I am not superstitious. Like Groucho Marx, I know that if a black cat crosses my path it means that the cat is going somewhere and has nothing to do with me except that it happened to cross my path. Usually it is better that the cat happened to cross my path than a human being, especially human beings with staunch religious affiliations. I am more likely to be killed by a gau bhakt today than a cat.
|Marx becoming Marks! God!!|
Superstition is born out of cowardice and irresponsibility. You are afraid of, say, water. But you have to cross the river and there’s no other choice. You get into the boat with fear in your knees. Your knees tremble. Your knees wobble. The boat takes on your trembling. Trembling is contagious. Like a disease. It spreads. And the boat succumbs. It capsizes, let us say. You are saved, let us hope. And then you blame the cat. Because you don’t want to accept that you peed in your trousers. The cat that crossed your path while you were on your way to the river becomes a poor scapegoat.
Superstition is all about creating scapegoats.
It can also be about creating frauds who will claim to heal you by invoking gods. It can also be about politicians who will rid the country of cats. The politicians may even create a holy cat if that can win them votes. And your ego can go on a hot air balloon trip. The cat that crossed your path has become something not to be feared but to be worshipped. Cat becomes holy. Cat becomes vote catcher. Cat becomes theology. Cat’s piss becomes Ayurvedic cure.
PS. Written for Indispire Edition 174: #Superstitionandyou