The Quiet Power of Devotion

 

Once, during a bus ride to college, a colleague casually remarked that I seemed to spend too much time on pooja. She suggested that if I had used that time for something more “productive,” it might have been better.

I was quite surprised to hear that from her. Because she had known very little about me as she had joined the institute recently those days. And whatever I knew about her; her family was practicing Christian religion as her mother is Christian and her late father was Hindu. When she said that I really got angry but I couldn't express it at that moment.

I calmly asked her what she meant by “productive.” She replied that it involved activities like reading or writing. I then asked her a few questions in return—what about peace of mind? Where do we find relief from life’s pressures, motivation to move forward, or the encouragement to keep going? I asked her what she did to seek these things. She had no answer, and the conversation quietly came to an end.

That entire evening, I found myself deeply introspecting—wondering how spirituality had quietly become such an integral part of my life. Much of my childhood was spent with my maternal granny, Fulai, and my grandpa, whom we lovingly called Dada. I grew up watching my grandpa perform his daily prayers and pooja, and I often helped him clean the devghar and the idols of God. I would walk long distances just to bring flowers to offer. Without realizing it then, those simple acts slowly shaped my faith, grounding me in devotion and inner peace.

I still remember how every meal in our home was first offered to God. During festivals, my granny would prepare puran poli, and the responsibility of offering the naivadya was, quite naturally, entrusted to me. I would carefully arrange it on a large plate, cover it with a woollen handkerchief given by my masi, and then walk from one temple to another—carrying water in one hand and the naivadya in the other. Those moments, simple yet sacred, are etched deeply in my memory. 

As instructed by my granny, I would offer the naivadya to Lord Ganesha, Vitthal–Rukmini, Hanuman, and other deities. The ritual followed a gentle order—first offering water, then applying haldi–kumkum, and finally placing the naivadya, humbly requesting God to accept it. I remember lingering there a little longer each time, quietly watching, almost expecting to see how God would eat it. That childlike faith made every moment feel sacred.

As I went from temple to temple, the women in the village would often ask how my granny managed to prepare the naivadya so early. With quiet pride, I would tell them that she woke up before dawn so the offering could be made first.

When my Baba was transferred to the same village, my mother, too, began preparing the naivadya early in the morning and would ask me to offer it to God. She observed the Margashirsh vrat with deep devotion. Even today, December—the sacred month of Margashirsh—remains my favorite, for those Thursdays were marked by a variety of lovingly prepared dishes. Those days were not just about food, but about faith, discipline, and the quiet joy that filled our home.

After completing our pooja, my mother would ask me to offer a portion of the naivadya to the cow. Near our home lived a family with a cow and a small calf, and I remember visiting them—even at night—to feed the offering. Looking back, I realize that these simple, consistent acts quietly shaped my spiritual consciousness. Over time, they became part of who I am, and daily prayers flowed naturally into my life.

I strongly believe that anything which brings calmness to the mind is never a waste of time. On the contrary, such moments replenish our inner energy and empower us to engage in truly productive work with greater clarity, strength, and purpose.

In a world that constantly measures worth through visible output, we often forget the invisible forces that sustain us. For me, prayer was never an escape from responsibility; it was the source of strength that enabled me to face it. Calmness is not the opposite of productivity—it is its foundation. When the mind is at peace, work gains meaning, effort gains direction, and life moves forward with quiet confidence. What truly empowers us is not how busy we appear, but how deeply rooted we are within!