In India, we make more demands from God than we do from the government.
We ask God for jobs, money, marriage, visas, promotions, children, marks, and sometimes even cricket wins. We light lamps, break coconuts, donate coins, offer our hair, and chant elaborate mantras — all in the hope that the Almighty will answer our every prayer.
But here’s the twist.
We treat God like a government servant — someone to be appeased with bribes (in the form of offerings), coaxed with flattery (in the form of bhajans), and threatened with tantrums (“If you don’t do this for me, I’ll stop praying!”). We complain when our prayers are delayed, much like we complain about a file stuck in a sarkari office. We question God’s timing, demand faster service, and even outsource our devotion through paid poojas and quick-fix astrologers.
On the other hand, we treat government servants like gods.
We fear them. We obey without question. A signature from a babu can hold up your life’s plans indefinitely, and so we fold our hands, speak softly, and sometimes even slip envelopes just to keep things moving. We don’t question their inefficiency, we adjust to their delays, and we whisper to each other that “this is how the system works.”
We’ve reversed the roles.
The divine is expected to perform with bureaucratic efficiency, while the bureaucracy is allowed to behave with divine indifference.
Why?
Maybe because questioning God feels safe. He doesn’t retaliate. He doesn’t send notices or delay your passport. On the other hand, questioning the government means stepping into dangerous territory — protest, paperwork, or worse, punishment.
So we go where it’s easy to shout and blame — the skies. And we whisper where it actually matters — the streets.
Until the day we realise that God doesn’t issue your driving license. That He won’t clean your drainage or fix your streetlight. That He won’t teach your children or build your hospital. The government is not your god — but it does affect your life more than you think.
And God — well, if He exists — probably wishes you’d stop treating Him like your local tahsildar.