading a familiar but long-forgotten warmth in your heart.  

The photograph has found its way back to your wallet and the Chalisa to your charred lips.