A poem by Ajay Rastogi
In Dwarika, we skipped the long queue
connections, reliance, favours due.
Through a side entrance of an ashram
we reached the Sanctum Sanctorum.
There was no struggle to get in
or so it seemed.
Eventually, we merged into the same line,
a few metres of entanglement in intense hue.
Temple staff led us through,
hands clasped, forming a chain.
I was pulled and I pushed a few
Many who had waited for hours.
With that thought a sadness overpowered
My longing to express my devotion.
A guilt crept in, dulling the moment
Sanity was lost for the gravity of darshan.
For God lives within everyone,
And yet temples hold a sacred charge:
Vibrations created by centuries of prayer,
Daily rituals repeated to the core.
But pushing and being pushed
Cannot be the way
to offer prayer in a devout form.
Next time, I would step out of the darshan race.
If time allowed, I would join the queue, wait my turn.
Somnath temples were easier on the conscience
No long queues, no pressure.
We were lucky:
A quiet darshan in both temples,
The old and the new.
Days later, we reached Udupi.
Sunday. Peak holiday season.
The Krishna Temple overflowed
Men, women, old and young,
babies in arms,
Standing in the sun, waiting.
A local industrialist,
a friend of our host,
offered to guide us through.
I paused, measuring my resolve,
testing the indecency of nepotism
against my devotion.
What should I do?
Join my friends or decline?
Queue routinely or step aside?
Another thought intruded, who am I to decide?
Are such facilitations random,
or part of a larger unfolding?
If I refuse, am I asserting too much “I”?
Who am I to decide?
This question has travelled with me.
What are my actions,
my feelings towards others?
Why do regrets return so easily?
Guiltily, I joined my friends.
I jumped the queue.
Later, they told me the line had been stopped
So we could pass unhindered.
Strangely, it did not disturb me this time.
They said, “God himself called us!”
Those who help through local ties
are earning punya, improving karma.
These ideas softened the guilt, briefly.
But what of the temple staff,
the priests facilitating VIPs daily?
Who am I if not an ordinary man?
Krishna spoke of action in inaction,
Inaction in action.
Karma is diligence without judgement.
Still, the weight remains,
And it feels less like wisdom,
more like flattering self, as a VIP opportunist.
Looking back on life,
I see how rigid idealism isolated me.
I went with my gut
And gained only a few precious friends,
mostly earning the criticism
“Ajay is stuck in his ways!”
But over time, I remembered
what my elder brother once said:
life is lived in greys.
Too much black and white
is rarely a wise stance.
Who is to judge what is right or wrong?
In yoga they say Karmanye Vadhikaraste.
Act, Arjuna, without clinging to results.
Yet this pricking of conscience refuses to die.
Is it pride, ahankara? It confuses, exhausts,
Makes life heavy as I cannot laugh it away,
Nor cry honestly- tears feel borrowed, crocodilian.
So: I try and accept, accept.
Surrender, surrender.
What has passed is past.
Try and settle
Into this present moment again.
And find equilibrium in softness.
Now Guruvayur looms ahead
Four hours spent yesterday,
No darshan of Sri Krishna.
Today my family has again taken a VIP route.
We are heading there again.
What should I do this time?
The rumbling feeling returns
deep, uncomfortable.
Perhaps the only choice left
is to step away from the darshan,
and wait outside without fuss.
Insisting on making them wait with me
would be seen as impolite
and disrespectful
Standing in line in the queue
would derail their day as well
This was meant to be family time
So I choose the middle path
I waited outside.
I decided to not skip the queue
I prayed to the God within,
without pride
without shame.
Recite, quietly:
Krishnam Vande Jagat Gurum.
Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya.
Pray…
…and wait
Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu.
