Yesterday, I visited a Tamil Mariamman temple (not a Hindu temple) for a local function. The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with drum beats, chants, offerings, and age-old practices that have been followed for centuries. What struck me most was not the rituals themselves, but the fact that no one around seemed to understand why they were being done.
Our ancestors never designed rituals for blind repetition. Each act once had meaning — a connection to nature, to health, to community, or to the cosmic order. A turmeric offering was not just symbolic, but antibacterial. Fasting was not mere denial, but a way to reset the body. The temple festival itself was once the village’s calendar for seasons, harvest, and social unity.
Over time, however, meanings have been lost. The gestures remain, but the wisdom has faded. What was once science wrapped in symbolism is now performed as faith without inquiry.
This is the paradox of tradition: rituals meant to awaken awareness have turned into mechanical acts of devotion. Where ancestors sought understanding, today’s generation often settles for habit.
Maybe it’s time we stop asking “what do I gain by doing this?” and start asking “why did my ancestors design it this way?” For in those forgotten reasons lies the real essence of tradition.