Growing up, I was as innocent as they came. I rarely ever questioned anything. That’s the sweet advantage of childhood- you don’t question, you don’t answer, you just enjoy. It’s damaging yet fulfilling, to be fair.
I was an ingenious little 12-year-old sitting in history class when our teacher said something that made me stop in my thoughts for a millisecond and reassess them. “Why do you believe in God?” Up until that moment, I’d never thought about this. My 12-year-old mind couldn’t wrap this concept as easily as I could wrap the lyrics of a Hannah Montana song back then. I was in shock. The question was so legitimate yet I couldn’t believe I didn’t have an answer to it.
That day onwards, I was speculative and curious about the existence of God. I questioned it, rejected it, pondered it, and did everything under the sun I possibly could with it. I never did find the answer. But somewhere along the way, I lost my faith. I lost my belief that God existed and I didn’t want to hold on to it anymore. Understanding as my parents were (and are), they never condemned this choice of mine. Yet, I was in doubt all along. Even when I openly called myself an agnostic or an atheist, deep down I wasn’t confident about my choice of words or my thoughts and that deeply nettled me. I almost felt like I wasn’t fully aware of this part of myself and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t look deep enough for an answer. I still wanted to, though.
It all boiled down to when I was 20 years old and I suddenly fell very ill. It happened so rapidly that I didn’t know what had hit me. One day I was happily attending college and the next, I was bedridden, I couldn’t hold a glass of water on my own and I was in searing pain. What followed was worse. I was sick for nearly 8 months after that with no diagnosis whatsoever. It was absolutely petrifying to not be able to do anything on my own, to be in so much of pain, and yet not know what was happening to me. Forget the unpredictability of life, I didn’t know if I’d wake up the next morning at all.
My family tried everything they possibly could. Other than medical help, they tried astrological and spiritual healing in whatever way they could. I didn’t what to do or what to feel when I was in that situation myself. All I knew is that I was suffering and I wanted nothing more than for it to stop. When my mom told me she wanted me to chant a few mantras on a daily basis, I knew it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, so I cooperated. I don’t know if it was the mantras or the fact that I didn’t know what to question anymore but something worked. My physical health may not have made any miraculous leaps then but my mental health started getting better. I was able to deal with everything that was happening to me.
Before this, I’d started losing hope. I didn’t think I’d make it. But once I let God and faith back into my life, I started feeling the tiniest glimmer of hope again. Things especially improved physically too because mentally my mind wasn’t blocking me anymore. The diagnosis still hadn’t been done, but I had newfound hope. I had hope that things were going to get better even if they didn’t look so good at the time. I don’t know if it was a plain delusion or God’s hand on my head. Now, I’m pretty sure it was the latter. Just the feeling that God was by my side, God was blessing me with strength to fight whatever was struggling to bring me down gave me enough optimism to not let my illness get the better of me.
I accepted my fate for what it was, yet I knew I’ll get better. And I did. I fell ill in August 2016. In the first week of March 2017- I was diagnosed with Systemic Lupus Erythematosus. It is an autoimmune disorder where the immune system mistakenly attacks its own tissues. It’s a symptomatic disease and symptoms can differ from one person to the next. I didn’t have the characteristic butterfly-shaped rash on my face so various doctors couldn’t understand it was lupus for 8 months. Finally, a super specialist did. I’m so thankful it was diagnosed because I finally started receiving the right medication and I was able to return to normalcy in life. Here’s the interesting part: Two days before my Lupus got diagnosed, we had a ‘puja’ held in our house. (A puja is a religious ritual of worshipping Hindu Gods and Goddesses). The puja went off well, and the night after the puja I saw a silhouette of Lord Shiva in my room at night. I don’t care if anybody chooses to believe me or not, I know I witnessed God and I felt extraordinary about it. And in the week that followed, everything started falling into place. My lupus got diagnosed, I was put on the right medicines and I finally started getting better. After 8 months of relentless and seemingly futile struggle- I was getting better, I felt okay, and it is surreal till today.
I still get scared, and it’s only natural. Sometimes I get the crippling fear that I’ll fall ill again. But I know I won’t. Because God is by my side. God is in my heart. And God is providing me with unmatched strength constantly. I feel God’s unmerited blessing every day. And I’m so thankful for it.
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