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Any discussion about faith often always involves belief in a higher power. I have never been able to understand or comprehend the concept of a ‘god,’ despite my almost annoyingly relentless curiosity about the topic. This interest began with stories and fables about the Ramayan and the Mahabharat that my great-grandma used to tell me when before I reached my teenage years. The stories involved mythological figures such as Krishna, Ganesh, Bheem and many others. They were short, often humorous tales that depicted concepts of good vs evil, righteousness, and morals that I ultimately grew up believing in. You wouldn’t find them in books and the epics, because these were stories passed down from generation to generation, which is why I value them so much, more than a decade later. There was a stark contrast between this utopia and what I observed everyday sitting in a car and bring driven to school. At almost every intersection or signal, there would be a homeless colony that took shelter under a bridge or flyover. The mothers and their children would knock on our car windows asking for cash and food. I was told to never give them money, as it would only perpetuate these practices. We kept boxes of biscuits in the car that we could hand out to the ‘beggars,’ as they were called. The shittiness I felt while ignoring their calls for help stemmed from the way I had seen people around me treat them. This ignorance was a product of sympathy, shame, and helplessness, but most significantly of privilege. This view changed drastically when I met a friend who did not come from a privileged background. He never gave them money but always rolled down the window to chat with them like anyone else. He’d crack jokes, sometimes pulling me into the conversation. At first, it felt a bit awkward, but I soon noticed how their expressions shifted, and a smile would appear. Sometimes, letting go of our prejudices starts with a simple conversation. The Utopian values suddenly became null, and all that remained was normalcy. Now how and why does this image help me understand my relationship with god? This photograph captures a beautiful moment between children enjoying nature and each others company. The tiniest hint of inequality disappears. Does this mean it doesn’t exist? Of course it does, but in that one moment, it stands still. Are these moments glimpses of divinity, or simply a depiction of human connection and interaction. This notion allows me to place my faith in the goodness of people, not the divinity of god. People can learn to change, and with that, permeate that change into other. Whatever comfort this belief gives me, the undeniable truth is that both, the goodness of people, and the divinity of god are idealistic. However, the more probable truth is that placing faith in the goodness of people holds greater potential to inspire real change than relying on the divinity of God. While the idea of divine intervention may bring comfort, it is the tangible actions and capacity for growth within humanity that offer a more realistic foundation for hope and progress.

Faith is one of those concepts that seem simple on the surface but becomes much more complex the moment you start to think about it deeply. For me, faith has been an evolving journey—sometimes a source of comfort and clarity, and other times, a subject of uncertainty and questioning. Growing up, faith wasn’t something I was forced to confront head-on. My family approached it with a sense of practicality. We participated in rituals, celebrated festivals, and embraced the cultural richness that religion brought into our lives. It wasn’t dogmatic; it was more like a foundation for shared experiences—a way to stay connected to our roots. Yet, as I got older, I started to see faith in a different light. While the cultural and community aspects were undeniably beautiful, I couldn’t ignore the other side—how faith sometimes seemed to create divisions rather than unity. Whether it was exclusionary attitudes toward certain groups or rigid rules that felt outdated, these aspects made me question whether faith could coexist with openness and fairness. There’s something deeply comforting about the rituals and collective energy of faith. Moments like sitting in a temple or listening to a hymn can feel grounding, even magical. But there’s also a discomfort in seeing how often faith is used to uphold prejudice or silence dissent. It’s hard to reconcile the warmth of community with the coldness of judgment that sometimes comes with it. This tension has shaped my understanding of faith—not as a fixed set of beliefs but as a space for exploration. Can faith be inclusive? Can it evolve with us, rather than holding us back? These are questions I’ve been grappling with, and they’ve made me realize that my relationship with faith doesn’t have to be about choosing sides. It’s okay to appreciate the beauty and challenge the flaws. Faith, I’ve learned, is deeply personal. It’s not just about rituals or rules but about finding meaning in ways that resonate with you. For me, that means holding onto the cultural and spiritual aspects that feel enriching while questioning the structures that feel limiting. It’s about creating a version of faith that celebrates curiosity and diversity instead of suppressing them. I don’t have all the answers, and maybe I never will. But what I do know is that faith, at its best, should bring people together, not push them apart. It should allow for growth, both individually and collectively. And most importantly, it should be a source of connection—to ourselves, to each other, and to the world around us.

Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar, a prominent figure in Indian history, devoted his entire life to challenging the deeply entrenched caste system that has plagued Indian society for centuries. His unwavering commitment to advocating for the rights of marginalised communities, particularly the Dalits, was a revolutionary stance that aimed to bring about social justice and equality. He helped unshackle the Dalit population by rejecting the condemnation of Hinduism and accepting liberation through Buddhism. The caste system, with its intricate web of discrimination and hierarchy, is a multifaceted issue deeply ingrained in the very fabric of Indian society. Its origins can be traced back thousands of years to the institutionalisation of social stratification based on the Hindu concepts of Karma and Reincarnation. This system has perpetuated inequality, oppression, and injustice, creating a cycle of discrimination that has endured through generations. This photograph was taken as part of a series about resilience. It captures the lives of a mother and child on the street of Mumbai, making an honest living with nothing but a bicycle cart and each other. The stark truth however, is that despite their hardships, this family continues to persevere, spending their days and nights on the streets, relying on meagre scraps for sustenance. This is not an isolated story. Dalits have had to endure oppression and discrimination in all walks of life. Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar’s picture can be seen in the background, slightly blurred but unmistakably present, adding depth, nuance and historical significance to the photograph and the lives it aims to portray. When I exhibited this artefact (as part of the series), I found it necessary to emphasise the context mentioned earlier. the observation invited some unwanted criticism from dogmatic individuals who claimed that the need for this context was unnecessary and irrelevant, further mocking the work I had presented. Despite claims that the caste system has been eradicated, it remains deeply embedded in daily life, often surfacing in such conversations and interactions. These instances reveal the abundance of caste-based attitudes and language, reflecting how ingrained caste biases are in everyday social behaviour. Growing up in a pragmatic household, I had the privilege of gaining context and awareness about complex and often taboo discussions surrounding belief. There is so much culture that blossoms from religion and faith; culture that has shaped my experiences and juvenescence. Being surrounded by the rich tapestry of cultural heritage that religion offers, I have had a certain sensitivity to people and their beliefs, regardless of my biases. However, my hesitation in accepting this path as my own has stemmed from a desire to explore beyond the ambivalences of blind faith. Bleak Experiences like the one I mentioned make me feel alienated from a community that not only tolerates, but condones prejudice and cruelty. The juxtaposition of religion and liberty, of faith and skepticism, has been a defining aspect of my personal growth, pushing me to reconcile the familiar with the unknown, and to find harmony in the diversity of human thought and expression.