Threaded in Time: Interweaving Rituals, Identity, and Memory in Modern India

Religion in India is not just a belief system; it’s a complex ecosystem of stories, symbols, practices, and perceptions. As a Hindu Brahmin raised in a rural, middle-class family in eastern India, I’ve often found myself both deeply immersed in and slightly bewildered by the rituals that shaped my early life.

Growing up in the Generation X era, religion was not just inherited—it was observed, practiced, questioned, and sometimes, quietly altered to suit convenience and context. I spent significant time across different parts of India, and my friends came from equally diverse backgrounds. Despite sharing the same scriptures—Ramayana, Mahabharata, Puranas—the interpretations varied astonishingly across households.

I still remember those golden Sundays in the late ’80s, when the Ramayana and Mahabharata aired on Doordarshan. The entire neighborhood would pause its activities, tuning in with reverence. These televised epics were not merely entertainment—they were extensions of what our parents had read aloud from the scriptures, analyzed over meals, and even debated with love and logic.

Then came cable television in the late ’90s and 2000s. Star TV launched its version of Mahabharata. But for families like mine, it was dissonant—too flashy, too dramatized, too different. My mother, sharp-eyed and well-versed in the original versions, would critique every costume, every miscast character, and even the camera angles. She wasn’t trying to be rigid—she was defending a version of the truth she had grown to believe in.

With the rise of OTT platforms today, religion has become an open-source domain—everyone has an opinion, everyone is an expert. But that’s where the confusion begins. Are we gaining more clarity, or are we making it harder for the next generation to connect with the core of these traditions?

Let me take you back to another poignant moment from my childhood—the Upanayanam, or thread ceremony. I was just 8 or 9 when it happened. I wore the sacred thread (Janeu) without understanding its significance. I barely pronounced the Gayatri Mantra correctly. Yet, that moment—flooded with mantras, blessings, and offerings—marked a silent shift within me. I didn’t realize it then, but that ceremony planted the seeds of identity, duty, and discipline. I realized its threefold significance:

1. Spiritual Rebirth – It marked my symbolic second birth into a life of learning.

2. Commitment to Responsibility – The thread represented duties toward self, family, and society.

3. Initiation into Brahmacharya – It denoted the start of the disciplined student phase of life.

These insights didn’t hit me all at once. They unfolded slowly, like verses from a sacred hymn I had heard but never understood until I needed it most.

Only much later, as a student navigating academic pressures and life’s moral crossroads, did I realize the value of that initiation. The sacred thread wasn’t just a piece of cotton—it was a symbol of rebirth, of entering the Brahmacharya phase, of promising to pursue knowledge and live responsibly.

Interestingly, even the act of changing the Janeu—ideally done every six months or on specific ritual occasions—differs vastly across India. Back home, we’d do it in two minutes. But recently, in a temple in another state, the priest took me through a 10-minute spiritual journey just to replace the thread. That experience reminded me how vast and diverse Hindu practice is—even in rituals that supposedly mean the same thing.

This diversity extends to temple customs, too. In one place, tying your hair is a must. In another, it’s frowned upon. In some temples, you walk barefoot; in others, there’s an exact way to enter, chant, or even offer prayers. One India. Many rituals. And a hundred interpretations.

To conclude

Religion and rituals in India are like rivers—flowing through centuries, shaped by the terrain, colored by the seasons, and carrying sediments of both wisdom and contradiction. My journey through Hindu rituals hasn’t always been about clarity—it’s often been about questions, reinterpretations, and silent negotiations between tradition and change.

It’s easy to critique. It’s harder to understand. And it’s hardest to hold space for ambiguity while staying connected to the spiritual essence beneath it all.

What We Need to Learn and Unlearn

To Learn:

• The spirit behind the ritual: Not every ritual makes sense at first glance. But beneath the surface lies symbolism that can transform when truly understood.
• Tolerance for multiplicity: India’s strength lies in its diversity—not uniformity—in ritual practices.
• Personal inquiry: Ask, reflect, revisit. The journey of understanding your tradition is lifelong and personal.

To Unlearn:

• Blind adherence: Following rituals mechanically without grasping their meaning reduces them to performance, not practice.
• Monopoly over interpretation: No one has a copyright on truth. Multiple versions can coexist and still be valid.
• Shame around adaptation: Change is not always dilution. Sometimes, it’s evolution.

If you're a parent, a teacher, or even just a curious soul—remember: our rituals are not just obligations. They are invitations. To explore. To question. And most importantly, to connect