An Anonymous Letter to God – Prabudh Singh

Dear God-Allah-Bhagwaan,

Mom today read me a fairy-tale called the Ramayana in which there was a monkey who could fly, and there was this feudal-lord named Rama who pushed his wife into fire. I would have called the police if Daddy ever tried to do so with Mommy.

Hey, Mom says that you are there hanging out in the sky and you have special powers to help us? Hmm, I thought Jaadu had returned to his planet in the last scene of ‘Koi Mil Gaya’, but Mommy still can’t get over it.

My family has been suffering from schizophrenia lately. They see imaginary people and do weird things like joining hands and kneeling before them. They frequently visit some scamsters popularly known as the Godmen. I reported these things to our family doctor but he said ‘Jai Gurudev’ and left.

I have never met you and you also never had any press conference, but people say that you always float around in the air. Dude, stalking people all the time is not cool.

It is claimed that you run this world and its bloody system. Daddy works so hard and gets paid so little. Mommy was child-abused and raped by her own uncle. My elder brother Sam was killed in the war. Give me one reason then why I should not hold you responsible for all this. You write our destiny after all!

Some strange people in the neighbourhood say that you don’t even exist, and are just a cover-up to justify the heinous crimes committed by the rich and the powerful. They say that the role of God is that of a co-conspirator, and religion is the opium which has infected all of us.

People flocking towards the Church-Mosque-Temple amuse me a lot. I feel like I am watching a Zombie movie where all are infected by the virus of God.

There was a big ruckus in the house when I made cartoons with crayons in the holy book. Mommy slapped me that day, and I made toilet paper out of the pages of the over-hyped fictions like the Bible-Quran-Ramayana. It deserved the shit.

Your existence or not doesn’t bother me much. What really matters is that you keep your finger in your own arsehole, and don’t poke it elsewhere.

Let me live my life. F.O. you imaginary freak.

Satanically yours-

Human Being (Slave, no more.)

[ Note :- This is a piece of Fiction, like God itself. ]

Prabudh Singh is a Masters 1st year student in Sociology, SAU.


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